Bill was frightened and struggling to move in the dark, terrified as he felt his legs underneath a soft blanket. They were withered, stick like, and he could not get them to move. He was a prisoner in a chair. Using his hands Bill realized it was a wheelchair. He tried to push the tires, but things felt mushy, and they wouldn’t move. There was a soft light that started to grow around him, revealing that he was on a mound, in a shined-up wheelchair, with a blue team blanket over his lower extremities. The tires were sunk several inches into the brown mud underneath him.
He tried to lift himself but couldn’t. Sweat dripped off his chin and his heart was pounding. His mitt was in the wet dirt, dark from sprinklers, half buried with a dirty black ball bag lying beside it. The ball bag looked flat, appearing to be empty and worn. Rocking back and forth did no good; he only sank deeper into the ground. Where was everybody, or anyone?
A few ballpark lights snapped on, blazing brightly, exposing the edge of the field. He was facing the dugout area of his own Dodger Stadium. Bats and balls were scattered on the ground as well as used paper cups and food wrapper trash. Two baseball caps hung on pegs along with a half dozen warm-up jackets.
This was beyond creepy. He tried to yell but couldn’t utter a sound. He could feel someone, or something watching him.
Home plate became visible in front of him, the dugout to the left side. He had not blinked, he hadn’t moved, but the field did, flashing to the left around him, a sense of vertigo clawing his mind momentarily as he saw people shaped shadows standing behind the plate. Straining, Bill tried to make out who they were, but the backlighting was too strong. Unable to speak he could only sit while numerous shadows stood there watching him; silent, immobile, and unidentified. Trying to focus he could feel gentleness, and fear, caring and loss.
Bill snapped awake, his mind churning, and his body soaked in sweat.
What the hell was that?
What did that dream mean?
Chills ran across his back.
Touching his face Bill winced, mopping perspiration from his forehead, remembering the airbag, and wondering how bad he looked. His bruised ribs were giving him trouble when he tried to take a deep breath, and his neck was sore. Face hot and eyes moist, Bill struggled to control his emotions.