Swimming Through Inning Seven

Arthur adjusted his hat, pulling the brim low against the fluorescent glare of the office lights. Forty-seven years old, and he'd finally realized that the corporate structure was nothing more than a pyramid scheme disguised as opportunity—fewer spots at the top, everyone climbing over each other to reach them, and most people just ending up buried at the bottom.

The baseball metaphor had seemed clever during the merger meeting, but now, watching his daughter's swimming lesson through the glass walls of the athletic center, Arthur felt something crack open in his chest. Emma's coach blew her whistle, and Arthur remembered the summer he'd spent teaching his brother to swim, the summer before the accident that had made their parents sell the house with the pool.

"You're missing it again," Emma said later, pressing her wet hair against his shoulder. "The whole race. What's on your mind?"

"Just work," he said, which wasn't entirely a lie. The corporate pyramid was trembling—rumors of another restructuring, early retirement packages offered to those who'd given their best years to building someone else's empire. His brother had never made it past thirty. Arthur had made it to forty-seven, and sometimes he wondered which of them had actually won.

"Coach says I should try out for the team," Emma said, her breath smelling of chlorine and hope. "But what if I'm not good enough?"

Arthur thought about all the times he'd stood at home plate, bat in hand, watching the pitch come straight at him, and how sometimes the bravest thing was simply to not swing. "Sometimes the best baseball players strike out," he said, removing his hat to wipe sweat from his forehead. "It's how you come back to the plate that matters."

The swimming pool's surface rippled with afternoon light, and for the first time in years, Arthur considered what it might mean to start swimming toward something real instead of just trying not to sink.