The locker room is loud and insane, all my teammates shouting and reliving the last few hours of our final high school baseball game. The state finals. State Champions. That’s what we are now. Riding the high of all that means to our small town. Especially those of us seniors who have left blood, sweat, and a few tears on the turf as we played together the last eight years. At least for those of us who started when we were just fourth graders. For a few lucky ones, their baseball careers won’t end on the field tonight. They’ll go on to play at smaller colleges and even a Big Ten school.
The one lucky enough to be courted and recruited by the Big Ten school? My best friend since second grade. Tyson Davis and I have been practically inseparable since the day we met. The only thing opposite about us, the color of our skin. Well, that, and the fact that we’re built totally different. Where I’m 6’3” and 225 pounds, he’s 6’0” and 170 on a good day. That’s why during football season I’m a center and he’s a running back. He’s got the speed. I’ve got the size and muscle. We’re a good team no matter what sport we’re playing but baseball? That’s where we dominate. I catch whatever he pitches, reading each other to damn near perfection because we’re best friends off the field, too.
“We did it, B. We fucking did it!” he hollers.
“Heck yeah, we did!” I grin at Tyson as he reaches out and pulls me in for a hug. We slap each other on the back and push away to continue our celebration with everyone else.
“Party at Johnson’s field?”
“Obviously.” I smirk. “His dad left a path to the back of the field so we would be hidden.”
“Like the cops won’t know?” He laughs but knows that doesn’t matter. The cops of our small town won’t touch us. Not tonight. Not after we brought the championship to our town. Giving us another year of bragging rights. As long as no one drives drunk and we keep the party there, they’ll turn a blind eye to the festivities. Benefits of living in a small town, I guess.
I shrug as I strip down out of my uniform, holding my jersey in my hands for the last time. Staring down at it, a million memories play out of spending my summers at the ballfield. I’m a boy of summer through and through, loving the feel of a glove on my hand and a ball cap on my head. Always covered in sweat and dirt, stains that my mother perfected getting out of my uniform. I’ll miss this. I’ve worn number 14 since I was a freshman, eager to play with the big boys. Now I am one. Or was.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Tyson’s dark eyes boring holes in me. The bad part about having a best friend for most of your life? They know too much. Even when you’re being an emotional sap.
“You know you could have taken one of the offers.”
I shake my head and toss my dirty uniform in the bin with all the others. “Nah. I’m done. College ball wouldn’t be the same without you guys.”
“You don’t know that.”
He’s right, I don’t know that. But I have a pretty good idea. My dad went on to play college ball for a few years and hated every minute. Not because he didn’t love the game. Because the love of the game wasn’t as strong when his brothers weren’t on the field with him, playing for the town they love and have grown up in. When I’m crouched behind home plate, I don’t have to worry about my boys doing their job just like they don’t have to worry about me doing mine. I can’t imagine killing myself for someone I’ve only just met or gaining that comradery. Maybe it’s weird, but I loved playing baseball with the same guys I grew up with. Who I met in T-ball. That’s what made it fun. It wasn’t about the wins or losses. It was fun. End of story.
We make our way naked to the showers, no modesty left between us, turn on the spray, and make quick work to get cleaned up so we can load into the bus. We’ve got a party to attend. And I’ve got a girl to see.