Gemotions

The leather of the catcher's mitt felt foreign in Mark’s hand. He ran his thumb over the worn stitching, a grimace forming on his face. “You're behind the plate now, Mark,” Coach had said, and that was that. His batting average was good, and his fielding in the outfield had been solid, but they needed a catcher. A catcher! He hadn't worked on catching a ball behind the plate since he was a kid.

He squatted, the unfamiliar position making his knees ache. The pitcher’s throws stung his glove. He missed pitches, he dropped balls, he made errors that cost the team runs. During the dugout huddles, he found himself staring off into space, his focus lost. Each missed opportunity felt like a personal failure, a stark reminder of his new, unwanted reality.