We’ve all lost things. I’ve lost relatives, and pets. I’ve lost my shoes on a roller coaster before. One time I lost my mother’s car keys, but she found them a few days later. You see, none of these individual events stick out to me, and to write 1,500 words about something that doesn’t interest me wouldn’t be fair to you, the reader, or me, the author. So I won’t write about any of the times I lost material items. I’m going to write about the time I lost multiple intangible things because of one event.
Have you ever been hit in the head so hard that things go blurry? The ground beneath you shakes, and you start to lose your balance. Your feet slip out from under you, and your body makes contact with the earth’s solid surface. Have your eyes ever played tricks on you? You open them, and suddenly the beautiful blue sky is gone. The morning dew on every blade of grass is no longer gleaming in the sunlight. Have you ever opened your eyes to see only one color? I have, and the color engulfed everything. I no longer saw shades of purple and green, or yellow and blue, I saw only one shade, blood red.
Side note: Jeez Mr. Cutler 1,500 words? That’s a lot to write about something as boring as the lost and found section of my brain. But I’ll comply.
After my injury in early march, I was unable to play softball for nine weeks. So you can imagine my excitement when I was finally cleared to play again. Although I was excited, I was still extremely nervous that my ankle would give out on me. So I took the necessary precautions and wore my prescribed ankle brace. And let me just say, that is not comfortable footwear. The brace is large and barely fits into any of my shoes. Not to mention it’s black, so it attracts the sunlight. I do not enjoy when my feet sweat, and believe me neither do my shoes. So along with being uncomfortable in the car ride over to the ball field, I was forced to listen to my parents bicker over whether or not it was safe for me to be playing yet.
“The doctor said she was cleared to play.” My father told my mom
“He doesn’t know what’s best for my baby girl!” My mother hissed at him.
“Monica, that’s why he’s a doctor, he’s paid to know what’s best for everyone!” He yelled as he banged a hand on the dashboard.
“Damnit! Stop arguing over my foot. It’s mine, not yours.” I finally said.
“Watch your language Kathryn Elizabeth!” My mom demanded as her head swung around to meet my gaze.
I slouched down into my spot in the backseat, and continued to listen to my parents bicker over different things, while the latest Bruno Mars single played in the background. I used to like that song. I don’t anymore. I guess you could say I lost interest. (Eh see what I did there?)
As we pulled into the John Crowe softball field parking lot, I noticed I forgot my softball gloves. I guess I got too caught up in putting all my footwear together, I totally forgot about my hands.
“Hopefully I won’t need them.” I thought out loud.
“What did you forget this time?” My mother asked with her back to me. Her question was empty. I knew she didn’t actually care.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
I made my way down the concrete walkway, the one that separated the baseball fields from the softball fields, and it was in that moment I realized how much I loved and missed the sound of the metal spikes on my cleats clanging against the ground. That was when I noticed the butterflies in my stomach. I hadn’t realized how nervous I really was until now. Nine weeks is a long time to be out of practice at something, so I told myself I was going to push my abilities to their limits.
When I reached the dugout, I started to unpack my belongings. First my black Easton bat with the yellow trimming down the side. Then I pulled out my glove. I hadn’t touched that glove in so long. I had forgotten what the leather felt like. That was when I heard my coach yell.
“Ortiz!” His voice booming. Ortiz is what they call me on the team, the reason being, on the first day of practice I was sporting my signed “Big Papi” Red Sox shirt. My other coach calls me “Dottie” because he thinks I play ball like Geena Davis in A League of Their Own. I don’t see it, but I like the way it feels to have a nickname.
I tucked my glove under my arm, and ran over to where Coach Smith was standing. He looked me up and down.“You okay to play?” His voice sounded stern.
“Doctor cleared me yesterday. Should be fine.” I replied, trying not to get into the exact details.
“In that case, it’s good to have you back Ortiz.” He said. There was no smile on his face. No sign of emotion, but I could tell he meant it. He turned his head and spit some sunflower seed shells.
“Get out there and show me you’re not broken.”
I laughed at that. Not a full laugh, but not a giggle either, more of a chuckle.
I took my place at first, and fielded a few grounders, took a couple pop flies, and pulled off one double play. Despite a few errors I made, things were going well, and I started to shake off those jitters from earlier. It felt good to be on the field again, with all my teammates and my coaches. After around thirty minutes, Coach McGill called us infielders into the outfield. That’s the moment when I noticed the morning dew on the grass. I never really noticed how pretty and green the grass out there was until then.
He informed us that we would be rotating in and out of line to receive grounders and pop ups at random. Because the infield was full of pitchers and catchers, we had to line up with our backs to the fence that surrounded the field, and our feet behind the white chalk line that separates the foul zone and the fair zone. I was fourth in line. I never went first. I liked to observe how the other players fielded, and then try to replicate the good things I saw. Tori, our short stop, went first and received a grounder. She fielded the ball expertly. Then it was Erin, our second baseman, received a pop up. She ran a little too far forward, but recovered to make the catch. Next was Bree, our third baseman, she received a grounder. She misjudged the ball, and ran to the left while it rolled to the right. Finally it was my turn. I assumed I was to receive a pop up, so I got ready to sprint forward. I was wrong. Coach hit a screaming grounder that was headed in my direction. My eyes widened, and locked on the ball. I lunged forward to catch it as it rolled over the edge of the grass. But it didn’t roll over the grass. It popped up.
I felt the ball make contact with the right side of my forehead. My eyes closed, as my body toppled over. I felt like an overturned semi. My body weight felt infinite. Then I felt a large warm callused hand touch my shoulder.
“Jesus Kathryn. Are you okay?” Coach McGill asked.
“Is she bleeding?” I heard Tori ask in a whisper.
“Where did it hit her?” Coach Smith was asking as he ran over to the huddle of people surrounding me.
“Her face.” Coach McGill said sounding worried.
I was crying, but I was crying without sounds. Just lying there mouth open, gasping for air. I tried to say something, anything, but my gasps kept interrupting my train of thought.
“Just lift your head up Kathryn.” It was my father who said that.
His voice was somehow calming; even though I’m sure he was anything but relaxed. I lifted my head, and opened my eyes. I couldn’t see the faces of the people whose voices I had heard. Everything was red. I tried to wipe the blood out of my eyes, but when I pressed my hand against my barely open lid, the pain was unbearable.
“Don’t touch it. You’re going to need stitches.” My father said
“Here, I got some paper towels from the bathroom.” I heard Mincey say.
Still all I saw red, and the red stung my eyes. I could feel the warm sticky liquid drip down onto my arms and legs. I winced when someone applied the towels to my wound. The blood flow had stopped, but it was too late, my body already looked like a Jackson Pollock. Some of my teammates picked me up, and others helped to keep me stable.
“Call Urgent Care in Bryson, she needs stitches.” My father said to my mother.
After they cleaned all the blood off me, and completed putting the stitches in above my right eyebrow, the doctor answered the question we were all waiting for.
“She needs to be tested for a concussion.” The doctor told us.
“Well isn’t this just dandy.” I said, my words dripping with sarcasm.
“Your eye will most likely swell shut, and you will have a black eye for a few days.” The doctor said.
“Kathryn, you are going to fall apart one day.” My mother said with a chuckle.
Because I had to be concussion tested, I was unable to take my Math II EOC. I lost the ability to test my knowledge in the class I had slaved through all year. After that I lost my spot on the softball team, because I was ineligible to play. I haven’t played ball since that day, and I don’t know if I ever will. And worst of all, I lost faith in my own ability after that day.