“Bitch!” The small kid says to the playgroup mom.
“Why would you say that?” The kid’s mother says, full of question, leaving a playgroup meeting for the last time.
Growing up next to a park has its perks. For instance, being the son of the president of a recreational facility grants you the ability to pick out a jersey number before anyone grabs it, a spot on any team he coaches, and the ability to try new candy before anyone else gets to purchase it from the snack bar.
“Enjoy life while you’re young.” A father says to two boys one night before a practice, staring at the orange and purple setting sky.
“Plastic makes perfect.” Toby says to his brother while buckling a stuffed grizzly bear into the middle of the backseat.
A smirk back reveals knowledge of a speech impedament, and a bunch of enthusiasum.
“Hey, Jew Boy!” A voice that sound like a carton of Pall Malls croaks as all three of the Cohens turn around.
“Hey, Mr. Fahrt.” The father non-aggressively responds. “Kids, can you get the stuff out of the van?”
“Sure, Dad.” They respond in unison.
“My favorite undervidual. How’s the building doing?” Mr. Fahrt says as he sips a Busch Light in a Maryland Terrapins koozie while staring at the boys from a riding tractor.
“I own my own business, too, you know?”
“Just checking.” He says, looking back at the father. “You know Johns Hopkins is looking for a place to move nurses if you’re interested in selling it.”
“I think I’m okay for right now. Business is good. Nice seeing you, Mr. Fahrt.”
“Dad, I don’t want to practice tonight.” The youngest son says to his father.
“Just enjoy it while you can.”
“Can somebody get that dog off the field? It shouldn’t be allowed up here.” A voice bellows from off in the distance.
“Oh, shoot.” Mr. Cohen says, while moving towards a dog that is hitting a soccer ball with the tip of her snoot. The only upset person is a coach. “Bella, come here!”
A SUV drives by with arguing parents in the front seats. A girl in the back pins her lip above her top teeth and grins a large smirk at Toby. A police vehicle follows closely behind.
Number 12 steps up to bat, hits a single, takes the base and begins to lead. The second basemen looks over at the coach, who isn’t looking at him, nods and prepares himself. The next batter-up bunts and number 12 is tagged out after a slide towards 2nd leaves a mound of sand caked in his ear and nose. On the sidelines, Toby throws up a small, clear, pebble as a bat catches it and flys its course. As number 12 stands up to dust himself off, his vision ‘clicks’ as everything becomes doubled and staggered. Swirling translucent spirals encapsulate as vertigo overtakes the player, causing him to fall over without being able to support his own weight on impact. Mr. Cohen takes the field as everyone takes a knee while the player has a seizure that lasts for a few very long minutes. A parent takes over coaching the game as Mr. Cohen carries Liam to the car, with Toby following quizzically.
Visions of green, etched, glass inundate Liam as he writhes in the back of the van. He doesn’t understand why he is seeing these things. He begins to bleed from the nose, which Toby brings to his father’s attention. Upon arriving at the hospital, an EMT is waiting outside with a gurney due to being notified that they would soon be wheeling up to the curbside. While waiting for the doctors to make an assessment Toby zips around unfazed on the grout between the tile. Liam’s seizure is labeled a concussion and he is promptly released with instructions to not fall asleep for the next day or so.
The next morning, Liam asks his father, “Why are you so nice when people talk to you like they do?”
“We don’t talk about that, we just giggle about it while we wash our hands.”
END
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