June 2024 Flash Lit 1.1 Orange

Lila knew he’d do it because he did it every time:  her dad put the orange wedge in his mouth so that when he smiled there was peel where his teeth should have been.  It also made her laugh every time. Tradition.

Baseball was all about tradition.  Maybe Lila was only seven, but she understood.  There had to be orange slices.  She had to put her new mitt, cuddling a baseball, between her mattress and her box spring and sleep on it like the princess and the pea.  The outfield chant had to be “Ay, batter batter batter!”—three batters, no more, no less.

 

All that tradition had brought her to this moment.  Bottom of the ninth, down by one, the winning runs waiting on second and third, Lila at bat.

 

Her dad, flashing his orange grin at her, mimed choking up on the bat.  She squinted and nodded before gripping the bat a little higher.

 

The first pitch was wide.  Lila didn’t swing.  The second was low and inside and she whiffed it.

 

The Juicy Fruit gum in her mouth had gone flavorless, but she clenched her back molars around it as she swung at the third perfect pitch.  The sound of ball on aluminum bat was like thunder in a church bell.

 

Lila dropped the bat and ran.  The infield dust and the baseline chalk filled her nose.  The ball was dropping now and the shortstop backed up.  Not far enough.  The ball landed behind her as Lila rounded first.  Sarah had made it home and Alicia raced past third.  The shortstop’s panicked throw for home bounced short and popped over the catcher’s head.  Alicia touched home and the game was won.

 

Of course there was pizza.