I was distracted the whole way to the campgrounds, worrying about Davey. But once we arrived, Coach kept us so busy that we couldn’t think about anything but baseball. Drills, laps, weight training, and watching tapes of our teams and those of our rivals– we barely had enough time to breathe. It sounds bad, but I was actually grateful for that.
Only at night, when I was lying face up in my bunk, did the anxiety get the best of me. I’d want to call home and check up on everyone, but it was always too late. So all I could do was lay there, trying to picture what Davey must look like now, before exhaustion took me over and I’d get a few hours of sleep.
It was the worst spring break of my life.
And it seemed to drag on forever. Coach even commented that I’d lost a little of my hustle, but I was still far and away the fastest guy on the team, so he didn’t press the issue much.
But finally Saturday morning arrived and we all piled into the bus to head home. Three agonizing hours. I wanted to jump to my feet and order the driver to step on it.
Being that we were the top ranked high school ball team in the country, the school’s budget allowed for curbside service. This was good because we didn’t have to drag our stuff home or bother our parents for a ride. It was bad because mine was the last stop on the route. I was ready to put my fist through a window by the time we rolled up to my house.
I didn’t even say goodbye to Coach as I snatched up all my stuff and sprinted to my front door. I was lugging a pile of crap, and so I kicked the door several times to let everyone inside know that I’d returned.
It swung open and both my parents were hugging and kissing me, although I noticed wryly that neither of them moved to help me with my stuff. That’s the problem with being the strongest one in the family– everybody thinks you can handle everything.
"Hi, honey!" said my mother, kissing me on the cheek. Gee, if I’d had a free hand I could have wiped the lipstick off.
My dad clapped me on a small free space on my back, almost knocking me over. "How was the retreat?"
What did it take to get a little help around here? "Exhausting. Where’s the pipsqueak? Usually he’s the first one here to welcome me back."
Mom and Dad glanced at each other and my heart dropped into my stomach.
"What is it? What’s wrong?"
Mom fisted a hand against her breasts. "Davey... he’s..."
"Oh, God." I dropped my suitcase and all of my equipment onto the floor, barely registering the resulting crash. "What happened? Is he in the hospital?"
My father covered my shoulders with his hands. "He’s here, but... it’s hard to explain..."
Something vital inside of me snapped, and I grabbed my dad by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. Now, I’d never laid a hand on anyone in my family in anger before, but right now I was mad as hell and scared out of my mind. That’s no excuse, I know, but it’s the only explanation I have for doing it. "What do you mean, <i> it’s hard to explain?</i> How hard is it to pick up a phone? If something bad happened, you should have <i> fucking called me! </i>"
The look on his face was so stunned that I knew he wouldn’t be able to answer me now. I snatched my hands away and ran to the foot of the stairs. "Davey!" I yelled. "Davey, where are you, pipsqueak?"
An excited voice answered me. Davey’s for sure, but different somehow. "Justin!"
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