The Perfect Pitch

I silently crept up to the fence, my old-navy flip-flops making the only sound. A soft swishing in the grass, but it wasn't audible to him. The night had come slowly but surely. The summer moon was bright over the diamond, and my shadow was cast across right field, but it was only visible to me. Next to him on the pitchers mound was a duffel bag full of baseballs. He had been working on emptying the bag since the field was free of any people, which was more than two and a half hours ago. I watched him for a while as he whipped the balls at the vacant home plate and wondered who or what he was thinking about.

With every pitch he seemed to get angrier and angrier, however his face didn’t show it. The next pitch he threw he wound up farther back, and grunted as he let the ball leave his hand at an amazing speed. It would have been an amazing throw, had he not let go of the ball too late, which seemed to be his problem. The little white bundle of leather smacked the dirt in front of the plate with a thud, and bounced off into the distance. He turned around and kicked the mound, sending a wall of dirt and dust through the air. When it settled, that was when he finally noticed me. I waved, and he gave a halfhearted wave back, but went back to his sad attempt at venting. I hopped the fence and headed towards the mound.

“Please don’t hit me,” I said jokingly.

He smiled and one soft chuckle as he threw one last ball. Again, it hit the ground in front of the plate.

“Why are you still here?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and put his fists on his hips as he silently looked down at me.

I laughed, looked down at my feet, and then looked back up at him.

“What?” he finally said.

“Nothing,” I replied.

That was a lie. I was actually thinking about how perfect it would be if he kissed me right then. In the moonlight, under the stars, nobody else around, it would have been amazing. I knew it wasn’t going to happen though. His first girlfriend of a year and a half had broken up with him only two months ago, and he was a shy guy, it just wasn’t going to happen. If it weren’t for two of our friends telling him I liked him, he would never even know.

“Just nothing. Want help picking those up?” I asked, motioning to the other side of the field.

“Sure,” he said solemnly.

I thought about how odd it was that I’d known him and been so comfortable around him for almost two years, but now that I actually thought of him as being crush-worthy I was so nervous I was practically shaking. Every time we talked in school or texted, it was like I didn’t want to stop jumping around I was so anxious. Not that I would ever dream of showing it.

I turned to step off the mound but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back. His hazel eyes stared into my own blue ones as the back of his hand brushed my cheek. I couldn’t believe this was happening. After all this time, he never said a thing and now he was sweeping me off my feet with a simple gesture. He put a hand on my waist and another cupped my face as our lips delicately met.

This kiss felt like glass to me. It was smooth, and soft, but I was scared that it would break easily if I moved even the slightest bit, and shatter to pieces in front of me.