Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the dusty baseball field, the smell of cut grass and dirt a stark contrast to the churning anxiety in Coach Riley’s stomach. He’d paced for hours, unable to shake the image of young Ben’s face, full of hope, during tryouts.

He gripped his hat tightly, the fabric digging into his palm. Each gust of wind seemed to whisper the inevitable. He found himself avoiding eye contact with the players, even during the practice warmups.

He kicked at a loose clod of dirt. It broke apart easily, but the feeling inside him felt unbreakable. The waiting had become unbearable.