1

What is it. What is it. What is it.

My thoughts were getting tangled amongst rusty nails and screws as they whirled around a blender, my mind; they got sucked up into the grinding blades, spat out again in splinters.

“I just don’t get it.” I said, turning on my co-worker. “I can’t figure my thoughts out. It’s like there’s a war raging in my skull”.

She looked sideways at me.

“I want to do my best – be the best I can be but-” there was a hinderance. “I don’t want to give them that. I don’t want to care. If they want the best of me, but treat me like I’m worthless-”

She finished her work and turned to face me, but only partially. She wore an awkward expression that was almost fearful.

Damn it. I’ve said too much – gone spiraling too far.

“I – nevermind.” I could feel my cheeks burn, embarrassed; I was suddenly intensely aware of the fact that I wasn’t alone in my head. My co-worker shook the look from her face and, abandoning me with my thoughts, she went back to her work.

My emotions swarmed and grinded as I added feelings of despair to the guilt of burdening her with my own madness.

2

Parents booed and hissed the 11 year old me, who was standing on the mound, a leather, stitched ball in my hand. I turned the seams, felt the dirt. The tears that I had barely been able to suppress, blurred my vision and ran sloppily down my cheeks as I imagined my ability to feel the sweat, and pain, of the batters I had hit. My chest heaved. My dad (who was also the coach) called a time-out, just before I started my wind-up.

3

Ten years older, I felt that mad, heavy desperation again.

Our ‘leader’ was yelling at me, but her words were incomprehensible. I tried to reason with her. I couldn’t. I felt – crazy.

Wait.

Am I crazy?

“Just – move!” She grabbed the tool out of my hand and used the side of her body to push me away. I watched her do my work while I stood empty handed, with nothing to do. I shifted from, foot to foot awkwardly. Looked around. The ‘jitters’ started in my chest and worked their way outward. I was useless.
“Um. What are you doing?”
“Helping you. You can’t keep up on your own so…”
My heart dropped, I felt sick.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
No answer.
“…Becky?” I felt so degraded. Desperate. “Becky.” She held her hand in my face without turning around.

I snapped. I felt the tears start to well, my chest constrict with frustration. I could feel my tongue twist and I tasted blood as I bit into it, trying to find the words before I said the wrong thing. Finally, I spoke, with a raised voice that came out more strained and high pitched than I had anticipated.

“You know what? If you can do my job better than I can, I’ll just- go.”

An invisible force pushed me a few feet until I found my own, and I went to retrieve my things. I opened my locker to find doodles from my co-workers. My friends. The people who taught me how to be strong. My knees buckled.

I had never felt so weak.

4

“Time!” My dad boomed to the ump, waving his hands as he jogged out to meet me at the mound. I pulled the collar of my game shirt over my eyes, pushing and pulling it across my face to clean it. When I finally focused, I felt my dads strong grip on the back of my neck and saw the ump hesitate between home plate and the two of us on the mound, clearly unsure of the right move to make. I finally lost it, and giving away to the grief, I grabbed my knees, leaned over, and let the sobs choke their way out of my chest.

5

Now I did the same, minus the hand on my neck to comfort me. This time I was alone.

But not for long.

From my tear soaked peripherals, I saw two of my co-workers, my friends, come tearing around the corner. They stopped a few feet away from me.

One asked questions that I couldn’t make out, the other walked up to me, mind made up, taking my hands in hers.

“Just breath.” She consoled me. “Who do you need to talk to?”

I felt helpless and for one of the first times of my life, hopeless.

“I don’t know. I feel – crazy.”

“You are not crazy.” she said firmly squeezing my hands.

“Please-” she said, sounding sad, desperate. “Whatever happens next- always remember, you are beautiful. Inside and out.”

6

I felt my dad’s warm hand rub my back. “It’s okay.”

I stood up slowly and watched my dad motion my team’s relief pitcher from the bench.

“Do you want to come out, or finish the inning?”

“I’m done.” I handed the softball to his out stretched hand.

“Okay. Avery. These things happen.” he said grabbing my shoulder firmly.

“Let’s go Charlie! Warm up!”  he called to the dugout. The infield hustled to the mound to meet us. They offered their anger toward the parents of the other team, their hands to my back. Charlie hustled, warming her arm.

“Dad, wait.”

I met his eyes, normally bright green, now shadowed with concern.

“I can do it.” I held my hand out.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” He put the ball in my palm.

“Alright. Good.” Another pat on my back as he waved Charlie away “She’s got it!”.

I took the softball, put it in my glove and wiped my sweaty hand on my pants.

“Okay”, he started, lowering his voice and hunching over into the tight circle my team formed around us. “Okay, You’ve got this. Do you love your team?”

I looked around the circle at the girls who had become my family. They were tired, covered in dirt and a sadness that overwhelmed their faces. I felt them breath heavily, sun-soaked, burnt, and hair damp with sweat. In that moment I realized I loved them, more than I had ever thought possible.
“They’re the reason I’m here.”

7

I had a rush of adrenaline and was able to regain my strength. I squeezed the hands holding mine as I remembered.

I remembered the rants my co-workers went on.

I remembered the tears that were shed, their bodies shaking as mine shook now with an untellable frustration. A hopelessness I couldn’t restore.

And I remembered the ones we lost. The ones who couldn’t take anymore and quit. I felt their hearts, broken within my own, beating as a whole. I loved them. If I couldn’t do it for me…

8

“Alright then. Do it Avery. Do it for them. Finish it.”

9

With them, making me strong. Their love for me and each other, stitched within the muscles in my body, puffing my chest, renewing hope.

I would.