“Hey, batter, batter,” Carlos jeers on the sidelines.
I shake my first and stick out my tongue.
He raises our son Benny over his shoulders. “Watch Mommy get her first hit.”
Behind me, the Barrio Barracudas, our team of cooks, busboys, and servers cheer, “Choke, Choke, Choke.”
Yeah, it’s my nickname. Ever since Benny started to talk, he’s been calling me Choke instead of Mama or Choco. Just great. Now the fans in the bleachers stand and everyone’s yelling, “Choke, Choke, Choke.”
I tap my shoes with the bat, pretend to spit, shrug my shoulders and chew on nonexistent gum. I’m a ham. I put on a show. Oh, add that butt wiggle. Ha, ha, bet no major leaguer ever does that.
Across from me Johnny Dee, or actually Jack Jewell, as he prefers to be called now, glares at me from the pitcher’s mound.
He stretches and throws his arm around for a fast softball pitch. I reach for it, swinging hard.
“Str-rike one!” the umpire growls.
Runners are on all bases. We’re down three to zero and I’m the last out before happy hour at the Hangout.
“Choke, Choke, Choke,” the cheers, or are they jeers whistle in the wind.
Benny’s on top of Carlos’s shoulder clapping his fat little hands. Next to him, Tita Gloria fans herself under her ever present parasol. I’m a López now. I have to hit one for Team López, get the win for Barrio XO.
Johnny, er, Jack, smirks. He tips his cap and blows on his hands, pretending to spit on the ball. His team, the Resourceful Rhinos, is filled with rugged outdoors types. Burly adventure guides, lean river rafters and climbers, big game photographers, manly men, all over six feet tall.
I get into my miniature batting stance feeling like a David against nine Goliaths.
The pitch comes, but not quite to me. I clench my teeth and check my swing.
“Ball.”
Whew. Glad I didn’t reach for that one. Let the ball come to you. That’s what Carlos says.
The next pitch is fat and slow. I can get it. I can. I swing and hear a thud, right into the catcher’s mitt.
“Strike.”
Great. Just great. I’m at two strikes with two outs. I step from the batter’s box and kick the dirt. My father claps me on the back. “Good things come in small packages, now hit it out of the park. Go get them.”
He turns and kisses my mom, bending her backwards. Those two! Still in love.
I blow Carlos a kiss and take some practice swings, then step into the batter’s box.
“Bring it on,” I yell at Johnny. “Hit me hard. Let me see what you got.”
He shakes his head, smiling, as if he’s going to serve me another one, slow and easy.
“Remember the dumpster, Johnny. Barrio Dumps.”
Ha, got him. His face hardens, and he narrows his eyes. Winding up, he whips his arm around.
Just like love. Let it come, don’t reach for it. The ball, a blur shoots at me.
Bam! I hear the crack before I feel it. Where did the ball go? I run toward first base as fast as I can, but all heads are turned toward the outfield. Livy stands in the bleachers. She raises her glove and catches the ball.
“A grand slam home run,” Carlos yells. “Barrio XO wins!”
“Choke, Choke, Choke.” My son’s voice echoes.
I round the bases, shaking my fists and swinging up my arms. I cross home plate. Yes! My big moment of glory.
Carlos hands Benny to Tita Gloria and sets me on his shoulders for the victory lap. Everyone crowds around, slapping my hand and jumping up and down.
My teammates throw confetti, and Livy’s in the stands hugging my game winning ball.
I’m grateful and awed, because for once in my life, I have everything I’ve always wanted.
THE END
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