The Signal We Lost

The storm outside mirrored the chaos in Marcus's chest. Lightning fractured the sky every thirty seconds, each flash illuminating the dust-covered cardboard box he hadn't opened since Sarah moved out three years ago. Inside: photographs, ticket stubs, and a VHS tape labeled simply "Game 7."

He hadn't spoken to their former friend David since the funeral—that terrible, bright afternoon when baseball statistics had seemed obscene to discuss, yet David had insisted on reciting Sarah's batting average from college softball like it was scripture. Some people turn grief into numbers. Marcus turned it into silence.

The cable bill sat unpaid on the counter. Service had been cut yesterday, which meant Marcus couldn't watch tonight's game even if he wanted to. But the VCR still worked. He pushed the tape in, watched static resolve into shaky footage from 2008: Sarah in the stands, her face split by a grin as Marcus hit what would be his only home run in amateur league. David camera-shaky commentary in the background. They were so alive, so convinced that friendship—like baseball—operated on eternal rules, seasons returning, bonds never breaking.

Lightning struck closer. The power flickered. On screen, younger Marcus rounded third base, Sarah jumping with pure joy, David shouting something unintelligible but full of wonder.

Marcus's phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost didn't answer.

"Hey." David's voice, thick. "I know it's been years. I was just watching the old game on my phone—found a digital copy somehow. And I was thinking about how Sarah used to say that lightning never strikes the same place twice, but she was wrong. We keep losing people in the same ways, don't we? We keep waiting for the bottom of the ninth, but sometimes the game just gets called."

Marcus looked at the static on the television where Sarah's smile had been, then at the cable box blinking its helpless red light.

"I'm still here," he said.

"Me too," David answered. "Want to listen to the game on radio?"

Outside, the storm broke. The rain began to fall.