Page 156 of The Path to Loving Him
“Did you do all the normal teenager things like go to parties, dances, spend weekends at the mall? Or did you work your ass off?”
“Worked,” she answers.
“And in your twenties, did you get to go to college and have that experience, or did you work some more and take night classes to support you and your brother?”
“You know what I did,” she says.
“I do, and that means you sacrificed a lot. You gave up experiences that others might have had because their childhood was more stable. But you understood the importance of what getting out of a bad situation is all about. I felt the same way, wanting to get my sisters out of a bad situation.”
“I guess that makes us a lot alike.”
“It does,” I say, looking her in her stunning eyes. “I recognize your hustle, Gabby, and I’m glad I can share the moment when you can see all your hard work pay off. It’s an honor.”
“I’m going to puke,” Gabby says, sitting next to me as she rubs her hands over her thighs. “He’s on deck.”
I take a few pictures of Bennett on deck because, at this point, Gabby has done nothing to record the day. She’s so immersed in the moment that I’ve mentally taken on the responsibility of being her photographer. That way, she can look back at these pictures and remember this moment. It’s amazing.
“Trust the process,” I say. “He knows what he’s doing. He needs to go in there, trusting himself and his mechanics. The hit will come.”
“Just not a strikeout,” she says as the batter before him walks.
“Oh God, he’s up.” She slides her hand into mine and squeezes my palm tightly as she holds her foam finger high and cheers for him. I snap a picture of her as her mouth is open, her excitement evident on her face.
I have a hard time handling my phone with one hand, but I figure it out as I zoom in on Bennett in the box, his stance relaxed, his body ready to explode.
Come on, man.
Just contact.
All we need is contact.
The first pitch is a ball in the dirt, the runner steals second, and now there’s a runner in scoring position with the score zero-zero in the second inning. Fuck, it would be amazing if he’s the first one to help put a run up on the board.
At the next pitch, I hear Gabby hold her breath as Bennett swings, and he misses.
“Shit,” she whispers under her breath.
“It’s okay,” I say to her. “He’s seen it now. He knows what to expect. He’s got this.” I squeeze her hand, and we watch together as the pitcher winds up and throws a fastball just outside the strike zone.
Bennett lays off.
“That’s it. Keep a good eye on the ball,” she says, now sitting on the edge of her seat.
I join her.
She leans forward, and as the next pitch comes in, Bennett swings, but he makes contact this time, sailing the ball just over the second baseman’s head and into right field. Gabby and I both fly out of our seats, cheering and jumping, our linked hands up in the air as the runner from second scores and Bennett rounds first.
“Yesssss!” Gabby screams and then lets out a loud sob.
Tears come to my eyes as we watch Bennett take off his elbow guard and hand it to the first base coach, who taps him on the head. The other team tosses the ball that Bennett just hit into the Bombers dugout as a keepsake for Bennett.
Gabby continues to cheer and clap while I do the same. The people around us probably think we’ve lost our mind, but we don’t care. Bennett Brinkman just got his first hit in the big leagues in his first at bat.
This is magic.
The game of baseball is so great because of moments like this.
Moments when you can pause and enjoy the crowd cheering, the stands rocking, the sweet smell of stadium food coming in all different directions, all the while dreams are coming true.
