Sandlot Scenes

Today I found out an old friend is very sick. He was probably one of my first actual friends since the first 6 years of my life I met other children, but only played closely with my own cousins. There was Erika; the basis of our friendship really being that she lived across the street, that my little brother used to try to pick her up in his Hot Wheels Corvette, and of course, that her name was Erica too. Fourth letter of choice. She was my first friend, and then there was Matt. First grade, Mrs. Adams' class. I was in a new school with not so new clothes and Matthew was the one I connected with. The laminated name tag on his desk has to say 'Matthew,' but even our teacher called him, 'Matt.' We had a kickball league. Everyday our class hoarded the gravel field at the far end of the playground. Matt and I were captains- I think half because we could kick the ball the farthest and half because we demanded the most attention. We mostly just scrimmaged against ourselves, but on the occasion that the lunch aids made us allow the other children to play, we charged the game as "Adams' vs. all!" and took it as a battle to be victoried, a title to uphold. We always won those games, or at least that's how I choose to remember it.

Matt is sick now. My mother called me on a 5 from rehearsal tonight and aside from asking about show tickets and my health, she told me my hometown was on a hushed buzz. Testicular cancer they say, with mentions of chemo and frozen sperm, and buzz words of 'treatment' and 'ruined.' They say he's sick. Sick; like he could take some Dimetapp or Advil and run right back out on that gravel diamond. I haven't spoken to Matt in probably a year. The last time we spoke we were both just trying to get through the complicated surprises growing up had rolled our way. We were hopeful. And what of now? Now that my second friend/first crush/fellow coming-of-age hopeful might die? I refuse to speak any words of inevitability. But what of now when we have left the playground yet kept running to towards the bases we always wanted to touch? How do you keep going when you are sick? When your cells are dying and your body is struggling? What words have I for that?? I fear there are none. Some say you learn everything you need to know when you are small. Others say God blesses you with the skills you need to survive. If these are so, then I know only one thing to do: square off to that outfield and kick the ball as far as we possibly can.


...Erica.
anything by Blind Melon.