High and Tight

The kid at the plate had big saucer eyes
I was toying with him
His back foot reaching, helplessly, for the corner of the batter’s box
With an 0-2 count I’d torment him
I figured I’d throw one up and in just for the hell of it
Then, out of the corner of my eye
I saw him….My Dad
He was half-drunk…half-walking, half-staggering up to the stands
About fifteen minutes late for the game… rare for him
Now it was time for my eyes to get saucer big
Sporting a bloodied bandage around his right arm
He shouted out to me on the pitcher’s mound
Matter of fact like….”Your goddamn Mom shot me”
Taking a seat at one bleacher’s end, the other parents shall we say…
Migrated
I ran over to the fence, scared, shaking.
“Are you all right Dad?” “Yeah, she only winged me.”
I didn’t know what to do. I glanced quickly at my coach.
He didn’t know what to do either.
Before any of us could decide…Dad spoke up
“Get the hell out there and pitch…whaddya think I’m here for?”
Coach met me on the mound. “You ok?” he asked, his hand on my shoulder.
“I guess…I guess so.” The kid with the bat moved closer to the plate.
I threw him a fat two-seamer down the pipe. He roped it into left-center.
As he stood defiantly on 2nd base I looked over at Dad.
He was just shaking his head. I had to regain my composure.
I stepped off the mound in the direction of 2nd base.
The little bastard was happier than a two-dicked dog.
I grabbed the resin bag and looked him square in the eye.
“Next time…you little fucker, I’m gonna put one right between your eyes.”
His eyes got….saucer big. I looked up in the stands.
And as a thin trail of blood oozed between Camel stained fingers,
Dad was smiling.
Mom’s car just pulled into the parking lot.