AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Sorry, it's been a while since the last time I updated! I'm holding out hope that I still have some readers out there (if you're reading, please sound off in the reviews!) I still have plenty of ideas and momentum to finish up this story, I just need a little bit of patience to get them from my brain to the document. ;)

The idea for this chapter came from my writer friend gigundoly! It makes several references to the sport of baseball (and I did my share of research on the team rosters for the seasons that are mentioned!). Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 10: Glory Days

GRIFFIN

Griffin's idea to head to the batting cages and play mini golf had originally been met with some resistance from Artie, but he quickly came around once he emerged from whatever funk he'd woken up in. He'd even ditched his usual self-imposed uniform consisting of a collared shirt, sweater, and khakis in favor of a hoodie, black joggers, and pristine white New Balance sneakers for the occasion. By the time they got to the outdoor fun spot, Griff was happy to see that his mood seemed to have done a complete 180. After they checked in at the desk inside and purchased a couple of rounds at one of the batting cages, Artie enthusiastically led the way down the paved path to the first empty cage he saw.

"Ladies first, El," Artie chirped as he pulled his wheels back and came to a stop in front of the chain-link gate, waiting for the other three to catch up.

"Have at it, kid," Griffin said, handing Ella the batting helmet that they'd borrowed from the facility. She looked less-than-enthused as she suited up and took the bat from Sebastian.

"Widen your stance," Artie advised, eyebrows knit together as he studied his sister after she raised the bat over her left shoulder. "Your feet are too close together."

"This isn't going to be pretty," Ella warned, turning around and addressing the other three as she tugged at the collar of her oversized Ohio State crewneck sweatshirt and pulled up her black leggings before taking Artie's advice and spreading her feet out further.

"I don't know, El. You did, what, like two years of softball?" Griffin reminded her. "I've got faith. You'll be fine."

She was, in fact, not fine. Everything that Ella had once known about how to properly make contact between the ball and bat had apparently forsaken her, and of the thirty balls she was 'pitched', she only hit about a quarter of them.

"It's okay, El, I'll show you how it's done," Griffin said confidently when she was finished as he opened the gate for Ella to exit, asserting that he'd take his turn next.

"So much for being the daughter of a professional hitting coach," Artie teased his little sister from where he sat as she pulled the helmet off and thrust it into Griffin's hands. "Dad will be disappointed."

Ella stuck her tongue out at him, and he did the same to her, neither of them ever surpassing the maturity of sixth graders.

"Your dad's a coach?" Sebastian asked, causing Griffin to realize how little they all actually knew about each other.

"A hitting coach. He works for the Indians, the MLB team out of Cleveland," Ella answered, her arms crossed across her chest, apparently having taken Artie's teasing a little more seriously than he'd probably intended. "He works with the batters on their swings and stuff."

"Oh. That's cool. I've never been to a game," Seb shared. "I'll admit, I don't really know much about baseball. It's kind of… American. And I didn't experience that 'classic American childhood' that everyone else had growing up."

"Art, you should text Dad and have him reserve some tickets and you can bring Seb to a game sometime," Griffin said, picking up the bat and taking a few practice swings. "Spring training's almost over. He could probably get you into the home opener."

The expression on Artie's face looked like the absolute last thing he wanted to do was drive the three hours from Lima to Cleveland with just Sebastian in the car, but he bit his tongue and nodded anyway.

Griffin ignored Artie's less-than-enthused reaction, instead concentrating his focus on showing off for his siblings in the batting cage. As the machine lit up and counted down until the first pitch, Griffin felt a thrill of exhilaration that he hadn't felt in a long time. The ball made a satisfying sound as it collided with metal, and the vibrations that made their way up the bat seemed to awaken something inside him that had been laying dormant since he'd quit the sport all those years ago. Griffin missed baseball so much, though he'd never say it out loud for numerous different reasons. The feeling of knowing that his team depended on him to bring his best to every plate appearance had instilled a sense of accountability and responsibility in him that had long outlasted his career in the sport.

Back in the day, he'd played every game as if it were a state championship, and that applied to the batting cage too. Quitting the sport when he was twelve didn't seem to have any effect on the way he played, and Griffin was relieved to discover that he could talk a big game, while still having the skills to back it up. His hits were consistent and solid with every pitch.

Sebastian was– by far– the worst of the bunch, going zero-for-thirty. But, contrary to Ella, Seb hadn't gone into it expecting that he was going to suck. The look of surprise on his face after he swung at and missed every ball was priceless.

"Harder than it looks, eh?" Griffin commented, taking the bat from Seb when his turn was over and passing it off to Artie.

"I kind of thought I'd be better because I have pretty decent hand-eye coordination from playing tennis," Sebastian said, shaking his head in defeat. "But apparently not. That was unnecessarily difficult."

Artie was up last, and– in typical Artie fashion– he wasn't cocky as he wheeled up to the 'plate' with the helmet on his head and the bat in his lap. He was always one to downplay his talents, and Griffin knew that Artie was just that– talented. He was just a bit quieter about his knack for the sport than Griffin was.

"Damn, Artie, I wasn't expecting you to show me up like that," Sebastian commented after watching Artie effortlessly hit the first three balls that were pitched.

Artie laughed without turning around, not wanting to miss the next ball that came barreling out of the machine toward him.

"Let me guess, you expected me still not to be able to hit off of a tee?" Artie teased before perfectly whacking the ball. "Well, what's that saying? 'Never let them guess your next move'? You should know by now that I am full of surprises. So, surprise, I've improved a bit over the years."

"You were a slugger when we were kids," Griffin remembered with a smile as a fond memory crossed his mind. "What was it that David Segui told you?"

"Oh, you know, just that I was the best six-year-old switch-hitter he'd ever seen," Artie boasted, clearly still very proud of this compliment after all of these years.

"Probably the only six-year-old switch-hitter he'd ever seen," Ella reminded him, always looking for opportunities to keep her brothers humble.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Artie said, thwacking the next ball that came his way, sending it sailing to the back of the cage. "That's still a feat in and of itself."

"Switch-hitter?" Sebastian asked, confused about the baseball lingo. Griffin took it that he wasn't kidding when he said that he wasn't much of an avid baseball fan.

"I can bat on both my right and left sides," Artie explained, and Griffin was impressed by his ability to have a full conversation while still focused on the task at hand. "I'm ambidextrous, so I can write with both hands, too. As I said, I like to be unpredictable."

"Oh, wow, that's impressive," Seb replied, undoubtedly thinking about how he couldn't even hit a ball using his dominant side, and here Artie was, able to hit both ways easily. "You got to go on the field with the players?"

Griffin nodded.

"The Indians were trying to woo Dad into leaving his job over in Cincinnati with the Reds and coming to work for them instead," he explained. "Their strategy was smart– win the kids over so that Dad wouldn't have a choice to say no without disappointing us. They gave us the full VIP experience: free jerseys, letting us go hang out with the players during batting practice, pictures with the mascot, let us hang in the dugout before the game, and these super nice front row seats over on the third base line…"

Cleveland, Ohio

August 2000

"And here we have the dugout," The man who had been touring them around the ballpark said. He'd introduced himself as John and told them that he was the team's General Manager. He also told nine-year-old Griffin and six-year-old Artie that he was going to try and give them the best day ever at Jacobs Field. So far, he had yet to disappoint. "This is where the players stay during the game. The bench is here, as well as their equipment, and all of the Gatorade and bubblegum they could ever want."

Griffin's eyes widened. He'd never been in a real MLB dugout before. He'd seen them on television when he and Artie would crowd around the TV to watch the coverage of the games, of course, but to be standing down here now, after they'd just left the team's clubhouse, was surreal.

"Hey Griff, look at this place!" Artie exclaimed, running through the empty sacred space that– in just a few hours– would be crowded with players and coaches.

"Careful, Artie, don't touch anything," Griffin warned him as he slowly made his way through the dugout, taking it all in. "We're only guests, we don't want to mess anything up for the team before the game."

"I know, I know," Artie rolled his eyes and pushed up his glasses, taking a seat on the bench.

"Hey, Griff, go sit with Artie over there. Mommy's going to want pictures," Art said, taking the digital camera that Nancy had sent with him out of his pocket.

Griffin did as he was told, sitting next to Artie on the team's bench and putting his arm around his little brother. They were in matching Cleveland Indians jerseys that John had given them when they arrived earlier, and each of them had a hat with the team's logo on it too. Art snapped the picture and gave the boys a thumbs up.

"Whoa," Griffin said, his gaze focused now on what was happening out on the field. He stood up from his spot on the bench and walked across the dugout, climbing the stairs that led out onto the field. "Is that actually them?"

Artie hurried over, jumping over the stairs two at a time in order to stand next to Griffin to see what he was looking at.

"That's them alright," John said, talking about the team's players who were just starting their batting practice ahead of the game. "Now, Art, if you'll follow me, I can introduce you to our coaching staff…"

"Stay right here and watch, okay, boys?" Art told his sons. "I'm going to go over there with Mr. Hart. Be very quiet and respectful. The players need to concentrate before the big game."

Griffin and Artie nodded obediently and agreed not to stray too far from the strip of red dirt they were standing on in front of the home team's dugout. With the exception of a few "Can you believe we're really here?!" and "Look over there! It's Manny Ramirez!" whispers, the brothers watched mostly in awestruck silence, both of them too amazed to cause any trouble that would make them a distraction to the players.

Even though they'd followed their dad's instructions explicitly, it seemed that their presence– as two unaccompanied minors hanging out on the baseball diamond– couldn't be ignored. It wasn't long before three of the players took a break from their practice time to come and approach them.

"Hey there, kids, how's it going?" One of the players asked, and Griffin's eye's widened for probably the fifth time that day.

"Oh, uh, g-good," Griffin stammered. The August sun was beating down on them, but now he knew the heat radiating from his face wasn't a result of the weather. His thoughts were racing a million miles per hour and he wasn't confident in his ability to form a coherent sentence, so he kept his response short. "Um, hi."

"Hi!" Artie exclaimed, jumping up and down a little, unable to contain his excitement inside of his little body. "My name's Artie! I'm six! Almost six-and-a-half."

"Well, hey, Artie!" One of the other players laughed as he held his hand up for Artie to high-five it. "I'm Richie, and this is David and Jim." He then turned to Griffin. "What's your name?"

"Griffin," Griff answered quietly, too completely and overwhelmingly starstruck to be capable of participating in the conversation.

"He's Griff," Artie repeated, a bit louder. Clearly, he wasn't having the same problem with shyness as Griffin was at the moment. "He's nine. Our daddy is getting a big tour of the place with some nice guy named John. He's the one who gave us these cool jerseys. You're really good at hitting the baseballs. We were watching you."

The trio of players had another good laugh at that.

"Oh, yeah?" The tallest one asked. "Well, how about you guys? Are you any good at hitting baseballs?"

Both boys nodded at that.

"Wanna come over and show us?"

Now Griffin really couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You want to watch us bat? On… on your field?"

"Yeah, why not? I think the other guys would be okay with letting each of you have a few swings."

"Okay," Griffin hesitantly agreed, and the players led them over to home plate. As Artie and Griffin trailed behind them, they turned to each other, exchanging huge, toothy grins. Neither of them could believe what was happening.

Before they knew it, they were right in the middle of the show. Baseballs were flying in every direction, as outfielders played catch out in left field, and infielders tossed balls back and forth between first and second base. Some fans had trickled into the ballpark and were crowding down at the front of the seats, pens and souvenirs in hand, hoping to get an autograph from their favorite players. The controlled chaos that made up a major league batting practice was exhilarating to Griffin. This was his moment to act as a professional, playing on the exact dirt and bases that he watches on TV, and that feeling was enough to bring him out of his shell a little bit.

"These bats are a little big for you guys, sorry about that," One of the friendly baseball players said, handing Griffin and Artie each a wooden bat to use. These weren't like the aluminum ones they used in their Little League practices, these were the real deal. "Next time you come practice with us, feel free to bring your own."

The player who'd been introduced as Jim waved off the coach that had been pitching to the major leaguers from behind the L-shaped screen that would protect them from being accidentally hit by any baseball that made its way back in the same direction from which it came. The coach stepped aside, and the player took the mound instead.

Griffin stepped up to the plate first, and his heart raced as he held the bat over his shoulder. The first pitch to him was a soft one, and Griffin hit it easily, sending the ball over by third base. The tall, young player whistled as Griffin's first ball rolled to a stop in the dirt.

"Nice one, kid! Good swing!"

Griffin beamed at the compliment, and it gave him just the push he needed to hit the next two balls thrown his way without taking a single strike.

"Me next! Me next!" Artie chanted, begging for his chance to bat.

Griffin conceded, standing off to the side as his tiny brother held the massive bat over his left shoulder, visibly expending loads of energy just to swing it. His first ball grounded out to first, and his second stopped just short of where the imaginary shortstop would be playing.

For his third ball, Artie decided to show off, stepping over to the other side of the plate and turning around to face the pitcher with the bat over his right shoulder instead. He swung and missed the first time, underestimating the timing of swinging the heavy bat. He'd regained his composure for the next pitch, hitting the ball straight forward. Their new friend Jim had to duck to avoid getting hit as the ball sailed right over his head.

"Takes one to know one, and I think you may just be the best six-year-old switch-hitter I've ever seen," The third player, David, said as he walked over to Artie and clapped him on the back.

Artie smiled up at him, pushing the too-big batting helmet back when it began to slide forward, obstructing his view.

"Abrams boys! What'd I say? Stay over by the dugout!" Art called as he and John made their way over to the portable batting cage the players and brothers were huddled under. "Sorry, guys, were they bothering you?"

"No, sir, we asked 'em over," The player named Richie told him. "We saw them watching and wanted to see what they were made of. Are we getting ahead of ourselves if we draft them fifteen years in advance?"

"Oh, you two impressed the big dogs, I take it?" Art asked his sons with a laugh as he ruffled both of their hair, not nearly as bothered as he'd been a minute before. "Well, say 'thanks' to these guys, but now they've got to get back to work. And we can go get you guys each a hot dog before the game."

"Thanks a lot," Griffin told the players as he spun around to face them. "I had a lot of fun with you guys."

"You're welcome back anytime!" David replied, giving him a fist bump.

"Why am I not at all surprised to find out that you didn't shut up in front of those guys?" Sebastian asked Artie with a smile, shaking his head. Sebastian was sitting beside Ella, his arm resting on the back of the bench that they were sitting on just outside the cage.

"I'm a talker!" Artie defended himself, as his turn in the cage finally came to an end and he set the bat against the chain-link fence and pivoted to face the others. "I told you, I've always been an extrovert. But, also, I think I just wanted them to think I was cool. I didn't realize at the time, who those guys really were. It wasn't until years later that I realized that I had shown off in front of All-Stars and Gold Glovers!"

Griffin reached to open the gate for him, as he'd been standing right by the fence, watching intently as Artie was batting.

"And, ugh, those seats," Artie remembered, exiting the facility. "Remember when we caught that foul ball in the seventh inning? It came right to us and fell down perfectly, right into your glove."

Griffin nodded. "That was the best view I've ever had at any MLB game, hands down."

Now it was Artie's turn to nod.

"Better than the view from 'the Artie VIP seats', that's for sure," He said, punctuating his statement with an eye roll and Griffin gave him a sympathetic nod.

"The 'Artie' seats?" Sebastian asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Yeah, the accessible seats," Griffin clarified.

"The first summer after the accident, I wasn't really ready to go out in big, crowded public venues. I was still getting used to navigating life in my chair and how my body reacted to heat and getting all my new medical stuff under control," Artie jumped in to explain. "Because of all of that, the first game we went to after the accident wasn't until two summers later, when I was ten. I guess it never crossed my mind that I wouldn't be able to sit down in the lower sections, where we had always sat before. Certainly not with my chair…"

August 2004

"Here we are!" Nancy Abrams told her kids, motioning to the strip of stadium seats beside a large empty space for Artie to park his chair. They were at the very top of Field Box 165, high above the third base line behind the Indians' dugout.

"What about the seats that we usually sit in when we come to Dad's games? The ones behind the dugout where we can see all of the players up close?" Artie asked.

For just a moment Griffin saw a flicker of sadness cross his mother's face, and she briefly looked like she didn't know how to best respond without potentially making Artie sad too.

"Well, you see, Artie, these are the wheelchair accessible seats," She explained gently, as she wiped away the pink cotton candy stain that was already beginning to form around six-year-old Ella's mouth. "They're a little further back, but you have a view of the whole diamond from up here! It's pretty, isn't it? And look, the restroom is right behind us. You won't have to fight the crowds. Isn't that nice?"

Griffin had claimed the seat on the end of the row, beside where Artie had pulled his chair up and locked his wheels in place. Griff glanced over at Artie, who was– unsuccessfully– trying to mask his disappointment. His younger brother was awfully easy to read, and it wasn't difficult for Griffin to see that he was twisting his mouth to the side in order to keep a frown from forming on his face. He assumed that it had gotten exhausting for Artie, to be almost two years out from his injury and still discovering things that he had to do differently now that there was a wheelchair involved.

"I guess…" Artie replied, slumping in his chair.

Griffin had a feeling this would happen. He had already asked their mom, earlier that morning, about where they'd be sitting. He'd wanted to know how Artie would be able to get down all of the stairs to the seats that their father usually reserved for them, and if she wanted him to help by giving Artie a piggy-back, which was what he usually did when they ran into accessibility problems when they were out together. Nancy had shaken her head, explaining that Dad had reserved different seats for this game– ones that were accessible, but a bit further away.

Griffin had decided not to make a big deal about this change-up because, at the end of the day, they were just seats, and he didn't want to upset Artie. Artie had spent the entire morning talking about how excited he was to be back at the ballpark, and his disappointment now was palpable. As Griffin looked over at him now– sitting beside him in his red Indians t-shirt, blue shorts, and baseball cap– Artie's gaze was fixed on the grounds crew as they prepared the field for the game. He still had his mouth twisted to the side, and he held his hands in his lap, mindlessly rubbing his left thumb over the top of his right hand.

The last thing that Griffin wanted was for Artie's first game back at Jacobs Field to be a bad memory, so Griff's solution to this was to overcompensate his own enthusiasm, hoping some of it would rub off on his brother.

"I like these seats better," Griffin said, even though that wasn't entirely true. The statement got Artie's attention though, and the younger boy glanced over at his older brother wearing a skeptical expression. "What? I do. You can see the whole field from up here. You don't have to worry about some tall guy sitting in front of you and blocking your view."

Artie glanced back out onto the field and appeared to be considering the points his brother had made. Griffin took that as his invitation to keep going.

"And, look, the concessions stand is right over there," Griffin pointed over his shoulder. "It'll take us a lot less time to get our pretzels and sodas than it did in the old seats."

"I guess you're right," Artie conceded. "And I was a little nervous about having to leave my chair behind when I thought we were gonna be sitting way down there. Up here, I don't have to get out of my chair at all. That's pretty cool."

Griffin smiled and nodded, both happy and relieved that his plan was appearing to pay off as he'd hoped. Artie was beginning to loosen up and return to his usual excitable self, even going so far as to lean over to his brother and ask:

"Do you think we can still catch a foul ball from these seats?"

"Yeah, well, needless to say, we never caught another foul ball after that," Griffin acknowledged as he finished telling the others about the memory he had of Artie's first baseball game after the accident. "That was the end of those days."

"Oh, for sure," Artie agreed. "There are definitely some downsides that come along with having to sit in the accessible seats that even being a coach's kid couldn't help with. As we said, Dad gets blocked seats over by the dugout that I can't even use. I just started bringing some binoculars in my backpack whenever I went to a game."

"Except for the times we've gotten to go sit in the suite," Ella cut in. "Nothing's better than box seats."

"You can't beat that," Griffin agreed.

"Concert venues and sports arenas are really some of the only places where being disabled does not work in my favor. Because, you know, at an amusement park or an airport or something, I get to cut lines and board first, stuff like that. But sporting events and concerts have these designated accessible areas and, generally, they're the worst seats in the house," Artie explained. "The ADA made sure that all public places are accessible– at least marginally– but most don't give you many freedoms. You just kind of get what you get and you don't throw a fit. Because I think the attitude we, the disabled community, are expected to have is that we should be grateful that we were included at all."

"What does 'ADA' stand for?" Sebastian wanted to know.

"The Americans With Disabilities Act," Griffin explained. It was hard to believe that Sebastian knew next to nothing about all of the pieces of legislation— the ADA, Section 504, and others — that made it possible for Artie to go about his life in today's modern age like any other newly eighteen-year-old kid.

"Oh. Artie showed me some of the education laws one time," Sebastian said, looking to Artie for confirmation.

"IDEA and the Every Student Succeeds Act, yeah," Artie nodded, apparently also remembering this conversation they'd had. "But it goes beyond that. I experience the benefits of the ADA every day, whether people realize it or not."

It was clear that this was news to Sebastian and that it surprised him, as if the world had always been accessible for and welcoming to disabled people. Griffin knew that he still had a lot to learn, now that he was going to be the brother of someone with a physical disability.

"Well, hey, we've still got a mini-golf game to play," Griffin said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together as he made eye contact with Artie and Ella before turning his attention back to Sebastian. "That gives you a while to receive your official crash course in disability rights history, courtesy of yours truly."