Marc sat in the bleachers just behind home plate. He watched the shortstop closely. She was not so tall for a 16 year old girl, but she had a certain fire about her in competition. Even in the time between plays the intensity showed in her eyes. She was sweaty from a hard day in tournament play. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high pony tail that allowed her blue visor to fit just below it. Her sleeves were tied with shoe strings that ran up through the neck of her green and black jersey to give her some relief from the oppressive heat. Her skin was darkly tanned from the combination of her mother's Asian blood and the hours of summer softball play. Her black kneepads were dusty with a few tears.1
She kicked her left foot against her right, then her right against her left, then wandered back near the grass between second and third. She stood straight, feet apart awaiting the next play.2
Runners were at second and third. It was the bottom of the last inning and her team was ahead by one run. There was only one out.3
“Come on Barbie doll,” Marc mumbled under his breath as he looked at the tall slender blonde girl in the pitcher's circle. “We really need a strikeout here. A base hit and it's all over for us.”4
The stout girl standing in the batter's box turned and looked down the third base line to her coach. He touched his right hand to the brim of his hat then quickly wiped his left hand down his right arm, then his right hand down his left arm. He thumped his chin with his right index finger and clapped his hands twice. She nodded and turned back to face home plate.5
Barbie doll looked to her catcher. She was weary from a hard day's play, and her pitches the last inning had begun to show it. She was no longer getting the sharp ball movement, and the batters she faced were no longer baffled. She wiped each eye on her sleeve to remove the sweat, and prepared for the next pitch. 6
Her catcher put two fingers down then touched the inside of her right thigh. She moved both feet into the squatted position and put her bare hand behind her back. She put the catcher's mitt into the lower inside portion of the strike zone. 7
Barbie doll nodded. She put the ball into her glove. All infielders squatted, feet spread, gloves and hands near the ground between their knees. Barbie doll rocked forward. Strain showed in her face as she wind milled. She let out a grunt as she lurched forward releasing the ball with all her might from beside her hip.8
The batter cocked her front leg slightly at Barbie doll’s movement. She stepped forward twisting her hips and brought the bat around sharply.9
A loud ping sounded as aluminum contacted ball. The ball sailed just left of second base – too shallow for the outfielder. It was the perfect soft spot in a defense.10
“Yes!” some people sitting on the third base side began saying. “That's in there!”11
Marc watched Vicki. Her first move was perfect – she read the ball right off the bat. She ran to her left and back. Her glove remained close to her body. Her eyes were fixed upward over her right shoulder as she dug hard for position.12
“Go!” the third base coach shouted. The girls on second and third base left and started to advance. 13
Vicki continued – straining for an extra bit of speed. Her eyes never left the ball as it came closer.14
“Come on,” Marc mumbled.15
Vicki leaped forward. Both feet left the ground and trailed behind her. She extended the glove she had held close to her body ... extending ... now stretching ... stretching. Her body moved parallel with the ground. She strained her left hand forward to get every available inch from her limited frame.16
Ball met leather.17
“Back!” the third base coach began shouting to his base runners. He waved frantically to stop their progress.18
Marc clinched his fist, as if to help squeeze.19
Vicki's right hand covered the prize in her glove. She arched her back then landed on her stomach. She bounced on the grass. The force of all the momentum she had mustered pushed her farther into the outfield. Glove and hands remained above the ground.20
The girl that once occupied second base realized the ball was caught. She turned and began pulling with all her might to get back to second base safely.21
Vicki hit the ground again after the bounce. This time she drew her knees up toward her chest. Her momentum carried her through a roll across her back. She tucked the first leg as it came beneath her on this roll, and used her momentum to push her body onto the second foot as it came into position. 22
“One!” Marc said realizing she still had control of the ball.23
The red headed girl playing second moved into position, one foot on the bag, and the other stretched toward Vicki.24
Vicki brought the ball from her glove to behind her ear and quickly flipped it to her second baseman.25
The base runner began a head first dive – giving her best effort to get a finger onto the base before the ball arrived.26
The ball popped as it reached the pocket of the red headed girl's glove.27
All eyes turned to the man wearing blue and standing just between the pitcher and second base. He punched his right hand forward then pulled his fist back forcefully – his thumb straight up.28
“OUUUUTT!” he called.29
“YES!!” Marc shouted as he leaped over the bleachers in front of him. He pumped his clenched fist in the air and hooted.30
The team began leaping in celebration. Their coach ran from the dugout.31
“Ball game!” the umpire behind home plate exclaimed, but few heard him.32
Marc leaned forward and cupped his hands over his mouth. He stomped his feet, straining until his face turned red as he shouted “THAT'S!! MY!! GIIIIIIRRRRLLL!!”33
Vicki looked toward the bleachers behind home plate at him. Her face lit up as she located Marc. The center fielder reached her and tackled her from behind. The rest of the team arrived leaping, tossing gloves and celebrating.34
“What a play!” one of the other parents said. All the parents began congratulating Marc.35
Marc looked back into the field. The team was all back onto their feet. Schoolgirl smiles decorated every face as they began jogging toward the dugout. Vicki slapped high fives with teammates as they jogged.36
“That smile,” he thought. “I wasn't sure I'd ever see it again, but there it is, and it looks great on her.”37
Two years earlier, he got that phone call. He looked at the caller id. It was Vicki's school.38
“Hello?” he said as he picked up the receiver.39
“Mr. James?” a voice said.40
“Yes.”41
“Hello Mr. James. This is Stacy Johnson, Vicki's counselor at school.”42
“Hello Mrs. Johnson.”43
“Mr. James, I have Vicki in my office with me. We really need to talk to you. Can you come down and visit with us for a while?”44
“OK,” he said, unprepared for the conversation to take this direction. “When?”45
“Right now if possible. Vicki says your office is not very far away.”46
“Yeah, I'm just about a mile from there. What's up?”47
“Vicki has some marks she needs to show you. We asked her which parent we needed to talk to, and she said she wanted to talk to you first. It's an urgent matter.”48
“OK, I need to talk to my boss then I'll be right there.”49
“Marks?” he wondered to himself as he drove to the school. “What sort of marks? It’s not discipline related, or it'd be the principal. But the counselor is telling me about marks?”50
Once at the school, he was quickly directed to Mrs. Johnson's office. He knocked twice. A voice inside told him to come in.51
Vicki sat in the chair across the desk from Mrs. Johnson in this tiny office. Her face looked as if she was unsure whether she should cry, or fight. He walked to her, and hugged her, but she did not reciprocate.52
“Have a seat,” Mrs. Johnson said pleasantly pointing to a second chair on the opposite side of Vicki. 53
Marc sat down.54
“One of Vicki's friends noticed her arms today when they were washing their hands. She was really concerned about what she saw so she told her teacher. Her teacher told me, and I had Vicki come down here and show me her arms.” She turned her attention to Vicki. “Show your dad, hon.”55
Without changing expression, Vicki rolled her sleeves up.56
Marc's face did not change, but his heart fell within him. He took one of Vicki's arm, and brought it closer for inspection. On each forearm was a newly scabbed diagonal cut that went all the way across the underside of her arm. Up and down her forearm s were several similar scratches or cuts that appeared a little older. On some, all that remained of the wounds were descabbed red marks. Some were well defined, and some were broader as if abraded in the areas around them, but there was no denying they were serious wounds.57
Marc looked - mouth agape - into Vicki's face. Although a father is always expected to have the right answer, Marc had none. He searched, but he found no words. A lump raised in his throat. He could not cry, but he also could not swallow the lump.58
Dropping her arm, Marc reached for his little girl. He pulled her head over against his chest and held her. Now, she began to hug him back. Tears welled up in her eyes. She sniffled, but no other sounds escaped her. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head. 59
In the next few weeks Vicki was in and out of the hospital. When she came home Marc set time aside every evening to talk to her privately in her room about what was happening. Sometimes, she felt as if she could not continue for a full day in school. True to her word, she called Marc at these times and he left work and picked her up. Sometimes they would go to the park together, sometimes back to his office, or sometimes they would go home and talk about what was going on. Marc believed that, although the process was painful, the pieces to their lives were beginning to fit back together.60
One evening, Vicki’s older sister came to Marc. She ducked into his room and motioned for him to follow. He complied.61
She closed the door, and leaned back against it. “Dad,” she said. “Vicki has a box knife in her room.”62
“What?” Marc asked startled.63
“She has a box knife in her room. She hid it under her mattress. I saw her. I don’t want to tattle, but I’m scared of what she’ll do.”64
“I understand,” Marc said hugging his daughter. “You did the right thing. I’ll check it out.”65
He looked at the clock. It was close to time for his normal evening appointment with Vicki. He went up the stairs and knocked on her door.66
Vicki answered it. He entered her room.67
“Do you mind if I check something out?” he asked.68
“Okay,” Vicki said uncertainly.69
Marc went to her bed, and lifted the near side of the mattress. A thin silver box knife lay on the box springs beneath the mattress just as Vicki’s sister said.70
Marc picked up the box knife and dropped the mattress. He pushed the slider down until it clicked. A razor blade slid from the opening at the bottom. 71
“God, please give me wisdom,” he prayed in his mind. “I don’t know how to handle this. What do I do?”72
He hid his breaking heart behind a stern look and turned to Vicki. Vicki looked up.73
“Where did this come from?” he asked bluntly waving the box knife in his hand.74
“I don’t know,” Vicki answered.75
“When you came home, we set a rule that you were not supposed to have anything sharp in your room.”76
“I didn’t put it there.”77
“Can we not leave you in your own room? Do we need to move you into our room?”78
“Daddy! I didn’t put it there!”79
“Who did?”80
“I don’t know.”81
“You want me to believe someone came into your room with a box knife, and put it under your mattress, and you don’t know who did it?”82
Vicki sat sullen.83
Marc sat down at the end of her desk.84
“Put your arm on the desk,” he said, sternness not fading.85
“What?”86
“You heard me. Put your arm on the desk.”87
Hesitatingly she complied.88
He examined her arm. No new wounds appeared.89
“Do you want to cut?”90
“Daddy! No!”91
“Tell me what’s going on. Do you want to cut?”92
“Daddy!” she screamed, anger beginning to show in her voice.93
He held her arm next to the desk with his right hand. With his left hand he extended the box knife to her handle first.94
“Take it!” he demanded.95
“NO!”96
“Take it!”97
She reached her free hand and took the knife.98
He exchanged which hand held her wrist. He laid his free arm along hers – forearm up – and grabbed her just above the elbow with his thumb and index finger.99
“You want to cut?!” he said raising his voice to match the intensity in Vicki’s.100
“Daddy! Stop it!”101
“If you want to cut, you’re going to have to cut me first!”102
“Daddy! Stop it!” she screamed again. Tears appeared in her eyes. She pulled her arm, but his grip was strong enough that she could not pull away.103
“No!” he demanded. “Cut me.”104
“Daddy! Stop it!” she screamed. “I can’t stand it anymore!”105
“Neither can I!” he yelled. “Cut me! I won’t stop you! It’ll hurt me much less if you cut me than it will if you cut yourself!”106
“Daddy!”107
“If you want to cut yourself, you’re going to have to cut me first!”108
Vicki dropped the knife on the desk. She dropped her head onto his arm - still lying on top of hers - and began to sob bitterly.109
Marc moved his chair around the corner of the desk that separated them. He pulled her into his lap. She wrapped her arms loosely around him, dropped her head to his shoulder and wept bitterly. He held her tightly and cried with her.110
“Daddy,” she sobbed. “I need to go back to the hospital. I convinced them I was okay, but I was lying. I knew what they wanted me to say, and that’s what I said.”111
“Okay baby. We’ll do whatever you need.”112
“Daddy, I’m through playing games with it. I’m ready to do whatever it takes now. I just want to be better. I don’t want to feel like this anymore!”113
“I believe you. You’re going to get better. I’ll call them. We’ll take you back.”114
The weeks ahead were fraught with difficulty, but Vicki’s attitude was different. She was determined to make the change. Marc and Vicki’s mother only saw her during the one hour visitation period each day.115
The return to school brought many more tears as the cruelty of those with no sympathy brought harsh words down on her. She cried almost every evening as she told Marc what had happened. But each evening after the tears were dried, she told him once again that she was determined to stay the course. “I know I can’t run away from it,” she said.116
The return to competitive softball brought some relief, but Vicki struggled to find her competitive fire again. Concentrating enough to practice batting was a constant struggle, but each day she determined she was going to do better. Each day she practiced and tried – never giving up. Each day Marc could see evidence of her progress toward full recovery. There were no more games – Vicki meant business.117
Now, this day two years later, she celebrated with abandon along with her teammates. 118
Softball players are hard to fully understand. One part of them is fierce competitor, ready and willing to endure scrapes and bruises to get that extra base or make that next out. Another part of them is the soft girlishness of eyes alight when cute boys passed by. One girl was nick-named “guns” for her strong arm, but the strong armed pitcher was nick named Barbie doll. Perhaps that contrast in each player was what Marc saw in Vicki that made her still seem so fragile to him. He believed she was recovered, but his protective instinct kept him alert - looking for any sign of a setback.119
Marc ran to the opening behind the dugout. Seeing him there, Vicki pushed through her teammates and through the back of the dugout. He extended his hand above his head. She jumped slightly and smacked it hard. Her smile went ear to ear and heart to face.120
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Marc said smiling back at her. “Man! What a play!”121
“Thanks,” she beamed back. “But you know what?”122
“What?”123
“I think I’m rolling my wrist when I bat. I’m not sure what it is, but I’m having trouble getting in the middle of the ball. Do you think you can take me to the batting cages tomorrow so I can figure out what I’m doing?”124
“I think I probably can,” he smiled.125
“Okay,” she beamed and ran back into the dugout laughing with her teammates as she stuffed her glove and bat into her bag.126
“Yes,” Marc thought to himself. “She’s recovered.” He smiled, but behind the smile his protective instinct kept him on watch.127
Author notes
This is the only piece you will ever read from me that involves cutting. This one contains cutting only because it is what she came back from, and her comeback is real.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 33 of 33
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Not only was the description of the players spot on, but the emotion in this piece was fantastic. You have created an excellent story here.
Nice job!! -
Thank you very much. I'm glad you liked it.
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wow absolutely brilliantly penned...you have definetly written this with alot of emotion and given this story alot of your insight!
I admire your talent and your ability to write this way...
amazing amazing stuff!!!
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Thank you very much. This is probably the only one I'll ever have posted that involves cutting, but I couldn't do it unless I could include hope in the story.
I'm glad you liked it. Again, thank you. -
Interesting and realistic story.
This is very interesting indeed and you did a fine job in the descriptive passages and how the girl made the recovery from cutting. Normally I do not read things on cutting but this one turned out well in the context in which you rendered this story. -
Thank you for reading and leaving the comment. I guess I had just missed reading any hope in your work, and that was what concerned me. I'm glad to hear that there is hope within you. I'm glad that you liked the story, and I hope the best for you.
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Thank you for the story, I've been through this, and much like Vickie, I too am working on my comeback. That is why several of my poems involve cutting or some sort of pain. It's hard and it is a very long road, because it's something that I must deal with everyday, but I know that it will help me to become a stronger person. One of my poems, Strength, is about that, wanting to be strong but knowing that after a habit it is hard to suddenly drop it. My poems are dark because when I write about what is hurting, even if I can't put my finger on it, I know that it will slowly stop hurting through my words instead of through a knife or razor or whatever else. Some days are harder than others, but I refuse to see anyone, because that wasn't what would help me. I only tell you these things so that you can understand where my writing comes from, not to gain sympathy or attention... attention is the last thing I want because that won't help anything, instead it will only make it worse because then I'm not only disappointing myself when/if I slip up, but everyone who knows about it. Again, thank you for the story, it was an amazing write and brutally honest. Good job!!
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Wow. There are no words. I could almost see Marc screaming at his daughter, demanding of her if she still had the desire to cut. And I could almost hear the pain and emotion in his voice when he told her that she would have to cut him first if she wanted to cut herself.
Contrary to my poem, I have never seriously cut myself. I've only imagined what it would be like to cut/kill myself. Not that I would ever really do it, mind you. But thank you for sending me a link to your story, anyway. I look forward to reading more of your work. -
wow...i'm like in tears! This is really good! very...cute! i really liked it!
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I am no lover of sports in fact they annoy me I love repealing and that is about it. I like the way you use your characters though and your discriptions are cool. all in all not bad if your into this sort of thing.
Donnia
DON'T ANNOY ME YOUR CRUNCHY AND TASTE GOOD WITH KETCHUP!!
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Thank you so much for a wonderful comment queenie.
Thank you also for the comment on the color. I am one of the world's worst at color coordination so comments like that from my friends here are very helpful to me.
Thank you for the thorough reading and the well thought out critique. -
the color made it hard for me to read but since it was a featured piece i didn't want to waste your points so i was determined to get through it.after the first paragraph i didn't care that i was straining to read it because i was caught up.it pulls you in from the beginning by getting you caught up in the excitement of the softball game.that account of the story holds you tightly intrigued.the games is so intense.then it leads into the heart of the story and gets really deep.this is a family story that expresses the role of a father as being more than just the breadwinner.the love and compassion in marc is powerful.the story is very thorough as it shows the stages of vicki's progress and how setbacks plauge every situation.this also was conductive to portraying marc's persistance.it invovles other family members which shows the love that was always there.this is a great story that would go far to helping a lot of young people.you did such an impressive job on this.
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Thank you very much VanillaSugar. I'm glad you liked it. I look forward to reading more of your work in the future.
Edited on Feb 04, 10:34 because '
You changed your name on me right after I posted '.
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AWESOME!!
I loved it!! It is so true to many peoples lives!! Continue to write. You are great!! -
Thank you very much Ashley. Wow, that is quite a compliment! I am very glad to have met you and I look forward to reading your work.
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This is a thoroughly written story. I enjoyed it greatly. The way you have everything here precisely leading into the next heart-wretching event... absolutely genius. You have an extraordinary talent in writing.
Much respect to you
Ashley -
From the commentary, you struck a chord with many, in different ways, congratulations! I too played ball and coached little league for several years and had the honor to do sports writing for local high school teams, boys and girls.
So I loved your very accurate and precise descriptions of the mechanics of the game and the character of the players.
You seem to know a lot more about things than you let on...and it comes out in your writing. Cutting and drugs and promiscuity seemed to reach epidemic proportions in recent years, I cringe when I read new writers on this site and they are darkly suicical and hopeless.
And you criticized me for moving from one aspect of the story to the next, to the next and then to an unsatisfactory conclusion. I had to chuckle as I read and understood how you put the story together, with the flashbacks, the history, the present and hopes for the future. Excellent write my friend, excellent! regards...amicus...
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heart felt-amazeing
this...was a tuff thing to read,it hit so close to home and it brought back soo many memories its truely heart felt and it has raw emotion...i loved it... -
Angel,
I am glad you liked it. I appreciate your confession, too. I won't promise it'll be easier, but you can be better also. I will pray for you.
I hope you will relate to those around you who love you and are willing to help. Like I said, it may not be easy, but you can get past it. IM me any time and we'll talk about it more. I love you girl. I know other people closer to you love you too .
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omg wow...i almost cried...that made me fell very very sad..seeing as i myself have cut..reading that makes me ashamed of myself..but wow im speechles it was just brilliant..you have a strong way with words..that was amazing..it made me so very sad though..if i don't stop here i might start crying uncontrolably..so i will end this comment but really you have a way with words..good job and keep it up..simply amazing..
-alone- -
Thank you very much Renee. Yes, I am a spiritual person, and I believe strongly in the healing and deliverying power of God. I'm very glad to hear that you are fully recovered.
7 straight strikeouts is very impressive! I would like to have seen that with you!
Thank you so much for your comments. I truly appreciate it. -
Steve,
Thank you for sharing this poignant story with all of us. The "cutting" epidemic amoung our young people is real. I am one than believes if we ignore a catasrophe it will soon appear on our front porch with all it's baggage.
I have a 24 year old daughter, Rochelle, who played softball, and was the pitcher for her high school team. I could hardly sit through a game where she struck out seven girls in a row! I fully understand the sport, as I was also a coach for the Boys & Gilrs Clubs of Cleveland for two years. Your descriptions are exact, and I was in the stands with you.
I also screamed when your daughter screamed, "no mas!" I have been in the pit of addiction and it is hell to climb out. I commend the efoorts of parents who are support systems for their children. Vicki got the proper help institutionally, and from her family, that is so necessary. I applaude your efforts to help through experience. It is rare that a parent is willing to express this side of things. Blessings to you and your family.
"Keep watch", the demon is always lurking, waiting for us to put our guard down. Watch her closely still, she is always vunerable. We never fully recover, the same as any other dis-ease, it can resurface. I am not sharing that information as a scare tactic, it is also as real as the epidemic. Your daughter is strong and she has prevailed.
My reccommendation, if you are spiritual, ask God to deliver her...deliverance is final, if you believe at all in the miracle. I will keep you in my prayers.
Much Love,
Renee
I will send others to read this story.
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amazing
wow, im speachless, literally. . .that was amazing. . .what can i say. . . keep it up
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Wow! Thank you everyone. I am happy you liked it.
The emphasis on softball was because that was how Marc was gauging her recovery. She could not compete with all her heart while she was struggling with her problems. The details of the play are there both because I wanted to create a kind of verbal slow motion, and also because every detail (such as keeping the glove close to her body when she ran) is a fundamental that is taught to softball players. I wanted to write the story in a way that would be entertaining, but keep it accurate so that softball players don't stop reading before they get through the setup.
I appreciate everyone's comments. You guys are great.
Edited on Jan 06, 8:07 because 'spelling'. -
that was so sad, but happy too cause in the end she got better. good job.
Vicky^_^ -
An Alarming Story:f
Amazing! Wow, when you asked God for wisdom, He sure didn't let you down. So happy that you guys are on top of the struggle. God Bless You! This is the first time I have ever read a poem from a parent's perspective. That has got to be a killer to find out your child has a type of addiction. We as parents would rather die a thousand deaths than to loose one of our own. Excellent!!!!!
Edited on Jan 05, 9:01 p.m. because ''. -
This was a very touching story. Personally, I could have done with less baseball, but other than that this story was very nicely done. I think that you handled an important subject to today's youth. I hope that this isn't a true story, but if it is then at least things got better.
Good writing. Thank you for sharing this.
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Well, I'm glad I checked back. You've done such a wonderful job with this that I am amazed. I wish I was that close to my parents. I'm glad she's fine
~~Jessica
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This is a wonderful story of pain, love, compassion, understanding and hope. I think there's not many people who do understand this dort of dilemma that seems rampant among our youth. When I first heard of it, I was disgusted, and got tired of hearing about it.....then I read a newspaper article about it and the young people who do it. I've never felt the same about it since. It's a real problem, one that needs compassion understanding and help. Many schools have started counseling for this, as they've come to realize the need for it.
You've done an excellent job with this story, a great message, an important one. Kudo's, Steven.
Granny Goose
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I have daughter that went through something similar. When Kimberly told me to come read this, I wasn't expecting this. I was expecting something good because she never steers me wrong, but not like this. I hope every cutter on here will read this story. There are so many here. My daughter's battle was brief. We were very fortunate. I have just lived this incident with you through your words my friend.
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I am speechless. Tears are streaming down my cheeks and I have no clue what to say. You have written this so well and have re-enacted the situation so perfectly that I felt as if I was there. Tears sprang to my eyes as she screamed that she couldn't stand it anymore. My heart felt so sad and heavy as I read this. This is amazing Steven. This is simply amazing!
~Kimberly
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I'm sitting here howling like a kid, you have a way of making the reader live the situation with you, Steve the only thing I felt on the neg. side was perhaps the opening could have been a little storter, its a wonderful story of love and understanding, great write
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Steve Hi ,can you change or colour writing or background a bit hard to read black on grey, thanks
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