The wined up.
The pitch.
The loud “Pop” in my glove as I catch the ball.
The scurry of the runner on first trying to get to second.
I cock my arm. I throw as hard as I can.
Souring threw the air.
The seams against the air making a Buzz!
The last stride of the runner struggling to beat the ball.
The ball pops in the short stops glove.
She slides, dirt fly’s everywhere.
The ball beat her there. They make the tag.
The umpire calls “YOUR OUT” with a loud roar and a pump of his fist.
The runner gets up and dusts herself off.
I grin ear to ear.
I saved the game.
That runner went nowhere but to the dug out.
“BALL GAME,” the blue calls.
Both teams line up.
Going down the line.
I can see the disappointment on each of their faces.
“Good game,” I say to each player.
I shake the couch’s hands.
“You are an amazing catcher,” they say.
I smile and say, “Thank you.”
It’s the thrill of being noticed by another couch.
It makes your heart race.
They ask you to join their team after the game.
They complement you on your aggressiveness.
But you decline,
Because you already have your team.
There you’re family, your friends, and your sisters.
I wouldn’t leave them.
They’re my team.