Oil Stain - 2

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"I'm the other end," he said in a whisper to himself as the batter stepped back into the box. "Hey, you gonna miss this one too?" he asked the batter with 'Becker' and the number fourteen stenciled on his back. Jonathan rose onto the balls of his feet and adjusted his mask that had slipped down from the river of sweat coming off his forehead. Becker looked down at him, and with that Jonathan knew he had gotten into his head. He flashed a two with his right hand between his legs signalling to the pitcher, Kevin, to throw another fast ball. Kevin gave one shake, left to right, of his head letting Jonathan know that is not the pitch he wanted to throw. "It's three two, Becker, are you feeling lucky?" He flashed a three, the knuckleball, Kevin's chin went up then down. "Here comes another one of his fastballs, Becker, don't miss." He took his elbow off of his knee and placed his left hand in front of his chest. Kevin gave a quick glance to first base. Jonathan could hear the umpire lower himself with a grunt to see the strike zone more clearly, getting ready for the pitch. "Hey Becker, I'm the other end." There was a slight twitch of Becker's head, he almost looked at him, Jonathan was in and he knew it. His coach always told him the pitcher was usually the star but the catcher is "the other end" of that pitch and without a prepared other end there could never be a game won. Kevin kicked his right knee up high and locked eyes with Jonathan, the ball flew fast, dropped and with a sting stopped dead in Jonathan's glove. 

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Between her feet the grass was illuminated by a beam of sunshine, he felt that he could count each blade of grass and name a different shade of green for each one. His heart beat. The bench, white, glowed as his pupils dilated with his excitement. He slowly took her hand and entwined their fingers, he was acutely aware of how sweaty his one hand had become. He forced his eyes from their hands to her face and felt the audible swallow as he said her name. "Mary."

"Yes."

"Um." His heart raced. "Um, I was, well." He bit his lower lip and took a breath through his nose expanding his chest, his eyes widening causing everything to brighten. Her flowered dress turned almost neon with its purples and greens. They had held hands on this bench all summer watching the frisbees, dogs, and picnicers, but today the last day before they went into seventh grade he wanted to kiss her. He took another deep breath and asked, "Can I kiss you?"

"Of course silly!" she said smiling.

She waited for him to lean in and closed her eyes. Jonathan kept his eyes open to make sure he didn't bump noses and as his lips touched hers he shivered from head to toe.

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"Son." The voice was deep. "Son." The shadow was dark. "Jonathan." He squinted, his eyes open.

"There you are son," said a man in a plaid shirt and baseball cap. On the cap was the letter 'N' with a 'Y' interlaced on top of it. 

"Dad?" Jonathan questioned, "You look old. Where am I?"

"You're in a recovery center, a hospital of sorts, I'm just glad you recognized me."

"Mr. Murrell," this voice seemed to pour from the walls, "do not strain him, at this time his circuitry is extremely fragile."

"Son, to see your blue eyes see me," his father paused and wiped his nose, "do you recognize this hat? They said they were bringing those memories today."

"Mr. Murrell, it is time to go," the faceless voice stated.

"But...he's...finally becoming my son!" his father turned to shout at the mirror hanging in his room.

"Dad, I'm tired, can you come back later?" Jonathan said, his voice turning to a whisper as he closed his eyes.

"Did you just shut him down!" he heard his father scream as the blackness took over him again.