The Catch

After turning seventy-five, I refined my life to the essentials. I have a chair in my daughter’s house. It’s upholstered. It has a pop-out footrest that I seldomly use because it's hard to get back in. I own a portable radio, powered by four clunky batteries. They die frequently, but then, everything does. That’s the catch. If you wish to live you must also die. There used to be a cord, but it was chewed off by some rat ages ago.

It was Friday, so I was in my chair, footrest out. The radio crackled on the side table, the baseball game about to start. Something from the states, and months old, but I didn’t care. It was all magic to me, the way it was packaged to soar through the air and land, a perfect strike on the tip of my antenna.

I didn’t try to understand it. I just believed in it. I was a simple life-long Shunderlander. Never once have I left the yellow land. I enjoyed the beauty and mystery that came to me and baseball was just one of them. About the third inning my chair shook. It was my grandson. He was coming to collect on a promise.

“Let’s go camping.”

“Not tonight,” I said. By that I meant not ever on a Friday night. That was when the games were on. Saturdays were out too, because his mother, my daughter, Anne, and I both agreed it was not worth missing church.

Really, the true problem was all the questions kids start asking at about his age. Not where do babies come from. I mean the hard stuff, like why does God let dads die in car accidents. Stuff like that. The kind of questions you think you might know half the answer to - and they come at the worst time.

Regardless, I did make a promise. I thought I was sincere, but it was two years ago and in the middle of the week when it meant very little. I’ve been pushing it off ever since. Why couldn't he want to play catch? I was always good for a game of catch.

Sam was more persistent than usual. He went and dug all the camping gear out and piled it on the front porch where I could see it from my chair. I caught Anne walking by and pointed out the problem. She only pointed out the obvious.

“The boy just wants to go camping with his grandpa.”

I sighed at a long foul ball. It wasn’t like he could go with his father.

“But my footrest is out.”

She gave me a little smirk to let me know she wasn’t going to do anything about it. I wasn’t getting away with pushing it off, not even one more night. In all fairness, two years is a lot of friday-night baseball games. It’s also about a quarter of Sam’s life, and God only knew how little time I had left to make good on the promise.

I worked the wooden lever on the side of my chair and got out of my comfortable plan for the evening. Then I helped Sam load the gear into the back of the pickup. I helped him - not the other way around, and still, it tired me out.

I told Anne exactly where we would be camping then climbed into the cab. Sam brought nothing but excitement. I brought my radio. I set it on the center console and started the thirty-minute drive to Elk Horn National Park.

a pickup truck driving down a country ro

There was a full moon and it had me thinking about baseball. It was a beautiful night for baseball. Most summer nights are. I had grown up hearing it in the invisible wind, seeing it only in full moons, and the right angles of freshly mowed fields. We were passing such fields, left and right. No hurry.

It took a bit longer than it should have, but we reached our campsite all the same. I parked the truck and did my best to help Sam unload.

By the smell of fresh pine, I refrained from turning the radio on until the tent was up. My internal clock put it at the bottom of the sixth. I had some time. I loved that about baseball; it’s a perfect game that carries on at about the exact pace of life.

Setting up the tent drained my energy. Luckily, Sam had plenty for both of us. I mostly explained how and where, and he put the pegs and holes and loops together. I only helped when necessary, and felt more tired than I ought. I don’t know if it’s all the fault of age, or my reliance on the soft reclining chair, but after everything was up, I crawled in like a bear eager for hibernation.

It was not a good night for camping; the weather was fine, but at my age it is always too cold, and the ground is always too hard. I got as comfortable as possible, and then, at last, I fiddled with the radio knob and the tilt of the antenna. To my child-like delight my little radio caught the signal, a good texture of static in the background.

It was the ninth. I put my hands over my face in shock. The whole thing had gotten away from me… But I made the most of it, staring up at the baseball-moon through the mesh roof.

If you’re just tuning in, you missed a magical one tonight. But perhaps there's some magic left in the hat as we play this top of the ninth. Just three outs away from hanging on to victory here at the home field…

Sam’s questions started on schedule.

“Grandpa, how deep is the Earth?”

and the three-one, low, but called strike.

“It’s really deep,” I said.

He can’t get away with too many like that.

“How High is the sky?”

The three-two. Swung on and missed. And just like that, we inch closer. The crowd is loving it tonight.

“Take a look,” I said. But the moon was big and bright and kept the eye from gazing past into the depth of the night sky.

Sam must have tried. He was quiet long enough for the next batter to foul a few off, and the runner to steal third, unchecked.

“How does the moon stay up?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Gravity,” I said. I knew that one.

“Gravity is what would make it come down,” Sam said.

He was right. What did I know? I let it go because there was a full count and we were one strike away from winning it.

“Is Dad in heaven?”

There it was, right on que.

The payoff pitch.

There was a crack, distinctly different than the static.

Hit well. High. Going back. It’s gonna be close. To the track. To the wall.

Static flooded in and drowned the reception.

“No. No. No.” I whipped the antenna left and right. After a good minute or two I gave up. It was no use, and it was too late. I turned the radio off and pushed it to the corner. Boy, was I tired. I could still hear the static in my head. I could see it too, as blurry and eye-straining as the mesh.

“Sorry Grampa. Is it because we’re camping?”

“Oh, no,” I lied. It was the crowd. Sometimes if they get too excited it interferes with the signal.”

“Really?”

“I think so.”

I stayed on my back like a dead man, because my old body couldn’t lay any other way. I stared at the mesh covered moon and couldn't help but feel like it was mocking me, paused up there as it was. Would it ever come down? Would it land in the grass? In a glove? Over the wall? It mattered. It was the difference between a win, a loss or extra innings.

I must have drifted off, one, two, three times. Each time I woke, the moon was farther along, coming up and toward me like a slow-motion pop-fly until it was so close that I reached up. The moon was right there. I plucked it. It was exhilarating. I heard a crowd cheering my name.

That’s the game folks. I can’t believe it! Grandpa wins it! Grandpa wins it!

a crowd at a baseball game cheering_edit

Sam shook my shoulder vigorously.

“Grandpa. Someone moved the tent!”

I heard the words, but they were not sinking in. All I could think of was the moon, how it felt cold and dusty in my hand. My eyes popped open to a baby blue sky, tinted by mesh. Sam’s words, loud and repeating in my ear.

No one could have moved the tent, I told myself. The sky, the heavenly bodies, perhaps. But not the tent. I was surprised by the speed of the night, but as I sat up, I saw a bigger surprise. “Someone moved the tent,” I admitted.

Through the mesh I saw a baseball diamond. A quiet and patient audience filled the stands, their murmuring like the low hum of a radio. I turned quickly to look behind me. Outfield grass, warning track, tall homerun wall, just as I always pictured on the radio.

I fought my way out of my sleeping bag and into a panic. I guess my plan was to go out there, see if it was real. Could it be touched, or was it a trick of the eye - of the mesh? I unzipped the tent, told Sam to stay put, and then slipped out.

The grass was real on my bare feet. I scuffed through shallow-centerfield toward the third base line. The farther I got, the less the crowd sounded like radio hum, and more like voices, the squeal of reception. They were singing. Take Me Out to the Ball Game. No. When the Saints Go Marching In.

The stadium lights blasted on. I heard them, like a single blow from a trumpet. The blue sky fled and a white blinding glow took its place. The crowd broke its patience and cheered eagerly. I could not help but gaze up into the perfect whiteness. I felt my feet lose their weight on the ground, the tips of the grass tickling at my souls.

That’s when I knew - the game was over.

I forced myself back to the tent for Sam’s sake. He had obeyed me. I saw his face pressing sadly against the mesh.

“You’re going to leave aren't you?”

“It’s going to be ok,” I said as I zipped us in. I did not want to leave the boy alone, and for that, I only had one idea. It was beyond silly, but the radio was always like magic to me anyway. I pulled it to myself and twisted the knob. Slowly, I trolled the stations, FM and AM. “Anne? Anne? Are you out there?”

Sam watched hopefully.

I heard something familiar, the clearing of a throat. I fine tuned it and found her voice.

“Hello? Hello? Who's there?”

“Anne, can you hear me?”

“Hello. Dad, is that you? Is everything ok? What time is it?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “We just need a favor.”

“Wait, where are you? Where are you calling from?”

The reception went crazy. I knew she had jumped out of bed and was moving. I adjusted the antenna until it was steady again.

“We’re at the campsite. I need you to come get Sam.”

“What do you mean? What’s happening?”

“It’s amazing! I don’t know how to explain. Just come get Sam.”

“Dad, you’re scaring me.”

“Oh, no, Anne. Nothing scary. It’s just. It’s just too amazing. Listen. Come and get Sam and then you’ll understand.”

“I’m coming. Stay on the line.”

“I love you, Anne. You’re such an amazing mother.”

“Dad?”

The reception was gone. I messed with the knob and the antenna but could not reach her again. A do over would be nice, but still, I had no better words.

“Well,” I said. “That ought to scare her out here at least.”

Sam was holding something. It looked like a baseball to me, but it was anciently pale and missing its laces. I took it from him.

“Ha!” It was still cold.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“A good catch, I guess. Do you want to play?”

We took the little moon out to the field and tossed it back and forth. The crowd was amused and delighted over every toss and catch. They were on their feet, clapping, throwing their arms up, hands open, faces shining.

“The Earth is only so deep, Sam.” I had to speak loudly over the cheering. “It’s a specific number, because we only have a certain number of days here.” Mine were done. Even as I spoke, I was losing connection with the ground. The lights were feeling warm. I was growing all but helpless to float up into them.

“The sky, on the other hand… the sky keeps going up forever! Because the afterlife is eternal!” I caught a throw and held the moon. I wanted Sam to hear my next words clearly. To understand them. I had to yell.

“I’m going to Heaven, Sam.” Sam nodded. “I think I’ll see your dad there!” He nodded all the harder. The crowd was growing louder by the minute. “He believed, like I do, and to everyone who believes He gave the right to be sons of God. You’ve heard that, haven’t you?”

Sam hadn’t stopped nodding.

The crowd erupted with praise.

Sam erupted with silent weeping.

I sent the moon over with a prayer that Sam would believe. It landed as softly as a summer’s evening in his hands. Just as it did, his shoulder scrunched up. Sam got real still. He began to look around.

“I hear Mom calling me.” His shoulder moved again, as if someone was gently nudging it.

I walked over to him. “It’s time for you to wake up,” I said.

“What about you?”

He already knew, so I just smiled and took the moon from his hand. I glanced up, because I was hearing a call too. A multitude singing. My heart was nudging upward.

A tear came down Sam’s cheek. “I don’t want you to go.”

I grabbed him and hugged him hard. It was the opposite of what needed to happen, but I couldn't help myself. I forced myself to let go and I showed him the moon. “Look. Whenever you see the moon coming across the sky, you’ll know it’s coming from me. We’re playing catch.”

Sam began to sway. I stepped away, realizing it was Anne rocking him awake. Then he was gone, like a beautiful dream leaves when you wake. It was like I was the one that woke. I was awake. I was alive. I was above the earth. My feet off the ground, my face craning up into light, my body transforming from a mere signal into something real. Then I was received.

In the tent Sam woke, jolting up quickly. Anne told him to come to the car, and he did so. She might have wondered why he didn’t ask any questions- Why are you here? Why is Grandpa staying in the tent? Certainly, she would have had some questions of her own.

Their drive was slow, and careful. The moon was still full and high, lighting their faces, hers, pale and sullen, his, wet and shining.

Back in the tent, the closest thing to life was the buzzing of the radio.

What a beautiful night it's been for a ball game. We’ve put another in the history books.

a man standing in air above the grass_ed

THE END

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