“Swing it Far” was inspired by an Ian Anderson song by the same name, which appears on the album Thick as a Brick 2. If you have the time, I recommend listening to both Thick as a Birck albums back-to-back and in their entirety.
The story was written several years ago for a writing group I co-founded. It’s really more of an experiment than a story. Anyway, I publish it now because it thematically fits with my last two movie reviews - The Dial of Destiny and Sound of Freedom.
Enjoy!
-T. C.
I knocked on the door. A small woman answered. Coach Jennings’s nurse. She instinctively knew why I was there. She glared at me as if to say, Just leave the poor man alone already. Still, she invited me in.
“Top of the stairs. First door on the left. I’m knocking off for the night so please lock up when you leave.”
I climbed the steps, turned and entered. There yet hardly there laid coach Jennings. He had shrunken since last I saw him. Skin like gossamer. I moved to the bedside and placed my hand on his. The knuckles were knots in a string. The few strands of hair left to him were gray and wild about his head.
Coach’s face winced. His eyes slowly opened.
“Who’s that?”
I told him.
“Oh, it’s good to see you. How … how long has it been?”
“Thirty years,” I said. “Time has a way of slipping by, doesn’t it? Anyway, how are you, coach?”
“Not good.” His voice was a whisper. “It’s the bottom of the ninth for me.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“In the closet. My trophy box.”
I opened the door. A musty odor wafted out. A partially smashed cardboard box stood on the floor. I pulled open its tabs and rummaged through a lifetime’s worth of junk - junk but for the memories and the times and the people it all stood for. I found a trophy with a little man on top swinging a bat and a plaque at the bottom that declared First Place 1993. I brought it back to him. He held it in his hands, looked at it, then laid it at his side.
“You boys meant everything to me,” coach said. His eyes closed.
“A lot of who I am is because of you.”
But what does that mean now?
Harsh news exposé. Unauthorized medical examinations. Boys in underwear. Say it ain’t so, Joe. Say it ain’t so.
Coach’s barefoot poked out. The nails were broken and yellow. I tossed the blanket over it. What I came to say I left unsaid.
Outside, winter clung stubbornly to April. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck. It was a good afternoon for a walk. I went through the old town where the roads were still made of brick and the streetlights looked like gas lanterns. Through a window I spotted an old teammate at the bar having a beer by himself. So, I went inside.
“Hey, ol’ chap! How the hell have ya been? First round’s on me.”
I told him from where I came. His countenance fell.
“How is coach?”
“Not so great.”
“Serves the fucker right.” He swallowed his beer and made an exit.
Long shadows grew longer. It was time to head home. I cut through the park. At the baseball diamond a group of kids played. They wore their winter attire. Gloved hands held aluminum bats. Unspeakably cold. Still, they played. The weather didn’t matter. It could have been hailing and, still, they’d play. I wished to God I could feel like that again.
The boy playing catcher caught me watching.
“You wanna have a swing, mister?”
“Sure.”
Once more I stood over home plate. Once more I raised a bat over my shoulder. For a moment I closed my eyes …
… And I am back at the school yard. The sun is golden. I hear coach Jennings shout, “Get the lead out, boys, and swing it far!” The bat cracks. And I watch the ball fly over the treetops.