The Last Inning of October

The dog — Buster, my mom's ancient golden retriever — limped into my room at 2 AM, nudging my hand with that wet, insistent nose. I'd been lying awake for hours, stomach churning. Tomorrow was the last baseball game of the season, and I hadn't told anyone I wasn't playing anymore. Not my dad who'd coached me since tee-ball, not my teammates who'd group-chatted about nothing else all week.

"What's the point, boy?" I whispered into the dark. "We're gonna lose anyway."

Buster huffed like he understood. He settled onto my floor with a heavy sigh, and that's when I noticed the goldfish bowl on my desk — gunk clouding the water, Goldie barely moving. I'd forgotten to feed him for like three days. Great. Now I was neglecting pets too. I felt like a zombie, some half-dead thing going through motions: school, practice, dinner, repeat. Numb.

"You're not sleeping, are you?" My little sister Sophie stood in my doorway, clutching her stuffed narwhal. "You're thinking about quitting."

"Go back to bed, Soph."

"Dad thinks you're hurt. Mom thinks it's grades. I think you're scared." She stepped into my room. "Remember last year? When I couldn't do that cartwheel in gym and you stayed late helping me until I nailed it? You told me sometimes you just have to keep swinging even when you can't see the ball."

I looked at her. At the goldfish that was somehow still alive. At Buster thumping his tail like he believed in me more than I believed in myself.

"One more inning," I said, mostly to myself. "That's all I got."

The next day, I showed up. We were down 8-2 in the seventh. Two outs. Bases loaded. The pitching machine that had been my nemesis all season fired one toward me — high and outside, exactly where I couldn't reach it. I leaned in anyway. My bat connected with something solid. The ball sailed over the fence. I stood there for a second, honestly surprised.

My dad erupted from the dugout. My teammates mobbed me at home plate. And somewhere in that chaos of shouting and dirt and sweat, I didn't feel like a zombie anymore. I felt awake.

That night, Goldie was swimming in clean water. Buster got an extra treat. And I emailed the coach to put me down for spring season. Sometimes you just keep swinging, right?