I stepped into the familiar lines of a batter box. I dug in, pulled my bat back, and eyes the pitcher. It was foggy and hard to see. That's the problem with living on the coast of Northern California. There's something called the marine layer and it made it cloudy almost every morning. I squinted at the pitcher, trying to find him in the mess of white.
The pitch came from nowhere and I was unable to react in time.
"Strike one!" This umpire was extra loud.
I squinted at the direction of the mound, but still couldn't find the pitcher. Another fastball came in and my hands couldn't move my bat fast enough. I whiffed. "Strike two!" I completely, and utterly, missed the ball. I stared in disbelief at my bat.
"Hard to imagine you having a perfect batting average when you can't even keep your eye on the ball." Someone said. I looked around trying to find the source to argue that I didn't have a perfect average. I already hit a fly ball!
"Focus on the ball!" I heard Noah say from afar.
Right. I already had two strikes. I faced the invisible pitcher and tried to have my bat ready, but it started to feel foreign in my hands, like it no longer belonged. I took a look at it, and it wasn't my bat! I must have grabbed an aluminum bat by mistake. I dropped it, feeling like it was burning me. A pitch flew right past me into the catchers glove.
"STRIKE THREE! You're out!"
Me? I'm out? A strikeout too? I looked down at the bat, but it wasn't aluminum…it was just wood. How? I grabbed my bat and dragged myself back to the dugout, trying to figure out what just happened.
"You idiot! What were you thinking?!" I was grabbed as soon as I entered the dugout. Chris was shaking me by the front of my jersey. "We could have scored more runs!!"
I frowned. "You're not supposed to be here. Mr. Atkins said you wouldn't be here."
Chris gave an eerie smile. "Oh? I'm not?" His face started to morph and his hair grew longer and started to curl. That face…a small nose, thin lips, and the forehead wrinkles. My heart started to pound, my breathing felt labored, and I started to struggle out of the hands of the monster.
My mom. It's been almost a year since I've seen her face. I moved frantically, trying to escape.
"Playing baseball?! I. SAID. NO." A hand came with blazing speed at me and connected with my face.
I gasped and sat up, surrounded by darkness. I was panting, trying to breathe in oxygen. I looked around me trying to figure out where I was. Everything was so dark. I blinked a couple of times to let my eyes adjust. I was in a bed, in a plain looking room. The hotel room.
A snore from beside me made me jump, causing me to slide off the bed and landed on the floor. Ouch. I rubbed my hip and I slowly stood up and looked at the culprit. Noah was spread out on the bed, letting out light snores, not even noticing my panic attack and fall. On the other side of the room, Mr. and Mrs. Atkins were sleeping peacefully on their bed. I sighed. It was just a dream. No. A nightmare. And nightmares aren't real. Just a figment of my imagination.
I went to the bathroom to pee. After washing my hands, I splashed some water on my face to wash away the sweat. My heart was still beating like a drum, hard and fast. I took a few more deep breaths to try and steady myself. I walked out of the bathroom and saw that they were still sleeping soundly so I checked the time to see how much longer it would be until breakfast.
3:12am
I ran my fingers through my hair, debating about what to do. I could just lie in bed and wait until Noah wakes up…but that'll be awhile. Or I could just go for a walk around the hotel…but it's the middle of the night and adults would find me suspicious.
There's no way I could just fall back to sleep after that nightmare, but it doesn't hurt to try, I guess. I got back under the covers on my side of the bed and focused on my breathing. That whole nightmare was unsettling. From not being able to see the pitcher, holding the wrong bat, striking out, being grabbed by Chris, and finally to the moment that my mom showed up. I've never had such a bad nightmare before. At least, not one I could remember.
I was used to living with a nightmare in the real world so I never paid too much attention to my dreams before. This was unprecedented for me. I stared into darkness, thinking about my nightmare. Playing it over and over again.
Not seeing the pitcher wouldn't be plausible in reality. Even thick fog wouldn't cloud my vision like that, or if it did, the game would be suspended. Next would be the part about holding the wrong bat. It would also be impossible to mistake my bat for an aluminum one. The feel would be different and plus they don't even look similar. I discarded the early parts of my nightmare.
Chris grabbing me was just a coincidence since it happened earlier today. My brain was probably just stealing some memories to entertain itself. Mr. Atkins said Chris would think again before putting hands on me. So even if the fear is there, at least I know the Atkins would step in to protect me.
As for mom? The nightmare was pretty accurate there. The way she looked, the manner she spoke…it could have been a memory too, but there were a lot to go off of. I couldn't remember a time where I didn't get hurt or verbally assaulted. At least when I was young, I just remembered being ignored.
Not in a bad way…just, not as important. Like my role in the family was close to a plant in the corner. I was just there, existing. And then after my dad and brother left, I was front stage and center to my mom's abuse.
A light flipped on, startling me out of bed again. I groaned as stood up.
Mr. Atkins let out a laugh. "Sorry, Jake. I didn't realize you were up already. I figured this would be the best way to wake you two up."
I eyed the clock. 5:40am. "I couldn't sleep very well."
"Oh." Mr. Atkins got closer, studying my face. "You look a little pale. Do you want to try and nap some more? I can wake you when it's time to get in the car."
I shook my head. I won't be able to sleep now.
He eyed me. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. It was just a nightmare." I grabbed my uniform that Mrs. Atkins washed and laid out last night. Then I went to the bathroom to change. I really don't want to talk about it. Not today. We had an important game to play, without Zeke too. My wild imagination just needs to stop. I'm okay, I'm alive.
