Swing for the fence.
Todd eyed the cross-weaved wire and, ten yard beyond it, the rusty car amid the wieldy knee-high grass. He had tried for months to hit it, but so far had not succeeded. And with summer drawing to a close his window of opportunity was shrinking rapidly.
“Ready?” his friend Jesse asked.
Todd gave a nod. Jesse promptly stepped onto the hill and threw a fastball. It barely grazed the swinging bat and hobbled a couple of feet across the pitch before coming to a disappointing rest.
“Want another go?” Jesse asked.
They were already late for supper so Todd was in for a whooping from his dad come what may.
“Hit it in the same spot,” he told Jesse. “Just a little bit faster.”
“I’ll try,” his friend replied as he made his way back to the hill.
This time the fastball collided with the bat right on the sweet-spot. Todd let go of the bat and followed the ball in the air, walking after it, then running, as it headed towards the fence.
“Come on!” Todd yelled. “Make it. Make it!”
The ball started dropping. It was certain to clear the fence. Bit would it hit the car? Jesse, who was also running after the ball by now, exchanged glances with Todd. They were both sporting elated smiles.
Years on they’d forget the brand of the car, its colour, even how old they were when it happened.
But they never forgot the sound of that ball denting the hood.
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