Dead Air on the Mound

Marcus's palms were sweating through his batting gloves. Again.

"You good, rook?" Tyler called from the dugout, varsity jacket slung perfect-casual over one shoulder. Tyler with his effortless swing and his 300 Instagram followers and his dad who actually coached travel ball.

Marcus nodded. Couldn't let them see him spiraling. Not when Coach was finally giving him a chance at varsity. Not when everything felt like walking a tightrope without a net.

That night, his dad was sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by cable spools and coaxial remnants. Another side gig. Another everything's-fine-we're-making-it-work lecture in the making. The TV flickered static.

"Baseball going okay?" his dad asked, not looking up from the splitter he was crimping.

"Fine."

"You know, I played a little in college." Something in his voice made Marcus actually pause. "Never told you that?"

Marcus stared. His dad? The guy who installed cable for a living and made scrambled eggs on Sunday mornings?

"Hit a homer once," his dad continued, like it was nothing. "Third inning, bottom of the ninth. Felt like the whole universe aligned for exactly one moment."

Then the moment passed. The cable sputtered dead air, and they both laughed. But something shifted in Marcus's chest.

He was walking to first base two days later, ground ball trickling through the infield—his first varsity hit—when he saw it. A cat. Calico, scruffy, sitting perfectly still beyond the outfield fence, watching him like she'd been waiting.

"Yo, Marcus!" Tyler yelled. "Keep running!"

But Marcus slowed. Something about that cat felt like a sign. Like she was telling him: you don't have to perform for everyone. You can just *be*.

He rounded first, heart pounding, and locked eyes with Tyler. Something had changed. The tightrope felt a little less narrow.

Later, he found the cat behind the school. She let him pet her. No performance needed. Just presence.

His dad was right about one thing: sometimes the universe aligns. Not in the big, dramatic ways he expected. But in the small ones. A shared secret about the past. A cat who didn't ask him to be anyone but himself. A hit that didn't have to be perfect to count.

Marcus breathed. For the first time in forever, he didn't feel like he was fumbling for cable in the dark. He was just... playing ball.