Third Base

He and I hold silent conversations and quiet
applause when she steps up to bat. You
can tell by the stance and eager look
painted on her eyes that she means
business. Like a bull, she scrapes
dust back with her right foot—
prepared for battle. The baseball
sprints from the pitcher’s hand
straight until the collision with
Nikki’s bat. Flawless hit. She
pushes the wooden cylinder to
the ground—it’s not important
anymore—getting a home run
is. Scoring points is. And she’s
gone. Cutting first base into
a perfect corner, she makes
her way to second. You
can smell her concentration
from her pursed lips. Focus.
Determination. Fast. She
rounds second and is
now on somewhat of
a curve towards third,
halfway there. At some
moment, her stare
cracks to her peripherals
and she spots the
other team with the
ball. They’re gaining,
stretching their leap
past the limit their
body seems to give.
Only centimeters
away from getting
her out, she dives
for the white patch
on the ground.
Her scream eats
away at my
eardrums as the
rickety bone
of her ankle
cracks apart.
Out.