The Big Day

"He'll be here."

Jeremy could tell she was full out doubt just as much as he was. His mother had always been a below average liar, but he'd never failed to appreciate that when she did lie, it was usually with good intentions. 

"Mmm", he replied staring out the window of the van as he watched other players and fans enter the ballpark. He wished he didn't even have to doubt that his father would be here. After all, this was the most important moment in his young life thus far and he'd explained earnestly to his father nearly every day for a month now that if they won this game, their team would win the section championship for the first time in the school's history. 

His father often worked late, being an attorney for a moderately large firm in the city, and usually missed games that didn't start after 10 p.m. He had however, taken time off specifically for this game several weeks in advance once they were sure they had a final spot, but a recent case that came across his desk was "just too important to avoid" if he wanted to keep his job. Jeremy understood, but sometimes wished that his father would just lose his job, you know, just for a week or so for the chance to come to a game or simply just spend some quality time together. Even despite the case that had shown itself at a rather inconvenient time, his father had promised that if he finished the night's work early enough, he would do whatever he could to make it on time. 

Jeremy was finally in the starting lineup and nerves had him a little on edge. He had only started the previous game this season because Dillon Doherty had hit a rock while skateboarding and broken his wrist in two places. It had always been in the back of his mind whether his father's lack of attendance was partially due the fact that he knew his son wasn't ever going to play. He'd never vocalized this thought and usually pushed it out of his mind, but if it were the case, could he really blame him? Who wants to go to a game to see their son ride the bench for nine innings and then walk off the field without any dirt on his pants from sliding home or any grass on his jersey from a diving catch in the outfield? Either way, it didn't matter tonight. Good or not, he was going to play.

Stealing glances at the bleachers. 
That's what he was doing between warm-up throws with his teammates. After the second or third peek, he'd located his mother and younger sister in the middle rows behind home plate. They were still alone when it came time to end warm-ups and for the first inning to start.

Don't worry about it. He'll be here. You've got nine whole innings, and it's really only the last three that count. He's got time. 

He believed it when he told himself, and as the pitcher for his team threw a strike ending the first inning at 0-0, he ran off the field and into the dugout pleased that he hadn't yet made a play that would be missed by his old man. 

From the start of the first, to the end of the sixth inning, he had been able to focus mainly on the game. He'd gotten a hit and hadn't made any errors in the outfield, yet his team had fallen behind in the fourth inning after allowing one run. Every once in a while, usually between batters or every few pitches, he'd look to where his mother and sister were seated hoping to see his fathers stubbly face smiling back at him or intently watching the game. After all, it was really because of his father that he'd grown to love baseball. He'd been a star in high school and had even gone on to play at college for two years before committing to his law studies. 

By the time the 7th inning had started, his father was still nowhere to be seen, and he was now receiving periodic shrugs and pitiful looks from his mother every time he looked into the crowd--so he stopped. The benefit of the doubt was slowly starting to slip away, and he couldn't see how his father hadn't finished with work by now, or at the very least called to explain his absence. During the 7th inning stretch, he'd held his hand up to his ear like a phone in a questioning gesture, but his mother had just shaken her head and mouthed "sorry". 

What the hell. 

His dad knew how important this game was to him. He'd talked about it for over a month. The angry part of him made a bet with the sympathetic side of his mind that Ryan Cranson's dad was in the crowd. He probably had a job, but that didn't stop him. He bet every other player's dad was here cheering and yelling at the umpires when they made a call not in favor of their son even if the call had made sense. But his wasn't. 

The end of the top of the ninth came and up to this point his team had still only allowed the one run that had occurred in the fourth. This coming three outs would be their final chance to win the game and make history for their school. The first batter took his place at the plate and on the opening pitch of the inning had smacked one into right field, securing him a safe spot at first base. The following two batters had been a ground-ball out and a strikeout, respectively, but the fourth of the inning nailed a two-base hit into left field, bringing the runners to third and second. 

And he was up. 

Two outs and the winning run on second base, and HE was the team's last chance of survival, victory, or defeat. 

As he picked up his bat and dawned his helmet, he wondered if his father was in the crowd. The inning had been too intense, and he hadn't run reconnaissance since the eighth. For a brief moment he was tempted to look, but he knew the nerves were not what he needed right now, whether they showed his dad in the bleachers or not. He stepped up to the plate and tried to clear his mind. He had one final fleeting I hope he sees this before the pitcher motioned to start his windup. This was it. The chance of a lifetime. Don't mess it up. You know what to do. Don't strikeout. Don't swing at a bad pitch. Here it comes. 

Crack!

The first pitch came into the plate fast and left even faster as a bullet to right field. Jeremy tossed his bat into another dimension and sprinted for first base with all the speed his legs could muster. He could see ahead of him that his hit had gone far enough right to where it was out of the outfielder's reach, but not so far that it had been a foul ball. As he crossed first base safely he turned around to see his teammate that had been on second rounding third and coming home. This was it. He looked back again in time to catch the outfielder finish his throw home, but by then it was too late. The throw wouldn't make it, and they had won. They had won because of him, and only now did he allow himself to look into the bleachers as he felt a smile explode across his face. 

Not there.

He wasn't aware his team was flooding over him screaming in excitement and joy at their storybook victory, and he also wasn't aware that the smile that had been etched on his face had disappeared, and had instead been replaced by a straight-lipped scowl. Anger and disappointment filled his heart, and his eyes darted from bleacher to bleacher hoping that maybe his father had simply shown up too late to get a seat with the rest of his family and was elsewhere standing and cheering with the other fans. Only after his search through the crowd did his eyes finally lock onto his mother, standing, with a phone to her ear. 

She was not smiling as she should have been. Her face was the face of someone whose thought were nowhere near a baseball field. Tears began to run in crooked lines down her cheeks, and confusion etched marks on her brow. After several long moments, her tear-filled gaze met his, and even before the slow shake of her head that followed, he knew.

A car had been hit head-on three blocks away from the park where he stood. The police report would never explain that the driver had been trying to fulfill a promise on his son's big day.