Disclaimer: "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" and all of its wonderful characters are the property of Warner Bros.
Author's note: The recent passing of former First Lady Barbara Bush got me thinking about how much daily life has changed since the eighties. This story is set in April of 1988.
He could do it. He hadn't called upon his skills in this area recently, and so it was only natural that he'd grown a little rusty. He squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun, and took a deep and hopefully calming breath. He'd spent the past several weeks being coached for this moment. His coach believed in him, and he himself had believed he was ready to take on this challenge only yesterday.
Today he felt differently. His mouth felt achingly dry, while perspiration was drenching the collar of his polo shirt, but intellectually he knew that it was a very temperate April day. He hastily swiped a clammy hand against his thigh, and then locked the object that he was holding in his other hand in a death-grip.
"Focus on your target."
He squared his shoulders and carefully eyed an imaginary bull's eye that loomed only yards away from him.
"Take your time, and don't let the other guy spook you. If you control the moment, than you have a much greater chance of achieving your objective."
"C'mon Phillip, don't just stand there, you aren't the only freshman who's trying out for a spot on this team. Practice will be over in half an hour, and you haven't thrown a single pitch," griped the adolescent catcher.
When I was playing on the Bombers, I never felt this kind of pressure to prove myself, but then Mom was coaching the team. Jamie and I tried to do our best, and we didn't enjoy losing, but the main thing was just having a good time with our friends.
"Hold your horses," he replied to the impatient upperclassman. He drew back his pitching arm and eyed the batter, trying to project more self-confidence than he actually felt, as Lee's advice to him replayed in his mind.
"That's nonsense, utter nonsense!"
The all too familiar woman's voice carried across Arlington High School's baseball field from the bleachers and broke his concentration. It was a voice that he generally found comforting, she'd been a constant in his life for as long as he could remember, but he recognized her current tone, and it was one that he'd always found unsettling.
He hastily pitched the ball and turned around to see his grandmother, her head tilted to the left and her hands planted firmly on her hips. Oh, no! He knew that look; she was barely keeping her temper in check. He'd made it clear to his family that they didn't need to come and watch him practice-after all he wasn't a little kid anymore. Joe had readily agreed to stay away, as he suspected that he would, considering that practice took place during work hours. Amanda and Lee were busy working on a major "project" at IFF so they hadn't given him an argument either.
Dotty, on the other hand, had looked so dejected when he'd asked her to stay away that he relented. They shared a love of baseball, and how could he ask her to keep her distance when she was the only person who'd always been there for him. His thoughts turned unbidden to the worst day of his life.
Phillip sat slumped over the table in the eerily quiet kitchen. Dotty walked in and began to silently make sandwiches.
"How's Jamie? Is he still crying?"
"No, we talked for a while, and then he said that he wanted to take a nap. Telling her grandsons that their mother had been shot in California had been the most difficult thing that she'd ever had to do. Jamie had alternated between crying and asking her a slew of questions that she couldn't answer. She'd dealt with him as best she could. She was more concerned about an uncharacteristically quiet Phillip.
"Don't worry about me, Grandma, I'm not a baby and I'm not going to start crying," Phillip stated quietly. He sat up straight in his chair, while avoiding making eye-contact with Dotty. "It's not as though Mom could…die…she's not hurt that seriously, is she?
Dotty's hands shook uncontrollably as she continued with her sandwich preparations. She couldn't help her daughter, but she could care for her grandsons.
"When Lee phoned, he said that your Mom's injuries are," she struggled with her word choice for a moment and then continued, "significant."
"But she won't die, will she?"
"Phillip you aren't a little boy anymore," she walked over to where he was sitting, "so I won't lie to you, she could die."
"No, Grandma, she can't leave us. Jamie and I…we are still kids…who'd take care of us?" He swiped violently at the tears that threatened to stream down his cheeks.
"You boys have your father." Phillip looked at her doubtfully. "And you have me; I'll always be here for you."
"You aren't as young as you used to be-"
"No, I'm not, but I'm not completely over the hill either. Your mother is young and strong, and we have to think positively. She's a fighter, and she has a lot to live for. I believe that she's going to be just fine."
"But, you can't guarantee that she'll be okay," Phillip probed brokenly.
She reached out and stroked his tear-stained cheek, as he continued to avoid eye contact with her. "Look at me, and listen carefully. I don't make promises that I can't keep, so I won't promise you that your mom will come home to us, but I will guarantee that as long as I live you won't be able to get rid of me."
"I'd never want to get rid of you, Grandma, I love you…"
He offered her an awkward teenage embrace that she turned into a full-fledged hug, as tears rolled down both of their faces.
As Phillip's thoughts returned to the present, he realized that a part of him was glad to have Dotty rooting him on. However, he was a teenage boy, and if he did make the team, he didn't want to be known as the kid with the crazy grandmother so he sprinted across the field hoping to prevent a scene.