Perfect Catch(43)

Two minutes later he got the first reply from her. Coming home tomorrow. Talk soon?

Whenever you’re ready.

With no Alice to occupy his present, he needed a distraction. He still felt like he ought to be doing something, but nothing he came up with seemed to be a good idea. He couldn’t help Alice, so he might as well try to help himself.

He’d already played an afternoon game that day, but he had a lot of pent-up energy to burn off. Before learning about what had kept Alice distant, he’d hoped she might help wear him out, but now he’d have to take matters into his own hands.

And somehow, jerking off didn’t feel like the best use of his time.

He returned to the ballpark, where an indoor batting cage was set up in case inclement weather kept the players from being able to participate in outdoor batting practice. After loading the throwing mechanism with balls, he retrieved his helmet from the equipment room along with one of his bats. His gloves were in the locker room, and when he went to collect them, he passed an aging security guard half-asleep in the hallway.

“Hey, boy. You supposed to be here?” the old timer asked.

“Not too sure where I’m supposed to be, but if you mean am I allowed here, then yes.” Alex showed him a security pass.

“Whatcha doing here so late after the game? I usually have this place to m’self.”

“Just gonna hit some balls. Practice a little. Promise I’ll clean up after.” Alex smiled to himself, imagining how this might interfere with the guard’s plans for napping and scratching his nuts.

In the cage, he tried to get loose, taking swing after swing. The familiar crack of the ball coming off the wooden bat and the vibration of it through his hands and arms was a wonderful thrill. It was a comforting sensation that lulled him in the same as a song might send a child off to sleep.

He loved the swing of the bat, but he could tell something wasn’t right with the way the ball was moving. Alex was a left-handed batter, and his hits—when he used to get them—typically went to left field. In the batting cage it was harder to tell what direction a ball might go, but his seemed to be hanging right.

And low.

It meant even though he was hitting for power, his hits were staying in the park and angling themselves directly where they could be caught.

Which meant if he wasn’t striking out, he was going to be thrown out on offensive plays.

What was he doing differently now than he was the previous season? His arm strength hadn’t faltered. If anything he had more bulk, more raw power. He should be doing better not worse. He ought to be hitting more home runs, and instead he sucked so bad he’d been shuffled down to the little leagues.

Adjusting his stance, he tried everything he could think of. He choked up higher on the bat. Lower. He put more weight on his front foot then shifted it to the back instead. He angled his body towards the plate and when that didn’t work, he angled it away. He went through every stupid, wacko stance he’d seen other batters use in the hopes something might click, but nothing did.

The balls refused to gain the appropriate height, and though they sounded beautiful when the initial contact was made, nothing went high enough.

“Yer hittin’ it wrong.”

Alex jumped and pivoted. The old guard was standing outside the cage, his thumbs jammed through his belt loops. He was chewing on something, but Alex suspected it wasn’t bubblegum.

Once he’d caught his breath, Alex muttered, “Yeah. That’s kind of the problem.”

The guard grunted. “I seen a lotta guys come through here. Lotsa swings, y’know? You ain’t bad. Just ain’t hittin’ it right.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” Alex rubbed his nose and prepared for the next swing.

“Fer starters, yer swing is fine, stop playing around with it. It ain’t the bat that’s the problem. It’s you.”

Alex swung through with his usual arc. He made contact, but the ball drove down yet again. “Well, your profound wisdom is obviously helping me a lot. Thanks, old man.”

The guy snorted and seemed to consider spitting something on the floor but thought better of it. “Yer not listening, kid. Problem ain’t here.” He tapped his arm. “It’s here.” Then tapped his forehead. “Yer timing is all off. Either you swing too early or too late. Like yer thinking about something and you forget to move the bat.”

“And what do you propose I do to fix it?” He swung again, with the same flawed result.

“Gotta clear your mind. Get all that garbage out.”

“If you say be the ball I swear to God…”

“Nah, boy. Don’t be the ball. Just grow a pair.”