Athletic mind

"It's not how good you are, it's how bad you want it"

Softball Splurb

The bench was barely wide enough for all of us to fit, with bazooka gum stuck to the edges and splinters sticking out of the corners. Well, what used to be corners, they were pretty rounded off. Right dab in the middle was a rather large crack, roughly the size of a pee wee baseball bat. When you were bored you could pull it up and let it go to listen for the loud smack it made when it plunged back to where it cozily fit in. It looked like Babe Ruth had once sat on the damn thing. The fence in front of our faces had been duck taped endlessly, We could barley see through the slots. They started off the size of a baseball, and somehow were now smaller than a golf ball. We all complained about the stupid fence; said take it down, we had helmets right? Oh boy were we glad that creaky old fence was there when foul balls came plummeting in our direction. Everywhere you walked inside that dugout you were stomping on sun flower seeds. And an occasional wad of gum got stuck to the bottom of your cleats and you didn't notice until you took a step and left your shoe behind. There were always those girls who were on deck but were too busy fixing their pony tails and making sure their shorts didn't go below there knees or leave a camel toe. You'd yell their names a few times and the umpire would warn you that you've got 15 seconds to get her to home plate or it was an automatic out. Coach says they're high maintenance. If you ask me they were just plain old dumb broads. You'd have the parents who'd bring their video camera's but knew their daughter sucked and made up some lame excuse as to why they weren't actually filming when she'd come running to the fence and say “did you get that?”. Like Mary Lou's mom; after hitting a line drive to the second basemen, instead of running to first she ran to the pitcher's mound. When she asked her mom if she got her dive on tape she said “Oh no hunny, your father forgot to give me the batteries.” The next game when Mary Lou could have made the best double play ever she wanted to show off her ballet skills and did some kind of Nomar twist, jump, kick, and I don't even know what the rest of it was, but by the time she came back down there were no runners on base. Her mom said “I thought I got it, but I guess I never actually hit 'record'”. And then there was Jennifer Lee, oh she cracked me up. Our first day at try-outs she asked me which hand the glove went on, I looked at it, thought I could have fun with it and told her to put it on her right hand. She missed the first drill because she couldn't seem to fit her thumb in the pinky hole. After that I finally told her it was the other hand and convinced her she'd heard me wrong. The second drill; we were all in the out field and Coach Barrett was hitting pop flies. Jennifer was right under the ball, Coach yelled out “Turn your glove!” and she did; right upside down.

We were all two months and three days away from becoming freshman. It was the first scrimmage of the summer league; our first day of being the laughing stock of the girl's softball league. Coach had taken one last swig of that funky concoction he had going on in that Gatorade bottle of his. Rather odd in my opinion; smelled like my uncle's breath when he went around kicking the cat, “God rest his soul” (the cat's), as my mother would say. Any who, after sticking his bottle in between the chain links he'd run out to the third base line, never looking at the opposing team's coach, (probably in shame of the constant humiliation) and wait to give us the signals. Did anyone use those signals? No. Most of the time Coach would put some out there and some stooge would step out of the box and stare at him with their eyes squinted then make their way over to him and he just told them. Did they do it then? No. It was always jerk around real fast, give Coach that pucker fish face and say “Whoops, I forgot”.

Mind Splurbs

John and Jane Daugerty

John and Jane Daugherty. She was a month older than him. Both were 16 when they met and 18 when they fell in love and got married. Now, they were 83 years old; married for 65 years. The nurse came in and told Jane she needed to change her husband's bedding. John had been immobile for quite some time now, and Jane was there every day with her husband, arriving at 7:00 a.m. and leaving at 9:00 p.m. It was routine for Jane to tell whatever nurse was on duty that she did not need them to do so; "I can take care of my husband, thank you". She would take the sheets from the nurse and proceed to change his bedding. She would tuck him in and open the shades to let the light in, once he was awake, say "good morning" and kiss him on his forehead. John had a hard time remembering words so most of their days were spent silently. Jane would sit on his left side, in the rocking chair she brought from home. With her right hand on his arm and a book in her left. She was on pg 47, paragraph four when she floated off into a day dream:

It was a Thursday morning. John had gone to the local floral shop and picked out a single white rose with a red ribbon for Jane. He placed it on the passenger seat, and headed to his yearly physical. After a half hour wait and a 60 second meet he was told he needed a neurological examination. It was a brain tumor. Surgery was immediate. They spent the following three months going in and out of hospitals, examinations, testing, group counseling meetings, and therapy sessions. Jane argued with doctors about where John should reside. She'd thought it best he be at home, the place he put so much of his heart and soul into making it what it was, with his family and his friends. The doctors told her he would be better in the company of medical professionals. Jane would lecture them about how it wouldn't make a difference; "My husband is going to die either way, we know that, so why not let him live the end of his life as he wants?". They had come to an agreement; John could stay at home as long as a nurse could go to their home once a week and examine him. A month had gone by with four visits and John began to lose track of time, forget names, stumble on flat ground, and slur his words. It had become inevitable that John were to be moved into the hospital. He had now been there for two months.

After changing her husband's sheets and sitting in her chair with her book on her lap unopened she heard a rather loud continuous beep. Johns heart rate monitor was showing that he was having a heart attack. John's body flinched slightly as his breaths became shorter and rapid. Jane contemplated calling out for help or hitting the emergency button, but then she thought of unplugging the monitor. We've fought long enough. Why suffer any longer? She sat in her chair as if suffering from paralysis. The beeping stopped, and became one drawn out tone. As John lay in his bed motionless Jane opened her book and fished a pen out of her hand bag. The sound of the heart monitor faded in her head as she began to write on the inside front cover:

At 18 when I took the hand of John Alan Daugherty I vowed to never fail him, to never look down upon him, to never doubt him, to never pressure him, to never hold him back, to never question his reasoning, to never lie to him, to never wander the world without him, to never love another more than him, to never spread his insecurities, to never cry without his shoulder, and to never live without him.

I failed him when I told him I did not want to move away from my home to be with him. I looked down upon him when he quit school. I doubted him when he returned. I pressured him into a job he did not like. I held him back from the one he wanted. I questioned him when he stopped kissing me goodnight. I lied to him when I told him I despised him. I went to England without him. I fell more in love with my selfish self. I told his insecurities to my judgemental friends. I cried in the shower.

There is one more thing i vowed to my husband. I told him I will never live without him. He is dead now, and here I am, breathing normally, the blood is flowing through my veins, not ready to stop. But i must keep my word to my husband. For he has kept his to me. He simply vowed to me; never to walk away from me, always to forgive me, and never to stop loving me. He has kept his. Regret does not live in my heart any longer.

John Alan Daugherty died of a heart attack on December 14th, 1996 at 1:08 p.m. Jane Amber Daugherty died of an overdose on December 14th, 1996 at 1:38 p.m.

"The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean"

I'm fancying a good book; one involving a world even more complex than our own; one

with characters who's lives are nothing even remotely close to ordinary; a book that will teach

me a lesson, open my eyes, make me laugh and make me cry, make me think, make me

wonder,

motivate me and even scare me away.