Eternal Spring YA short story collection

Spring Perfection by Leslie Dubois

Spring Perfection

By

Leslie Dubois

I love the smell of springtime. To me, it smells like hot dogs, linseed oil, and the tight stitching on a new baseball. Spring brings my favorite pastime, the happiest time of my life. But not today.

It’s the top of the fifth inning. We, Charleston Preparatory School, are ahead one to zero. I’m pitching a perfect game. It’ll be my first perfect game since joining the baseball team last year as a freshman. A perfect game is the dream of any pitcher. I mean, in Major League Baseball there have only been twenty perfect games ever! Ever! And I was on my way to getting one as a sophomore in high school. A perfect game means no one gets on base—no walks, no errors, no mistakes. Unfortunately, I don't know if this is possible.

My head is not in the game. It’s somewhere else completely. With Reyna. I made a promise to her and because of this stupid game, I don't know if I’ll be able to keep it or not. Of course, the game isn't stupid. Baseball is the greatest game on the planet. And if you ask my mother, she'll say it’s the most important game of my life. But then again, she'll say every game is the most important game of my life. That's just the way she is. It will take too much time to explain my mother. And this isn't a story about her.

In her defense, this is a special game. It isn't every day that a high school team gets to have a spring training game with a college team. And it certainly isn't every day that the high school team beats the college team. But winning will mean nothing without Reyna by my side.

I look over at her normal place in the dugout, where she usually sits next to Doc. She wants to be a doctor one day, so he lets her tag along to all the games and watch how to take care of different sports injuries. It’s free medical training for her future career.

Today she isn't there and I know why. The reason tears at my heart. I momentarily step off the mound in order to get my emotions in check. Most people think nerves are kicking in. They think I realize that it's been five innings and I haven’t allowed a single batter to reach first base. But that’s not what is eating away at me like termite in a tree house. I’m a bad friend. I should be by her side instead of worrying about my baseball stats.

I stick my face into my glove and inhale the scent of the linseed oil. It calms me for a moment and I step back on the mound.

How did I ever get to this point? How did Reyna grow to be so important in my life that I find myself thinking about her instead of pitching my perfect game?

I shake thoughts of her from my mind and throw out a pitch.

Strike three.

I’ve survived another inning. Finally, I can retreat to the dugout and get my head together. I try to purge thoughts of her. I try to concentrate. I try to focus on Carson at bat, but I can't. Instead, I think of how Reyna and I first met.

The Day that Changed my Life

The day my life changed was November 13th, 2002. It was a Tuesday in English class, which meant reading time. But to sixth grade boys, reading time was a synonym for a little game we called Flame it and Blame it. It was a highly intellectual game in which a winner was anyone who could fart in class and successfully blame it on someone else. I was a "Flame it and Blame it" champion three weeks running.

The nation had just celebrated the one-year memorial of the September 11th terrorists attacks, yet at that time, the most serious thing I thought of was how to keep my fart game-winning streak alive. What can I say; I was a pretty superficial kid.