Hot out there today. Sun making the grass glow veridian, the packed diamond dirt the orange of a basketball. My team in white, the opponents in arterial red. People yelling from behind the chain link fences, people clapping hands where they stand crouched over at their positions. Eyes on the ball. Pitcher winds up, rolls that huge honkey tonk kick ball down the line, right at where the opponent kicker waits. Winds up, belts it.

I’m behind second base, free roaming, slightly buzzed from the three beers and sun. Ball pops up, high in the air. It’s moving in my direction. Kicker’s taken off for first base. Second base running to third. Yelling in the background. I move forward, hands held out as if in prayer, supplication. Time shutter stops, one moment I’m waiting for the kick, next there’s a clear photograph of it up in the air, then I’m running, then smack, it’s in my hands. Third out.

My first catch. People cheer. I act like it’s nothing. I mean, it’s kickball. We’re losing 3-1. I roll the ball towards base, head over to the dugout. We’re up to kick. It’s a hot day, people clap me on the shoulder, I smile and joke with them. But still. Feels nice. Good catch.