Change Up Page 18

  “Sounds good,” I replied. “Thank you for the opportunity.” I shook Felix’ hand again, and we left the office, taking the elevator down to the clubhouse area.

  Walking back into the locker room was a great thrill for me. Many of the players and coaching staff were already there, getting ready for the game. I saw a few familiar faces of guys I had played against over the years, and even a few I had played with in Pittsburgh in the past, making me feel a bit more comfortable. Felix dropped me off in the training room as he went in to speak to the team manager, Pete Doyle.

  I never liked taking team physicals, but it was a necessary evil of the job to make sure we were in shape. The doctors looked closely over all my medical files and records, checking everything and asking about every treatment, illness or anything else that I have had in my life. They spent a lot of time checking out my left knee, asking about the surgeries, and checking to make sure it was sound. I went through the battery of tests on every inch of my body, had blood drawn and gave a urine sample, and got poked and prodded in ways and in places no one enjoys.

  When the doctor was done having his fun, I got dressed and was led down to Pete Doyle’s office. I had met Pete casually over the years when our teams played each other, but neither one of us knew each other very well. Pete was the typical grizzled baseball manager, with his gray hair and beard and gruff attitude towards everyone – players, coaches, the press, umpires and anyone else who got in his way. He stood up from his desk and gave me a firm handshake when I came in.

  “Wes, it’s great to have you here,” He said as he sat back down. “Welcome to the team. Call me Pete.”

  “Thanks, Pete,” I said as I kept standing, anxious to get on with everything since the game was just a few hours away.

  “I’ve got you in the lineup today, hitting sixth,” he said to me. “I know you’re used to hitting fourth, but we’ve got that covered by Anton Rogers. I hope that’s okay.”

  “I don’t care where I’m hitting Pete, as long as I’m playing.” Felix came back into the office, shuffling his papers.”

  “Okay Wes, we’ll make this quick. Just get into uniform, and I’ll be over by your locker with a few press guys for some questions.”

  I walked out of Pete’s office and into the locker room. Felix led me over to a locker that already had my nameplate on it. I saw the Reds jersey hanging there, the crisp white jersey with the red trim and the classic logo. There was my name on the back, with my number 12 on it. A smile crept across my face as I held the jersey in my hands.

  I worked fast to get myself dressed in my uniform, impressed that they had everything that fit so well right off the bat.

  Those clubhouse guys know their business, I thought as I tucked my jersey in, tightened my belt, and put my cap on.

  Felix walked over with about six or seven press guys, several of whom I knew from the past. The TV camera lights lit up, and I was asked questions about what it was like to play for a new team, was I anxious to play the Pirates, was I in game shape, and so on. I gave all the obligatory answers about being glad to get the chance to play, how I looked forward to getting on the field, and all the things you expect to hear. The conference was over as fast as it started, and I grabbed my bat and glove and headed out to the field.

  I took some groundballs at first and fielded throws for about ten minutes, getting back into the groove of moving and stretching to field the position. It all felt natural right away, and I was glad that I seemed to be moving well.

  Maybe those few days off were what you needed, I told myself.

  I was nervous about taking batting practice because I hadn’t swung a bat in days and thought I might be rusty. The first few swings were fouled off and slow groundballs on the infield, but once I got into a groove I felt better and was seeing the ball better. I found myself grooving more than a few over the right field and centerfield walls, catching the attention of players, the press and the fans in the stand.

  Once batting practice was over, it was back to the locker room to get some introductions to other guys on the team. Most were cordial, saying they were glad I was here and wishing me luck. After that, I kept to myself, prepping myself for the game, getting my glove ready, checking my sunglasses and trying to get my head ready for action.

  I did a quick check of my phone before I put it away. There were more messages from lots of people now that the signing was official, including a good luck message from Dad. I scanned down further, hoping against hope for something from Kristen, but there was nothing. I turned the phone off and stored it in the locker.

  Pete Doyle came out and did a pep talk to the team before we went out to the dugout, and then it was game time. We walked through the tunnel out to the dugout, and I could feel the electricity now from the crowd. The murmur got louder as I went down the tunnel, and once in the dugout, you could hear the loud mixture of the crowd and the music in the stadium. I looked up at the scoreboard and saw my name listed on the screen, and a feeling of pride came over me.

  We were announced onto the field, and I trotted out to my position at first base. Hector Martinez, the Pirates’ first base coach, was in the box there and gave me a friendly pat on the back when he saw me. I concentrated on the throws from my new teammates for practice, and once we were ready for play, everything fell back into place for me, and it was like I had never been off the field.

  The first two batters went easily for the Pirates, one pop fly to left and the other a strikeout. The third batter, Glenn Hopkins, the Pirates catcher, rapped a groundball down to me that I fielded easily on two hops and jogged to the base for the out. I flipped the ball to Glenn, who was not the fastest of runners, as he came back towards the base as I was leaving the field.

  The next inning went routinely, with each team going down in order. I was due up now in the bottom of the second. Anton Rogers, the slugging behemoth of a right fielder, lined a single to right. Our third baseman, Brett Thompson, followed that up with a single of his own. I heard my name announced and slowly walked to the plate, amid a good reception from the crowd. I could see that some Pirates fans that had made the trip also stood up and clapped for me. I took a few practice swings, stepped in the box, and got ready for the first pitch.

  The Pirates pitcher today was Freddy Gutierrez. I didn’t know Freddy that well as he came up to the team in September last year and pitched a few meaningless games for us as the season ended. He had a nasty curveball, but I knew he relied heavily on that, so I went in looking to see it. As I got ready to hit, Glenn Hopkins peered up at me.

  “Nice to see you could hobble to the plate, Grandpa,” Glenn said to me. We had been teammates for years, and this was typical Glenn to try to rile the batters.

  “Careful Glenn,” I told him. “I may have forgotten which way to swing and crack you in your thick head.”

  I looked out at Gutierrez and saw him peer in for the sign and nod his head. I was guessing curve; he came in with a fastball over the plate for a strike. It had good speed on it, better than I remembered he had.

  “Nice hack, Gramps,” Glenn remarked.

  I ground my right foot in and got ready for the next one. I knew the curve was coming this time; he couldn’t resist trying to loop one past me. Sure enough, I saw it spinning right out of his hand and heading for the middle of the plate. My swing swooshed through the zone, and I heard that cracking sound that I loved to hear.

  You know when you’ve hit one well; it makes a much different sound than the dull thud the sound of the ball makes when you don’t get it. This sound is the prettiest one you can hear as a batter, a unique crack that comes and goes quickly. I looked up and saw the ball soaring deep and was deposited into the right-field seats.

  The crowd erupted loudly as I circled the bases and savored every moment of my jog. I slapped hands with my teammates when I crossed the plate and gave Glenn Hopkins a wry smile and saw him smile back at me. The team in the dugout greeted me with high-fives all around.

  The next
two innings went by well for us as we tacked on another run to go up 4-0. When I came up again in the fifth, Anton had gotten on base ahead of me with another single. Gutierrez was still in the game, but he was clearly rattled and running out of gas. I could tell he wasn’t happy when I stepped in, and I knew he was going to try to slip another fastball by me and stay away from the curve this time. The pitch came in, hanging fat down the middle, and I crushed it, driving it to deep center and well over the wall.

  Hitting a home run is great; hitting two in a game is even better. I had done it a few times in the past, but this one felt sweeter since it was my first game with a new team. The crowd felt even louder than before, and the smiles in the dugout were even bigger.

  By the time I came up again in the seventh, we were up 6-1. The new pitcher, Aaron Lake, was the mop-up guy for the Pirates who came in when things were going poorly. He threw mostly junk, lots of off-speed stuff and a fastball. No one was on base this time, and the game was pretty much in hand. Lake had that look on his face that meant he wanted to try to get out of here as fast as possible and get to the post-game buffet. He threw two pitches in the dirt to me before coming in with an expected fastball that had nothing on it. Boom! Like magic, this one carried over the right-field fence as well.

  I felt like I was running on clouds as I went around the bases again. Glenn Hopkins wasn’t even looking at me anymore, disgusted by his pitch selection and the results each time. The crowd was going crazy, screaming, jumping up and down, and chanting “Wes” over and over until Anton Rogers came over and said, “You better give them a wave, dude.” I peeked out of the dugout and doffed my hat to the crowd in thanks.

  Needless to say, we won the game easily, 8-1. I had reporters swamping me after the game, asking about my performance, how it felt, was it especially sweet against my old team and more. I dutifully answered the questions, saying it was great to get a win and it felt good to be on the field. The furor eventually died down, and I got changed back into my street clothes. Teammates slapped me on the back and invited me out for drinks and dinner, but I declined, just wanting to get back to the hotel.

  I checked my cell phone. There were voicemails from Randy, screaming into the phone saying how awesome this all was. He sent me a text as well, with nothing but dollar signs showing, saying he was already getting calls about endorsement deals. There were other messages too, from former teammates, asking me where that all came from.

  I walked out of the locker room and up and out to the street, getting thanks and congratulations from the staff at the stadium along the way. Once I was out on the street, there were a few people there looking for autographs, so I signed a few for some of them. One young guy came up to me, saying he had caught the ball from my last homer and asked if I would sign it for him. I did and took a picture with him as well, that I was sure was going to show up on social media somewhere.

  The walk back to the hotel was invigorating. I felt spent after the game, and the adrenaline rush of playing was wearing off. The anonymity you get when you are a ballplayer in street clothes in a new town is awesome, and I could walk back to the hotel casually without anyone even knowing who I was. I walked into the hotel and went right up to my room. It was after six, so I ordered some room service for dinner and then called home.

  Dad answered on the first ring. “Hell of a game today, Wes,” Dad said. “I wish it didn’t come against the Pirates though.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” I told him. “I sure didn’t plan it that way, but it felt pretty good. Is Izzy around?” I asked hopefully.

  I heard Dad call out for Izzy and she was on the phone right away.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said to me excitedly. “How are you?”

  “I’m doing great, how about you?” We went on to have a real conversation, one we hadn’t had in a while. Izzy told me about her day at school, how things went at track practice, how she cooked dinner tonight, and more. She was genuinely glad to talk to me and happy for how my day went.

  “Dad?” she asked, taking that tone where I knew she was about to ask me something I knew I might not like.

  “What’s up?” I answered, expecting the worst.

  “Well, there’s this dance at school on Friday night that all my friends are going to, and I was wondering if it would be okay if I went.” The phone was silent as she waited for an answer, and I waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “That’s it?” I asked her.

  “Not really…” she said with some hesitation. “You see, Bradley asked if I would go with him. Dad, I really want to go so please…”

  I interrupted her. “Izzy, you know how I feel about you dating. I thought we agreed when you were sixteen.”

  “It’s just a month away Dad,” she pleaded. “This dance is in four days.”

  I considered what she was saying and how things had been lately.

  “Do you like this boy?” I asked her sincerely.

  “I do,” she said quietly.

  “Do your grandparents know him?”

  “Grandpa does because he works at the diner after school and on weekends,” she said. I could tell she was feeling anxious about where this was going.

  “Okay,” I said to her and then heard her squeal into the phone.

  “Thanks, Dad! Thank you, thank you!” Izzy yelled. “I have to go call Amy. I love you! Go Reds!”

  I heard the phone drop, and then Dad was on again.

  “I guess she’s done,” Dad said with a laugh.

  “You know this boy, Dad?” I said, asking seriously.

  “I do, Wes,” he told me. “He’s a good kid. He’s Clyde Stuart’s grandson. Works at the diner. He’s quiet, polite, and respectful. Don’t worry, he’s nothing like Clyde.”

  “Well that’s a relief,” I said. “Does he drive? How are they getting to the dance? What time does it end?”

  “Wes, relax,” Dad said to me. “I don’t have the whole itinerary for the evening yet. When I get the details, I will let you know. Trust me, she will be fine. Your mother and I will make sure of it. What are you going to do with yourself tomorrow? It’s an off day you know.”

  “I hadn’t even thought about it yet,” I told him. “I’m sure I’ll find something.”

  “Okay, well get a good night’s sleep, Wes. I’ll talk to you later. I’m proud of you,” Dad said to me.

  It made me feel good to hear that from him.

  “Thanks, Dad. Tell Mom hi for me. Have a good night.”

  I hung up the phone and placed it on the nightstand. There was a knock at my door, and it was room service with my dinner. The man brought in the tray of food and placed it on the table. I signed the slip to have it charged to the room, and the man smiled up at me, showing a big smile.

  “Great game today, Mr. Martin,” he told me.

  “Thanks,” I said as I handed him a five-dollar tip. He thanked me graciously and left the room happily.

  I sat down at the table, lifting the silver cloche off the steak and french fries I had ordered. It looked and smelled delicious, but I just wasn’t ready to eat yet. I kept thinking that this was such a great day, so much better than the day before, and I just wish I had someone to share it with, to share the night with. I picked up my phone again and found Kristin’s contact information. I was going to call, but I didn’t think she would pick up knowing it was me. I sent a text to her instead, the safer way out:

  I had a good day today. I wish you were here to share it with me, but I get why you aren’t. Just know I am thinking of you.

  I pressed send and waited to see if I would get a reply. After about thirty seconds, when I hadn’t heard anything, I figured she wasn’t going to reply, and I didn’t really blame her. If she really wanted to move on, this was how she had to do it.

  I started cutting into my steak, flipping the sports channel on to see highlights of the game and interviews with me looking awkward on camera.

  “It’s a new start for me, and this is a great way to do it,” I saw myself say i
n response to one of the reporter’s questions after the game.

  Maybe great for you, I thought to myself as I took another bite of dinner.

  25

  Kristin

  Monday mornings are not often a joy, but this one seemed even worse than others. Waking up in the morning was a chore as I groaned when the alarm went off and bade me to wake up. Instinct had me reaching for my phone right away, and it was then I remembered that it was off, and for a good reason. After spending the day yesterday with Karen trying to forget about Wes, coming home and seeing him there, asking me to go with him to Cincinnati, was more than I could take.

  I sat up in bed, flipped my phone on, and decided today was going to be a better day no matter what. I was determined to move on, take control of my life again, and get back to the way things were before Wes Martin came in and disrupted everything for me. It was the only way I was going to be able to move on.