Gemotions

A sharp ache throbbed in Michael’s knee, a familiar pang of his younger self. It wasn't the pain itself, but the memory that accompanied it. He stared at the baseball bat, its grip worn smooth from years of practice. Tonight, he was to play right field.

He shifted his weight, remembering the feel of the ball connecting with the sweet spot, the roar of the crowd, the satisfying crack that echoed through the stadium. He’d been the shortstop, the anchor, the heart of the team. Now, he’d be out there, away from the action.

The familiar buzz of the stadium, usually a rush of adrenaline, felt distant tonight, like a faded echo. He ran his hand over the worn leather of his glove, feeling like he was staring at a piece of the past that was no longer his. He took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass and hotdogs doing little to quell the feeling.