I get the feeling that I should add more to this -- and I may, someday -- but for right now, it is what it is -- a piece of short fluffy Joe-ishness. Apparently, I can't write Joe without having some Mimoe included. Oh, well. You all Have Been Warned.
I don't own Joe. I don't own the people who made him into a worrywart over all of his allergies. But, for once, I'd like to thank 'em -- after all, now all of us who suffer from allergies constantly (seasonal allergies are a pain) have a poster geek. ^_-
Allergies
by Rb
Spring is my worst season.
All the pollen in the air, all the dust kicked up -- it goes
straight to my nostrils and sends me into a sneezing fit.
It's not fair, and it's not fun, but what's a kid to do? I keep
pills in my backpack in case I go into shock, avoid eating
anything made in school grounds, and use every excuse I can to
get out of school. I've gone home sick for three afternoons in a
row and end up eating my mom's chicken soup, and I have the added
perk of being able to skip gym class.
I would have done that today, but it's the last day before spring
break and a half-day already -- if I went home early, I wouldn't
have enough credits for it to be a full day of school, and I
don't want to break my perfect attendence record.
Gym class in April is devoted to softball. All the guys complain
about how wussy the balls are and why can't they use real
baseballs instead of the stupid, over-sized softballs. All the
girls complain about being outside, how cold the wind is, and how
they want to go indoooooooors noooooow!
Me, I like standing in the outfield, the only place my classmates
will put me. The sun is warm, the wind pleasantly cool, and I
don't like to complain, for once. I like to realize how much
tougher I am than the other kids are. I mean, I've saved two
worlds several times over, not to brag.
Nope! No bragging here! Won't get any more modest than ol' Joe
Kido, Digidestined, bearer of the Crest of Reliability, (one of
the) savior(s) of the world...
"KIDO! What are you DOING?" bellows Chad, one of my
classmates, who is over-gifted in the brawn department but
unfortunately neglected in the brain department. "GET THE
BALL!"
Of course, being a hero doesn't stop me from daydreaming and
completely missing the softball which was thwacked with precision
to deep center field, several yards to my right. I dive for the
ball, but it skips between my legs. Wincing, I waddle in an
undignified manner, scoop up the ball, and toss it to Kenny, the
brutish pig guarding first. The ball lands a few feet in front of
him. He groans and moves to pick it up.
The runner's rounding second.
When the play is over, the runner's on third and two runs scored.
I feel very reliable. The rest of my team is upset:
before we were tied, now we're down by two.
I feel like saying "it's only a game!" However, I know
it won't work. To them, the gym games are a life and death
matter. Matt was kinda like that, everything life or death, no
middle ground. The digital world was more intense than any gym
class, though.
Eventually, the other team gets three outs and I walk to the
dugout. My team shuns me; I sit alone on the end of the bench.
Another class is practicing baseball drill skills nearby. From
their gym uniforms, I can tell they're from the local elementary
school, which uses our facilities for physical education. I crane
my neck, searching for anyone I know.
While I'm looking around nervously, some kind-hearted girl with
pretty brown hair tied in a ponytail glances my way. Her eyes
meet mine, and my heart lifts as I realize this is no chance
accident. She nudges her red-headed partner.
"Hey, Izzy," Mimi says in her high sweet tone that
carries clearly to my ears, "there's Joe! HI, JOE!" She
waves her arms frantically. I lift my chin in return. She grins.
"Nice to see you have a cheering section among the
babies," says Chad's ugly voice, and I turn my head to meet
him in the eyes. I suppose he would be handsome if he didn't have
such a direct resemblence to an ape, or some sort of
behind-scratching insect-eating mammal.
"What do you want, Chad?" I ask, working on keeping my
tone light and even.
"You're up this inning," he says, wrinkling his nose.
"Too many girls on this team, we need to keep the lineup
'boy-girl-boy-girl. You're after Toni and before Jen." Two
girls that believe cheerleading is a valid sport and list
'painting their nails' as extracurricular activities. Clearly,
I'm with la creme de la creme.
Inside, I'm pretty worried, though. I haven't played serious
baseball since my Little League days back when I was nine, and I
was a benchwarmer anyway. I don't particularly care about doing
well in front of my classmates, but I don't want to look stupid
in front of Mimi and Izzy -- especially Mimi. I mean, there's
nothing worse than looking bad in front of your closest friends,
especially when their opinion...
...be truthful, her opinion...
...means more to you than you can admit.
The first kid up to bat is a shy girl by the name of Sage, short
and slow. After two swings, she manages to hit a grounder that
catches the infielders by shock and ends up on first.
Next is Phil, a lanky blond whose innate grace rivals Matt's. He
hits the ball to shallow center field, making it look too easy.
He ends up on second, while Sage waddles to third.
Toni's up next. I pick up a bat and attempt to practice, but I
know my elbows and knees are sticking out awkwardly and I look
like a windmill, so I stop.
Toni goes down on three straight pitches.
It's my turn. I walk up to the plate, already feeling like I
might be hyperventilating. I can almost see the dust rising up
like little diabolic clouds, and I wonder if I might have an
asthma attack by just thinking about the dust clogging my
windpipe. One of the kids -- I can't tell which team,
everything's a blur except the pounding of blood in my ears --
yells for everyone to move up close, easy out, easy out, easy...
The ball comes close, an off-white sphere heading closer, closer,
closer to me...
I swing.
The ball arches away from me with a crack. For a second, I stand
still -- I'm in shock. Then I hear Mimi cheering "Go,
JOE!" and instinct takes over and I run, run, run, first
base is so close. My world hones down to something simple,
chasing the white line that leads to the first base and
freedom...
There's a soft 'plop'.
And silence.
Then groans.
I look up and see the second baseman -- an athletic girl by the
name of Leah -- holding up her glove, smirking proudly as she
steps on second. A large white ball is encased in the brown,
cracked leather.
It takes me a second to realize that I'm out.
Leah throws the ball to the guy guarding third, and the inning's
over. Sage isn't even halfway to home.
Dejectedly, I start walking to my place in right field. Right
field, the domain of losers everywhere. It's my place now -- I've
certainly earned it. My face is flushed with disappointment and
sweat. I adjust my glasses, which have slipped down my nose. My
nose feels stuffed and my ears throb -- a sure sign of an allergy
attack. If I had a sneezing fit and my heart stopped beating, no
one would notice. Or care.
Hmm. The other team racks up runs. No one on my team even bothers
to stop them. The gym teacher calls an end to the game five
minutes earlier than normal; it's quite clear no one wants to
play much.
The other team celebrates. Someone yells "here's to
JOE!" I feel like slinking right into the ground, but it
would aggravate my allergies too much. Instead, I keep my head up
high.
Mimi and Izzy wait for me in sympathetic silence. At least, Izzy
practices sympathetic silence. Mimi's sympathy is a little
louder.
"Wow, Joe, you hit the ball so hard!"
"Yeah, too bad Leah caught it.."
"If the wind had been a little stronger, I bet that it would
have been a grand slam for sure!"
"Home run," Izzy corrects dryly.
"Huh?" Mimi asks, confused.
"Grand slam is when runners are on all three bases. A home
run is -- " Izzy sweatdrops, seeing Mimi's blank face.
"Never mind."
"Oh." Mimi shrugs. Izzy quickly excuses himself,
leaving Mimi and me in semi-privacy. "But anyway, Joe, you
looked so cool when you were posing at the plate!"
"Posing?" I ask weakly. My temples are throbbing.
"Yeah, you looked totally handsome!" She grasps my arm.
My pulse quickens -- something that I'm sure is not related to my
allergies. "Really?"
"Yeah, like a movie star or something!"
"A movie star..." I can picture the scene. Me, Joe
Kido, the movie star -- with a pretty heroine named Mimi at my
side.
I don't mind the sound of that.
Suddenly, spring doesn't look so bad after all. I did survive gym
class -- and the kids will forget about me over spring break. The
sun's warm, the sky blue, and Mimi's by my side.
What more can a guy ask for?
Not even my allergies seem too bad anymore.
-fin-