Shut Out

            by Leanne Brotsky

 

John Dolby took a glance over his left shoulder at the lanky brown-haired boy in knee-high red socks.  Convinced that the boy wasn’t planning to run, John wound up and fired a fastball at the catcher sitting behind home plate.

            “Strike three!” The umpire shouted.  The bleachers erupted into cheers and applause as the team ran onto the field and enveloped John in a circle of hugs and pounds on the back.

            “And John Dolby and the Pennbrook High varsity baseball team have just won their fifth game in a row!” the announcer’s voice shouted over the roar of the crowd.

            “Dolby!”  The head coach pushed his way through the huddle that had formed around John on the mound.  “That was good work today, son.  Make sure to ice your shoulder.”

            “Sure, Coach,” John said with a smile.

            “Aww, come on, Coach!  Let him celebrate a little.  He just pitched a one hitter!” John turned and gave his best friend and Pennbrook’s third baseman, Paul Shore, an appreciative high five.  “You owned them today, man,” Paul said.

            After the celebration, John waved goodbye to his team and threw his well-worn baseball bag into the trunk of his well-worn beige minivan.  As he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned the radio to coverage of the Phillies/Red Sox game.  In the fifteen minutes it took for him to get home, the Phillies starter loaded the bases and gave up a grand slam.  John pulled into his driveway and snapped the radio off in disgust.  He collected his bag and went into the house.

            “Hey, Johnny!  How was your game?” his mother asked.

            “It was good.  We won.  I pitched a one hitter!”  John said.  “Did you hear the score of the Phillies game?”

            “No, but your dad’s watching it in his office now.”  John walked upstairs and joined his father on the couch in front of the TV.

            “Damn it!”  They both yelled as the Red Sox scored another run.  John’s dad clicked off the TV and turned to his son.

            “So…how’d it go?”

            “One hitter,” John said proudly.

            “Excellent!  Just excellent!  And how’s the shoulder?”

            “Oh, it’s fine.  Coach is even letting me pitch day after tomorrow.  Stop worrying,” he rolled his eyes.  “I’m gonna go hit the shower.”

            He walked into his room and began to undress.  He threw his dirty cleats into a corner and they rolled to a stop under a huge poster of Babe Ruth.  After unbuttoning his jersey he peeled off his undershirt and threw it over a chair, just barely missing the line of autographed baseballs arranged on his desk.  He grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom.

            As the hot water poured over his head, John thought about the day.  He had pitched well.  The other team was the second best in the league, but the game hadn’t even been close.  The Phillies game sucked, but most Phillies games sucked this season.  John looked forward to next year when he’d be pitching at USC and watching Dodgers’s games.  They actually won.  He shook his head and turned off the water. 

That night as he was falling asleep, John worried about the upcoming game against St. Andrew’s.  They were a private school with a great baseball team.  And every guy on the team had John’s number.  He cringed as he thought about his last start against them.  It had been a blowout, fifteen to nothing.  He’d have to do better this time; the whole team was counting on it.

The morning of the game, John woke up with a stiff shoulder.  He put a heating pad on it and tried to ignore the dull ache he felt as he picked up his bag and carried it to the car.  When he arrived at the field, he took two Advil and got ready to warm up with the rest of the team.

“Hey, pal,” Paul said, clapping John on the shoulder.

“Jesus man, watch out!” John cringed.

“Shoulder acting up today?  You should tell Coach.  He’ll want you to have the trainer take a look.”

“Naw, it’s cool.  I just slept on it funny.  It’ll loosen up before the first inning.”

During his practices tosses, the shoulder didn’t feel any better.  And when John took the mound and faced his first batter, it was still throbbing.  As he started his usual motion, he felt a shooting pain run across his back and all the way down his right arm.  The ball he released missed the catcher’s glove completely and went rolling toward the backstop.  John shook his arm and wound up again.  The pain shot through his shoulder a second time.  But this time, it didn’t go away after he released the ball.  He grabbed his shoulder with his other arm and crumpled to the ground.

“Dolby!  What the hell is going on?” Coach asked as he ran out to the mound.

“His shoulder’s been bothering him all day,” Paul explained as John groaned in pain.

“Don’t move.  We’ll get an ambulance.”

John shut his eyes and fought back tears.  The pain was overwhelming.  Every time he breathed, his shoulder felt like it was separating from the rest of his body.  He heard the sirens and silently berated himself for missing the rest of the game.  As the paramedics put him onto a stretcher, he worried about the final score while the world around him went dark.

When he woke up, John found himself in a hospital bed with an IV in his arm.  He blinked and looked around the room.  His parents were talking quietly in the corner, and a heart monitor was beeping quietly in the background.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” John’s dad said from across the room.

“Wha…What happened?” John asked.

“You passed out, sweetie.  The doctor operated on your shoulder.  Oh, thank god you’re okay!” John’s mother said as she walked over to his bed and stroked his hair.

“What’s wrong with my shoulder?” John suddenly became aware of the throbbing pain.

“You tore your tendon, Johnny.  The doctor had to reattach it.  You’re going to be out of commission for a little while,” his father explained.

“But what about the season?  I’m their starter!  Coach is going to be so mad!”

“Don’t worry about that now, honey.  You just have to think about getting better.”

“I am thinking about getting better!  We play Clark in a month!  I have to pitch.  I own that whole team.  Everyone needs me.”

“Johnny, you’re not going to be able to play for a long time.  Right now, you just have to relax,” his father said calmly.  “Do you want me to get you anything from the cafeteria?”  John shook his head and turned away from his parents, quickly wiping away a tear rolling down his cheek.  Groaning in pain and frustration, he shut his eyes and dreaded having to tell the team.

On Monday morning, John pulled up outside of school and opened the passenger door with his left arm.  He waved goodbye to his mother and turned to face the school’s front doors.  Slowly, he made his way toward his locker.

“Dolby, my man!  How are…” Paul stopped short when he saw the blue sling on his friend’s arm.  “Ouch!  That doesn’t look good.  Does it hurt?”

“Some.  Listen, man, I’m out for the rest of the season,” John whispered.  “This sucks so much.”

“Sucks?  Not how I see it.  Girls love guys with battle scars!  And the season’s almost over anyway, right?”

“I hope everyone sees it that way,” John said, smiling appreciatively.  He shut the locker door and walked toward his first class with Paul.  When they got into the room, everyone went quiet.  News of John’s collapse had spread quickly through the senior class.  Some people gave him sympathetic nods, others whispered to their friends.  John looked at the floor and walked to his desk.

“John?  Hey, I’m so sorry about your shoulder!  Let me know if you need any help!” Mandy, the girl who sat behind him, said.  John stifled a laugh as Paul mouthed, “See?” from across the room.  He pulled his homework out from his backpack and took out a pencil.  He made a few futile attempts at writing with his left hand before throwing the pencil down on the desk.

As the bell signaled the end of class, John picked up his things and made his way into the crowded hallway.  Carefully, he maneuvered around the clumps of kids blocking the foot traffic in both directions.

“Get better soon, Dolby!  The team needs you!” a lanky boy whom John had never seen before yelled to him as they passed each other.

When John walked into his second class of the day, he was greeted with much the same reaction as when he walked into his first.  Kids who he had barely ever spoken to knew all about the accident and were more than willing to lend their support.  At lunch, John told Paul and a few other members of the baseball team about everyone’s reaction.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, dude.  You’re the best pitcher Pennbrook’s ever seen.  People appreciate that,” said Mike Logan, the varsity shortstop.

“Everyone’s rooting for you.  It’s a good thing!” Paul added.

At the end of the day, John met Coach in his office in the gym behind the school.  John took a deep breath before knocking on the closed door.

“Come in,” Coach called.  “John Dolby…how’s the shoulder holding up?”

“It’s been better, sir.  I tore the tendon and the doctor said I’m going to be out for the rest of the season,” John said in one breath.  He looked up at the ceiling, desperately trying to avoid the Coach’s eyes.

“That’s what I was afraid of.  The same thing happened to a teammate of mine when I was in high school.  Well, it’s not the end of your career.  You’ll be able to play in college and beyond.  Now, what are we going to do about the rest of the season?”

“I don’t know, Coach.  Jones is a pretty solid pitcher,” John suggested, glad that Coach wasn’t mad.

“Yeah, but he’s no you.  We’re really going to miss you, kid.  Now you just need to rest that arm.  You’ll bounce back.”

The rest of the week was almost identical to Monday.  John talked to lots of people he’d never met about an accident he hated reliving.  Everyone was very supportive, very concerned about his shoulder, and very sad about the rest of the season.  When he went home on Friday night, John was ready to relax.  He picked up the phone to call Paul and a few other guys on the team.

“Hey, man.  Wanna go see a movie or something tonight?”

“I wish.  Coach is having us meet tonight before the game against Scranton tomorrow.  You know how it is, man,” Paul said apologetically.

“Yeah, it’s cool.  You guys’ll crush them tomorrow.”

“For sure…they have a combined average of what, .165?  It’ll be fun.  Are you coming to the game?”

“Naw, I have to meet with a physical therapist.  But give me the highlights, alright?”

“Of course!  See ya later, bro.”

“Bye.”  John hung up the phone and turned on the TV.  The Phillies were losing, yet again.  But tonight, John didn’t feel like watching the blood bath.  He changed the channel and watched a Real World marathon for the rest of the night.
            The next week at school, everything had calmed down and gone back to normal.  A few people asked about John’s shoulder, but most didn’t give it a second thought.  John spent most of his energy on physical therapy and learning to live with the sling.  He had learned to write with his left hand and it didn’t take him 30 minutes to get dressed anymore.  At lunch, John still ate with his friends on the baseball team.  Their favorite new topic at the table was their crushing defeat of the Scranton Panthers.

“25—6!  Ridiculous!  It’s like they weren’t even trying, man!” Paul said, pounding Steve Kelly, the second baseman, on the back.

“I know!  Jones even did pretty well.  Watch out man, you’re being replaced,” Steve joked to John.

“Yeah, very funny,” John replied with a weak smile.  The bell rang and the boys, picking up their backpacks, headed back into the school.

“See you guys after school,” John said as he headed towards his next class.

“Not today.  We have the away game against Vance,” Paul reminded him.  “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

“Oh right.  I’ll see you later then, I guess.”

At the end of the day, John called his house and left a message saying he was going to walk home.  He went out the back doors of the school and made his way past the gym and the parking lot to the baseball field.  Slowly, as if not wanting to disturb any of the grass or dirt, John walked across the infield and took a seat on the mound.  For twenty minutes, he stared at home plate, remembering how many baseballs he had thrown across it over the years.

When John finally made it home, he threw his backpack down on the kitchen floor and opened the refrigerator door.

“Hey Johnny!  Why did you walk home today?” his mother asked as she walked into the room.

“I just felt like it, that’s all,” John replied gruffly.

“Alright.  Are your allergies acting up honey?  Your eyes look a little red.”

“No, I’m fine.  They’re not bothering me,” he said, wiping his eyes.  “I’m not actually that hungry.  I think I’ll just go do homework.”  He grabbed his backpack and walked out of the room, careful to keep his face turned away from his mother.

The next day during first period, Paul couldn’t stop talking about the Vance game.

“We were all on fire!  They didn’t stand a chance, man.  It was sick,” he repeated for the fifth time.  “Didn’t we look good, Andy?”

Andy James, the scorekeeper, nodded emphatically and gave Paul a high-five.  “That was the best you played all year, man.  John, you should have seen it.  The boys did you proud.”

“I’m sure they did.” John said flatly.  “Hey, did you hear the Stones are coming to town?  We should go.”  At this, Paul and Andy burst out laughing.

“What?  I was serious!  We should go,” John repeated.

“No, man, it’s not that.  It’s just yesterday at the game the Vance third baseman looked exactly like Mick Jagger.  He even strutted when he was fielding grounders.  He looked ridiculous.  Then on the bus home someone was blasting the Stones out of their headphones.  It was awesome,” Paul explained.

“Oh.  Sounds like I missed out,” John sighed.  The bell rang and he hurriedly shoved his books into his backpack.  “See you later, guys.”

In physics, John imagined all the fun the team had had at the away game while his teacher explained a demonstration he was about to do.

“So, if we measure how far the super ball travels, we will know how fast it was moving when it left the raised platform.  Any questions?  No?  Okay, here we go.  John…will you throw me the super ball from that table next to you?”

John took the ball in his left hand, swung his arm around, and threw the ball at his teacher.  It bounced two feet in front of his teacher’s waiting hands.  John stared, horrified, at the place where the ball had hit the floor.  He tried to say something, but no words came out.  The kid sitting in the front row picked up the ball and casually tossed it to the teacher at the front of the room.  The rest of the class went on as if everything was normal.  Only John was aware of the apocalypse that had just taken place.

At lunch, John awkwardly put his tray on the table, spilling soup on the sandwich that was sitting next to the bowl.

“I hate this goddamn sling!  I hate using one hand.  I hate all of this,” John yelled as his friends joined him at the table.

“I’m sorry, man.  Hey, why don’t you stop by practice today?  We’re running suicides.  You’d have fun seeing all the work you don’t have to do,” Paul offered.

“I can’t.  I have to go to physical therapy.  I hate goddamn physical therapy, too.”

“It’ll be over soon, though, right?  Didn’t the doctor say you could play in college?” Paul asked.

“He said maybe.  It depends on how the rehab goes.  Doesn’t really matter, though.  By the time baseball season comes around next year, I’ll be ridiculously out of shape.  I probably won’t even make the USC team.”

“Don’t say that.  You’re John Dolby!  The John Dolby.  Any kid with a 1.95 ERA will definitely make the USC team,” Paul reassured him.

“Yeah, whatever man.”

            By the time John got home at the end of the day, it was already seven o’clock.  He ate dinner silently, listening to his parents talk about their days.  He barely even spoke when his father complained about the Phillies’ midseason trades.

            “I mean, how are they going to give up Rowand?  Right, Johnny?”

            “Hmmm?  Oh yeah.  Exactly.”

            “Are you okay, sweetie?” his mother asked gently.  “You’ve been pretty quiet all night.”

            “Yeah, I’m fine.  I just have a big history project to do.  In fact, I’m going to go start it right now.”

            John cleared his plate into the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom.  He flipped open his history notes and stared blankly at the page in front of him.  Shaking his head, he picked up a pencil with his left hand.  After underlining a few sentences, he dejectedly threw the pencil down and stood up.  Almost without thinking, he made his way into the bathroom.

            Standing in front of the sink, John stared into the mirror at the blue sling covering his right shoulder.  Carefully, he took it off and rolled up his sleeve, exposing the red scar that ran along his bone.  He straightened his right elbow and wiggled the fingers on his right hand.  Slowly, he lifted the arm, aware of the dull ache in his shoulder.  He leaned forward and opened the door to the medicine cabinet.  His eyes jumped from his bottle of painkillers to his mother’s bottle of sleeping pills.  As the Pennbrook High varsity baseball team ran sprints on the field, John Dolby stood in his house, looking from one bottle of pills to the other.