From the Wreckage

by Melissa Collins

  “That’s really amazing. I’d love to go.” Getting to see him in any way, shape, or form would have been ideal, but knowing in a few hours I’ll get to see him in a pair of tight baseball pants, covered in dirt and sweat, hell, it’s like a romance novel come to life.

  After he gives me all the information I need, we hang up. The ball of excitement that always seems to be present when I’m around David returns. As I look at my ‘practical’ khakis on the bed, I realize I’m going to need more than a little help in getting ready for a ballgame. “Jade!” I call out as I walk toward her room. “I need help.”

  With a sly smile spreading across her face, she says, “So you went with more than friends, huh?”

  “That obvious, huh?” I joke, laughing as I open her closet. It’s not like I can actually wear anything of hers, anyway. “He’s playing in a charity baseball game.” Poking my head out from behind the door, I count off in my famous list fashion, “One, he’s a firefighter. Two, he plays baseball. Three, he’s giving his time to charity. And four, he’s helping his parents rebuild their kitchen. Do you know what those things all have in common?”

  Jade’s face scrunches up as she genuinely tries to make the connection. Shrugging, she admits, “I got nothing.”

  Stepping out of her closet completely, I hold up my hands and flip them back and forth. “Hands, woman. The man is good with his hands.”

  Of course hysterical laughter ensues, but below the giggle fits, I can’t help but fixate on just how good he is with his hands. I have a feeling the answer to that is extremely talented.

  After an hour or so of trying on pretty much every article of clothing I own, in every combination imaginable, I decide on a pair of cropped jeans and a pretty floral top with ruffled sleeves. Jade helps me accessorize with pearl and gold bangles and teal dangly earrings. Cream ballet flats are the perfect finish, not only because they match, but because my feet won’t kill me by the end of the night. When every last piece is in place, Jade steps back and announces, “You look marvelous,” in a ridiculous Billy Crystal-like voice.

  “Thanks,” I accept her compliment, taking in the completed look in the full-length mirror. With my hair in long, beachy waves and my makeup done in natural peach and pink tones, I must admit, I feel pretty. And flirty.

  And sexy.

  “I’ll be ready in two seconds,” Jade explains, walking out of my room.

  “Wait,” I call after her. “I thought you were going out with Bryce.”

  Waving away my question with a flip of her hand, she says, “I can cancel. Besides, I owe you.”

  It takes Jade absolutely no time to get ready and she looks stunning, as usual. Wearing a flowy maxi skirt in bright summer colors, Jade looks statuesque. Any time I try on a skirt like that, it looks like it’s going to swallow me whole.

  Erring on the side of caution, we leave our lower Manhattan apartment two hours before the game even begins. Sure, it’s only six miles, and what should be a short subway ride over to Brooklyn, but I don’t want to be late.

  By the time we actually make it to the stadium, we have to fight through the crowds of tailgaters. A wave of nervous anxiety washes over me as I realize this game is a pretty big deal. The parking lot is full and there is an endless flow of school buses circling past the entrance, dropping loads of students and their teachers off at the gates.

  As Jade and I are waiting in line at the will-call box, I watch a group of boys walk off their bus and stare at the stadium in absolute awe. Mouths agape and eyes wide, they gaze up at the flags and banners whipping in the wind. The boys focus on the larger-than-life sized posters of players from The Cyclones as if they’re paying homage to an actual God.

  Jade’s elbow, nudging me in the side, pulls me away from watching the boys. “You’re up,” she says, tipping her head to the booth attendant, who’s not so patiently waiting for me to step forward.

  “How can I help you?” She looks less than enthused to be doing her job. Her unruly wire-like red hair, the grease stains on her shirt, and lipstick on her teeth suggests she is less than enthused with personal hygiene as well.

  “Hi,” I respond as cheerfully as I can. “I’m here to pick up two tickets.”

  “Name?” she blurts, not even bothering to make eye contact.

  “Grace McCann.” She immediately starts clicking away on her computer and asks for my I.D. When I slide it to her under the glass divider separating us, she eyes me from behind the glass. With her lip curling in disgust, she slides me my license and the two tickets as she mutters, “Have a nice day.” Laughing, she reminds me of Roz, from Monsters Inc.

  Turning toward Jade, I hand her one ticket. “What crawled up her ass?” Jade laughs at my somewhat out-of-character comment.

  “Not sure, but I bet whatever it was, it’s still more pleasant than she is.” She elbows me in the side and laughs before looking down at the ticket. Pointing up to the signs indicating where the sections are, Jade looks up to the one that reads section twelve. “That’s us.”

  As we navigate through the sea of kids racing through the stadium, the scents and sounds of baseball overwhelm me. To my right, there’s a cotton candy stand, spinning gigantic, airy tufts of neon blue into sweet treats. Next to that is a man selling hot dogs from a standalone cart. Dozens of vendors walk the aisles yelling about soda, beer, and Cracker Jacks. One of them is even selling those gigantic foam pointer fingers. Somehow I think they lucked-out in workload for the day. Hauling a box filled with foam seems like an enormously easier task than lugging a cooler full of beer bottles.

  Standing at the end of our row, I’m in utter disbelief at how close we are to the field. Distracted by everything going on around us, I didn’t even realize where we were going. “This can’t be right,” I say in shock, turning toward Jade. Pulling her ticket out of her hand, I read the section and row numbers just to make sure they are the same as my ticket. My confusion catches the attention of an usher standing in our section and he walks over to help us.

  “Let me, miss.” Graciously, he takes the tickets from my hand and smiles cheerfully at me. The wrinkles on his face deepen even more with his smile. “You didn’t need my help at all.” Extending his hand to the side, he points at the seats we’d already found on our own. After wiping down the seats, even though they weren’t wet or dirty at all, he says, “Best seats in the house for two of the prettiest ladies here.”

  “What a sweet man,” Jade gushes as she sits in her seat.

  “Sure,” I answer, faraway and distracted.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Twisting my fingers in my lap is pretty much a dead giveaway to the fact that I’m anything but fine.

  “Sure you are.” She laughs, sitting there with a smug smile plastered to her face.

  Before I can even give her some wise-ass comment, the players race onto the field. “Oh, my sweet lord,” Jade squeals, watching the two dozen or so men in uniform jogging around and warming up. “I don’t think those pants could get any tighter. I love them!”

  Her rambling on and on about the glorious asses prancing around in front of us becomes nothing but white noise as David finds me in the stands. Of course he knows exactly where to look. If I had been standing up, I’m certain my knees would have given out. His physique—tall, broad, strong—is accentuated by his navy blue and red uniform top. I’m sitting so close that when he reaches up to wave at me, I can actually see the muscles in his forearm move. His face lights up when his eyes land on mine, his crooked smile suggesting a touch of shyness mixed in with his happiness. He winks at me before turning his attention back to his warmups and I find it nearly impossible to peel my eyes away from him.

  “Dat ass!’ Jade chimes in, pulling my attention away from said ass. “Damn, Gracie. You are one lucky duck.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Seriously?” she quips with sarcasm rivaling that of any teenager worth their weight. “Look at him!” Hiding none of her enthusiasm, she poi
nts right at him. “He is gorgeous.” David throws a ball. “Perfect.” He catches one. “Dear God,” she gasps, watching him run across the field. “That’s it. I’ve run out of words. There aren’t any left. He’s rendered me speechless and you know that never happens.”

  Trying but failing to hold back my laughter, I giggle along with Jade as warmups roll on into the start of the game. The FDNY team start out in the field and with David playing first base, “dat ass,” as Jade would call it, is pretty much the only thing I can see.

  Not that I’m complaining at all.

  Nope, not one bit.

  Through six innings, the score is tied at zero and I have to say, even though I’m not much of a baseball fan, it’s a great game. Since the stands are filled with tons of kids, there’s no lull in the cheering. Of course, since both teams are local heroes, everyone has someone to cheer for.

  “I’m gonna go grab something to eat. Want anything?” I ask Jade as the announcer calls out for the seventh inning stretch.

  “I’ll come with you.” She jumps out of her seat and falls in step behind me. By the looks of it, everyone else has the same idea as us. The line is gigantic, cutting through the foot traffic and curling along the wall. “On second thought, I’m gonna go pee while you wait here.”

  There’s a group of about five young boys in front of me. Old enough to be without their teacher, they seem to be basking in their breath of independence. With sloth-like speed, the line inches closer to the counter. Without anyone to talk to while I wait, I can’t help but overhear the boys in front of me. Listening to them ramble on about the game, debating stats, and comparing their favorite players, I find myself smiling. There’s something about kids that helps me see the world in a better way. Their youthful innocence makes me feel as if all hope is not lost.

  After about ten minutes of waiting, the boys are finally up. Confused, I watch on as only four of the five boys order their food. “You ordering anything, Joey?” the kid ahead of him asks over his shoulder.

  Shrugging, Joey answers, “Nah, I’m good.” Maybe he sounds convincing to his friends, but to me he sounds sad, left out somehow. He’s thinner than the rest of them, too and that alone tugs at my heart.

  Thinking quickly, I fish my keys out of my bag and drop them to the floor right next to Joey’s feet. He bends to pick them up and I pretend to be distracted, looking off to the side.

  He taps me on the shoulder, pulling me out of my faux-distraction. “Excuse me, ma’am. Are these yours?”

  “Oh, my goodness. Thank you so much. I’m such a mess. I must have dropped them when I was taking my wallet out,” I prattle on excitedly.

  “Oh, well here you go.” He drops them into my open hand as a proud smile brightens his face.

  “Please let me give you a little something. As a reward,” I ramble on, dropping my keys back into my bag. His eyes widen when I slide a few bills out of my wallet.

  “No, really it’s okay,” he deflects politely. “It’s no big deal really.” Keeping an eye on his friends, he seems as if he doesn’t want to bring attention to our exchange.

  The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass him and it looks like I’m about thirty seconds away from doing just that. Playing it cool, I take a step closer to him and whisper, “Please. Take it. I would’ve been locked out of my apartment. Not everyone would have given them back.” Keeping the twenty carefully concealed, I extend my hand to him. Much like tipping a valet, I inconspicuously slide him the money as I shake his hand. After taking a step back, I say, “Thank you again.” Tipping my head toward his friends, I point out how they didn’t see a moment of our exchange. Joey smiles, a look of gratitude spreading across his face. Stepping up to the counter, he orders a hot dog and soda, carefully folding up the rest of the money before slipping it into his pocket.

  Watching him walk away with his friends, happiness settles in my chest. I know it may sound cheesy to some, but it’s always made me feel like a better person when I’m able to do something nice for someone else. I’ve never acted charitably as a means to make others think highly of me. My good deeds have always been born from a simple truth: the world can be a terribly ugly place, so if I can do something to change it, alter it in even the slightest, then I will.

  Jade slides up next to me as I’m finishing my order of a hot dog, pretzel, and bottle of water. Without even scanning the board, she says, “Make that two, please,” as she holds up two fingers to the cashier.

  As I’m taking the box of food from the cashier, Jade pulls out her wallet and pays for our lunch, explaining, “That honey of yours got us the tickets so the least I can do is pay for lunch.”

  And just like that, my faith in goodness is strengthened once again.

  Walking back to our seats, the stadium erupts with loud and raucous cheering. We sit down just in time to watch a solo homerun cut through the sky, landing somewhere beyond the center field wall. A sea of blue and white uniforms crowd around home plate as the NYPD officer rounds third, jumping up and down and cheering him on the go-ahead run.

  “They’ve got an inning left. Think they can do it?” Jade chimes in, mumbling around a gigantic piece of pretzel.

  Scanning the crowd, all I see are groups of kids smiling and laughing, cheering and clapping. “They already have.”

  “We’re down to our last shot. You think you can handle the big stick?” Ian jokes as he hands me my bat.

  “Shut up, asshole.”

  “What? You said so yourself the other night. You’re out of practice.” The bastard laughs at himself, as if he’s actually being funny. But on the other hand, maybe I’m wound a bit too tight.

  After shooting Ian an icy look that screams just drop it already, I make my way out to the on-deck circle for a few practice swings. The relief pitcher is insane. Before joining the NYPD, he actually played in the minors. The tragedies of 9/11 spurred a change of heart in him and he joined New York’s finest when they needed him the most. He left the minors and immediately signed up for the next cadet class. It didn’t take long for him to become a local sensation. He was only barely legal at the time, but even now, well more than ten years later, he still throws like a professional. His character makes it a little difficult to hate the guy too much. But seeing as he’s struck out three in a row in the bottom of the eighth and now this first batter in the bottom of the ninth, it’s not completely impossible to be at least a little pissed at him.

  Competition flows in my veins. It always has. Of course today is no different, but with Grace in the stands, I feel even more motivated to win the game. I know we’re here for the kids and that the charity is the main focus of the day, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just as equally motivated by winning over a certain redhead in the first row.

  Ian slaps me on my back as he takes over my spot in the on-deck circle. “Don’t make an ass of yourself. Otherwise, you’ll never get laid again.” That comment earns him a quick elbow to the ribs.

  Stepping into the batter’s box, I catch one last glimpse of Grace. Her hands are cupped around her mouth and there’s a nervous look in her eyes. Needless to say, I can’t hear her over the rest of the crowd, but knowing that she’s more than likely cheering my name makes me think about her calling out my name in a completely different venue.

  Even though I don’t want to, I force myself to look away from her, shifting my focus back to the game. Ian is at least partly right. I definitely don’t want to make myself look like a fool. And not entirely for fear of living a sexless existence—everything always reverts back to sex for Ian.

  No, any anxiety I’m feeling comes from the rows and rows filled with kids wearing their FDNY hats. They’re the reason I’m here. And sure, I want to win so I can impress Grace, but I want to win so I can make their day.

  Taking a deep breath, I set myself up in the box and prepare myself to take the first pitch. Knowing what you’re up against is half the battle sometimes. But when that first pitch flies past me, I think I may have h
ad more luck if I’d have swung the bat blindly in the hopes of at least getting a piece of it. The snap of the ball landing in the catcher’s mitt drowns out the “strike one” call from the umpire.

  Okay, game on.

  Sharper focus. Quicker reflex. You got this.

  He winds up and blows another strike past me. At least this time I swung the bat. When the catcher stands up to throw the ball back, he actually shakes out his hand, his palm red from the stinging hundred-miles-per-hour fastball.

  Only a few rows behind Grace, I see a group of young boys jumping up and down, waving their FDNY hats in the air. The low roar of a syncopated cheer grows in the crowd. Calling out “F D N Y,” the cheer gathers strength, the voices rolling into some kind of snowball effect.

  Deep breath. Another practice swing. Knees bent. Head on straight. Let’s do this.

  He winds up and, by some stroke of luck, he throws another fastball right down the center of the plate. The contact stings my hands, but it ends up being a solid hit. The ball soars over the left fielder’s head and bounces off the wall, landing me with a double.

  One out. Man on second. Down by a run. Talk about the pressure being on. While I have faith in most of my teammates to get the job done, I’m more than a little relieved Ian’s at bat. If anyone can come through in a clutch, whether it’s saving my ass in a burning building, or getting a hit in a must-win situation, it’s definitely Ian.

  Taking a larger than usual lead, I want to give myself the best chances of getting to third. The crowd is almost ear-piercingly loud and luckily it’s enough to distract the pitcher. The ball gets by the catcher, giving me the gift of advancing to third without the chance of being thrown out.

  Ian nods in my direction before tipping his head toward the right field wall. With the next pitch, his unspoken message of lifting a ball into the outfield is heard loud and clear. My left foot planted firmly on the base, I wait for the right fielder to catch the ball before I sprint home.