Gemotions

The late afternoon sun painted long shadows across the baseball diamond. Marco leaned against the dugout, the familiar thrum of pre-game anticipation a distant hum. He bounced a baseball idly off his glove, catching it with a practiced ease. A gentle breeze stirred the dust, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and hot dogs. He could practically feel the warmth of the sun soaking into his shoulders.

Coach Miller clapped him on the back. “Marco, son, come here a sec.”

He ambled over, his steps slow and unhurried. “Yeah, Coach?”

“We need you at third base today.”

A flicker of surprise, nothing more, crossed his face. “Third? But… I’ve been pitching all season.”

“Yeah, well, we need a strong glove there. And you’ve got the arm. Plus, little Johnny’s hurt, so…” The coach trailed off, shrugging.

Marco took a breath. He’d enjoyed the rhythm, the control of the mound. Now, a different sort of challenge. He pushed off the ground, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alright. Let’s do it.”