TAKE THE DARE

PROLOGUE

You can't truly know how a game will end.  You can win or you can lose, but when it's time to leave the field, know you played your best game.
 

DARIAN - NINE YEARS OLD

I watch through the window as the toddler size baseball glove is placed near the baby’s feet.  The new dad extends one of his long fingers near his son's small hand and the baby curls his tiny fingers around it.  The father looks at his son the same way my dad looks at me after my games. If I don't hear him say, ‘I love you, son.  You make me very proud’ then I see it in his smile. It doesn’t matter if we win or lose, but today we did win. And today I know what I want to do with the winning game ball.

I knock on the hospital window to get the man’s attention.  He looks around until he notices me waving for him to come outside since I'm not allowed into the room.  My dad tried to stop me, but it was too late. The man was already opening the door of the nursery.  He’s a tall man with dark brown hair and green eyes. I notice he’s younger and taller than my dad. My dad apologizes to the man, but I’m not sure what my dad had done wrong.  I interrupt and hand the man my winning ball.

“This is for your baby, sir.  So you can play catch when he gets older.  The coach gave it to me, because I hit two home runs and pitched the winning game.”

“That’s very nice of you, but don’t you want to keep your winning ball?”   He kneels down next to me and twists the ball in his hand to get a better look.

“No, sir.  I have lots of them already.  Look.” I point to my large sloppy handwriting in black ink.  “I even signed it. Darian Graydon, but everybody calls me Dare.  I put the date and my age. Nine. I wrote down the team name, too.  The Aces.”

“Thank you.  I’ll make sure to tell my son about this ball when he grows up.” He smiles.

“Don’t forget to tell him you love him and he makes you very proud.  Tell him even when he doesn’t win. That’s what my Dad tells me. It will make him happy.”

We both look up towards my Dad and see him wipe a tear.  He gives me the proud smile that says the words without having to say it.  The man places his hand on my shoulder. He starts to say something but closes his mouth again.  He clears his throat and has tears in his eyes. He may be coming down with a cold. He finally nods and smiles again.  He is still smiling and looking at the ball as we walk away.

I rush my dad to my mom’s room so I can tell her about the man and the game.  She had fallen asleep during my visit. Dad thought we should let her rest. She had already slept for two weeks in her coma, but the car accident must have made her tired.  Dad and I walked around the hospital looking at the artwork while she slept more.

Mom’s still in the bed where there are tubes, wires and machines all around her.  The beeping and the wires attached to my mom scare me. Seeing my pale mom with a large bandage wrapped around her head and something in her nose to help her breathe scares me more.  The dotted blue gown they gave her is too big and one side drapes over her bare shoulder. A large lined bruise still runs across her shoulder. My dad said it was from the seatbelt.

I slow down when I see my mom and walk to her side slowly.  My grandparents and aunt are already in the room with her. The TV is off and, except for the sound of the machines, everything is quiet.  My dad gives my mom a kiss and runs his fingers down her cheek. He then helps me lean over and give her a kiss, also. I watch as my dad gives everybody else a hug.  I tell them we won our game and how I gave the man with the baby my winning ball. My dad helps with the story.

My mom grabs my hand then saddens when she sees the cut on my bottom lip.  “Dare, your lip?”

I touch my lip and wince at the slight pain, but smile at how cool it makes me look now.  “Shortstop punched me. There was a fly ball and we both went after it at the same time. Shortstop caught the ball and got the guy out, but…”  

“You were punched for colliding?”  Tia Francis guesses.

“No.  I wanted to make Shortstop feel better with a kiss.”  My cheeks become hot when I feel embarrassed.

“Ay dios mio!” Nana yelps and covers her mouth.  

“Shortstop is the coach’s cute daughter.” Dad laughs.

“Ay dios mio!” Nana exclaims again and pretends she is going to faint.

My Tata starts to laugh along with my dad.  “Ladies man like his ol’ Dad and his Tata.”

“Darian.”  Mom scolds me in a weak voice for smiling.

“Sorry, Mama.  Shortstop hurt her elbow when she fell.  I thought if I kissed her it would make her feel better.”  I frown.

“You kissed her elbow?  That’s not so bad.” Tia Francis rubs my hair playfully.

“No, Tia.  I kissed her on the lips.  They tasted like cotton candy.”   I pause because my dad and grandfather start laughing louder.  “She punched me when I licked her.”

“Ay dios mio!”  My Nana likes to say that, but I don’t know why.  

“Oh, Dare.”  I prepare myself for a lecture when she says those two words, but it looks like it hurts her to talk.  Her expression becomes loving and proud. “Gloria Houle's daughter is so in love with you she’s already planning a wedding.”

“Eww, Mom!  I don’t want to marry Houle the Foul.”  I scrunch up my nose. My dad and grandfather are still laughing.

Houle the Foul is the little girl with black hair that plays on another team. She always hits fouls and hardly ever gets on base.  She’s not as good as Shortstop. She’s not as nice either. Last week she pushed my best friend Sammy for tagging her out on second base.  Mrs. Houle was angry and told the umpire to get glasses. She’s always angry like her little girl.

“Dare, you shouldn’t call her Houle the Foul.  She likes you. You could hurt her feelings.” My mom gives me that look of slight disappointment.

“She always hits me.”  I explain.

“She hits you because she likes you.”  

“That’s dumb.”  I cross my arms and think girls are weird.

My mom chuckles, but it pains her again.  “They can’t resist your charm and those beautiful blue eyes of yours.  Just like your father. Be good, Dare. Remember what I said…”

“I know, I know.  Life, love, and girls are like a baseball game.”

“Yes, baby.  Promise me when a good pitch is thrown your way, you will go after it and knock it out of the ballpark.  Okay?”

“You bet I will!  I love you Mama!” She grabs me for a big hug being careful of the tubes and wires attached to her.

“I love you too, mijo.  You’re going to stay with your Tia and your cousins tonight.  Be good, baby.” She squeezes me tighter and I can feel her tears wetting the top of my head.  I don’t pull away until she lets go. If I would have known it was the last time she would ever hold me, I would have never let her go.