Deep breath in, deep breath out. A warm, stream of air intensifies on the back of my neck. A shadow of a wide figure darkens the space around me. The cold March air grounds me back to the moment in front of me.
The batter steps up to the plate, blocking my sight of the runner staring me down at third base. The pitcher shakes off my first sign and seems to approve of my next as she gets herself ready to pitch.
I close my glove around air as I am watching the ball rocket right over the pitcher. The ball is stopped in midair with a crisp snap of the glove. The batter is out. But the runner on third still decides to come barreling towards me.
All I can hear is muffled shouting from both teams as the ball comes whizzing in from short stop right into the dirt in front of me. I manage to stop the ball in its tracks before it gets away. I can hear a crow screeching like something is wrong. At this point I know I am too far from the plate to reach the runner, so I throw my body at the runner.
We collide at the plate.
“That’s all I remember”, I said nervously to the doctor “the next thing I remember is waking up here”.
I look over to the computer next to the woman in the white coat.
June 25, 2021.
The world stopped around me and my heart dropped to my feet.
How long have I been here?
I whip my head around. A loud thud interrupts me from my thoughts. Three crows are perched outside the window.
The doctor hurries over to the window and shuts the blinds. Her head spins back over to meet my gaze and she leaves me with a motionless smile.