Home Away from Home

Walking towards what is considered a second home hours before the championship game even begins yields nothing but complete silence. The freshly- cut, green grass in the outfield glistens from its daily dosage of morning dew. A bare, dirt-covered infield yearns to be lined with fresh, white chalk. No boisterous fans are screaming, no coaches are instructing, and no teammates are cheering. Everything is still as I step onto the softball field and begin to imagine and prepare for what is to come in only a matter of hours. After walking around the field several times, I return home to change into my favorite outfit: two long, navy-blue socks, a pair of white softball pants, and a navy-blue, short-sleeved buttoned-up shirt with the number ten on the back in white numerals. The second time I step on the field is a complete opposite from the first. My ears are pierced by the loud cheers of the many fans who are sitting in the bleachers and cheering for their respective teams. A crunch sound can be heard by the players as the spikes of our metal cleats meet the dirt. The eight remaining players carry their gloves and sprint to their appropriate positions in the field as I run to the white pentagon in the corner that has become my stress reliever and my home away from home: home plate. Along with a glove, my position requires a helmet, chest protector, and shin guards. The field is now lined with white chalk along the first
Byers 2 and third base foul lines and the batter's boxes. An umpire approaches in a light blue shirt and navy-blue pants to shake my hand and wishes good luck and the game of my life begins. The silentness returns shortly thereafter when it is my turn to bat. As I step into the rectangular left-handed batter’s box, the opponents, teammates, coaches, defense, and fans disappear. The noise continues, but I block everything out of my mind and become completely focused. In that moment, all I notice is one girl