I watched Blake grind the fruit in the bottom of the glass and said, “You’re getting better with those old fashioneds. They taste almost like the real thing now.”

He grumbled, “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like my style, Marshall.”

I winked and asked, “Is that any way to talk to a regular customer?”

It was a Wednesday night at the Toolbox, and I decided to stop in early around 8:00 p.m. There wasn’t much of a crowd, and that was perfect for my purposes. I was scouting for information.

I kept thinking about the guy I met only briefly at the softball game over the weekend. It was difficult to shake him from my head, so I decided to see if I could find out anything else about him. Blake was an obvious first choice to ask. We were good friends, and Blake clearly had some sort of connection with the man.

Blake lowered his voice and spoke in a whisper. “I know you’re just being a smartass about the drink, but I can give as good as I get.” Then he spoke in a normal tone again saying, “This is a little early for you. Are you okay? You’re not drowning sorrows in this drink, are you?”

He slid the glass across the counter to me, and I took a sip. It really was good. The sweetness of the fruit blended perfectly with the warmth of the brandy and the bitters. I gave Blake a thumbs up and said, “I’m not doing anything like that at all. Actually, I was hoping you might have a little bit of information for me.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Me? Information? They all know what loose lips I have, so I’m the bartender that no one tells anything important. If you want to find out about a juicy secret, you’ll need to talk to Claw. His mind is like a steel trap.”

I shook my head and said, “I’m not looking for any secrets. I just wanted to find out if you know anything about that guy at the softball game with the kids. Jordan was his name, I think.”

Blake nodded. “Yep, that’s the name. He’s a math teacher at the high school. What else did you need to know.”

So we were both teachers. I was a professor, to be exact. And he taught math. My atmospheric sciences department was housed under the broad umbrella of mathematics. Maybe we had more in common than I thought.

“How do you know him?” I asked Blake.

Blake smiled and said, “They are looking for an assistant baseball coach at the high school. Jordan is on the selection committee.”

“So you’re doing a little politicking? Sounds like a shrewd backdoor move, Blake. I’m impressed you’re mounting a clever campaign.”

Blake shook his head saying, “I don’t know anything about politics. I met those kids with Jordan in my short little time playing in the city baseball league. They are good kids, and they had Jordan as a teacher. They are kind of my cheerleaders in the whole process.”

I reached a hand across the bar to give Blake a good grip. I said, “Man, I hope you get that job. I think you would make a great coach. The kids would love you, and I’m sure you’ve got great stories to tell from the minors.”

“Well, thank you for the support, but now I’m a little curious, too. Why is it that you want to know about Jordan? You teach at the university, don’t you? Is there some kind of connection you have with the high school, Marshall?”

I leaned across the bar again and dropped my voice to a whisper once more. Blake turned his head to the side so that only he could hear. I said, “Blake, I would appreciate it if you work a little harder at keeping this a secret than you do most of the time, but I thought there might be a little spark there with Jordan, and I’m curious to see if any of his friends have an opinion on my chances of turning the spark into a flame.”

Blake’s eyes opened wide and he said, “You…and Jordan. Wow. He’s a little younger, but yeah, I could see that. After all, Ian was into you when he was pissed at me.”

“Well, thanks, some guys might think I’m a little too old.”

Blake said, “If you acted like an old codger, I might say yes, but damn, look at you, Marshall. You’re a catch. And I’ll tell you one more thing.”

I raised an eyebrow and asked, “Yeah?”

“Those two kids, Shane and Joey. They think really highly of Jordan, and both of them can detect bullshit from a mile away. If they think he’s a good guy, then he most likely is.”

I smiled and said, “That is good to know.”

“Well, good luck, man,” said Blake. “And if you get anywhere, see if you can wedge in a good word for your buddy Blake. I can use all the help I can get. I really would like to coach.”

---

I wasn’t sure that Jordan would be at our next softball game, but I hoped he would. I made plans in my head to introduce myself again and have more of a conversation than the last time. I could see his handsome smile in my mind and that nice V-shape swimmer’s body that he carried around.

In the last minutes before it was time to leave home, I was seized by anxiety about how I looked. I stared at the wrinkles around my eyes and the skin on my face that was no longer as clear, smooth and tight as it was in my twenties. I worried that I was deluding myself about anyone Jordan’s age having a serious interest.

I swallowed hard while I slicked my hair back and thought about running into Jordan again. He looked great, and he was a young guy with a serious job. I sighed heavily laboring under doubts I hadn’t experienced for years.

Glancing at my phone, I realized I was already running five minutes late, so I gave up on any more last minute primping and rushed to the car. I would have to accept what I saw in the mirror. It was just me. It was the 46-year-old Marshall Easterling. It was the best that I could do.

The rest of the team was already at the field when I arrived, and a quick glance told me that Jordan was in the stands with Shane and Joey at his side. Ian gave me a sideways glance and asked, “What’s up Marshall? It’s not like you to be late. I thought I would have to substitute in a left fielder.”

I mumbled something about, “last minute stuff,” and jogged out to my place in left field. I kicked my feet up backwards and leaned from one side to the other trying to stretch before the balls started to fly.

My nerves were wrapped up in knots as the game started. We were on the books as the home team which meant the other team batted first. I bounced from one leg to the other as I waited for the first batter to step up to the plate.

Billy turned his head from his position at shortstop and shouted, “Don’t think about him, Marshall! Head in the game!”

I growled knowing that everyone was likely to ask me about what Billy meant. I barked back, “You, too, Billy. The batter is at home plate, not in the outfield!”

I took three deep breaths and then leaned forward with my hands on my thighs. The other team’s first batter stepped up to the plate. Reggie squatted down behind home plate and waited to catch the first pitch. I watched Ian go through his slow windup and then he lobbed the big neon-green ball on its way to the plate.

The batter swung and he hit the ball hard. Fortunately, for us, the ball was a line drive directly to Blake. He caught the ball without any fuss for the first out and then tossed it to Billy so that it could make a circuit around the infield before returning to Ian on the pitcher’s mound.

The next batter swung twice and missed the first two pitches. From my viewpoint in left field, he didn’t even come close to the ball. I closed my eyes for a moment thinking about Jordan, and I wondered what it would be like to give him a kiss. My eyes opened wide when I heard our center fielder Lowell shout, “Yours Marshall!”

I blinked and stared up at the sky just in time to see the softball arcing through the air. Fortunately, I only needed to take two steps to my left to plant myself directly under the ball and haul it into my glove.

“Way to play heads up ball, Marshall!” shouted Billy as I relayed the ball back to the infield.

When the next batter struck out, I jogged back to the dugout with the rest of the team. Lowell stepped up beside me and said, “They don’t look like much of a challenge. If we put together a few hits, we can probably run away with this one.”

While our first batters stepped up to the plate, Reggie, our catcher, and Ian’s best friend, sat next to me in the dugout and said, “You look wound up a little tight today, Marshall. That’s not usual for you. Is everything okay?”

I said, “Yeah, I’m good. Just some personal stuff that’s rolling around in my head. It will all be fine. I’m pumped.” I said, “Lowell looks a lot happier than he was at the first game. Does that mean we’ll get Sven back for the rest of the season?”

Reggie shook his head. He said, “I doubt it. Sven’s dad is still pretty sick, and Lowell said Sven has committed to helping out at his parent’s place for the next couple of months. They really think his dad could be gone at any time. Maybe Lowell is happier, though. He told me that he’s taking several days off during the week this summer to go to Minnesota and be with Sven.”

Our first four batters got on base. We scored two runs, and I was due up before the inning was over. I was sixth in the batting order. I stood up to exit the dugout to the on deck circle, and Billy said, “Head in the game, Marshall. Keep the rally going.”

Unfortunately, the rally stalled before I stepped up to the plate. We had two outs and two guys still on base. I never really enjoyed heading to the plate with the pressure of guys on base and two outs. If I didn’t get a hit, it would be easy to feel like I let the team down.

The nerves about Jordan watching me and my insecurities about my age piled together and I dug myself into the batter’s box feeling nervous vibrations in my arms and legs. I growled to myself and told myself in my head, “Calm down, Marshall. Just get a hit. Just show the team what you’re made of.”

I pounded my aluminum bat in the center of home plate and then crouched down staring out to the pitcher. He looked worried and concerned. His expression was the first thing that helped me relax. Their pitcher was confident that I was going to get a hit.

Shane and Joey, the two kids from high school, shouted behind me, “Murder the ball, Marshall!”

The ball arrived at home plate after a perfect, slow, arcing path. It gave me plenty of time to judge the position of the ball. I heard that loud, “Plink!” when my bat connected with the ball. It was a solid hit. As the ball sailed toward the outfield, I dropped the bat and dug for first base.

The roar of my teammates in the dugout on the opposite side of the field told me everything I needed to know. The ball was over the fence for a home run. It was my first home run since midway through the previous season. I slowed my run around the bases to a jog and then stomped triumphantly when I made it to home plate.

Antonio, with his long, skinny arms, was next up to bat, and he gave me a huge, tight hug in celebration. He exclaimed, “Home run king right here!” Antonio raised one long arm above my head and pointed at me while the team rattled the chain link fencing across the front of the dugout. We were up 5-0, and the first inning wasn’t over yet.

I couldn’t help but strut as I glided to the dugout with a glow on my face. The nervous energy was released in one big explosion when I sent the ball over the fence. I needed to remember that for future reference when I needed to calm the nerves.

The rest of the game unfolded in a similar fashion. We won easily, and when Ian recorded the final out as a strikeout, we all gathered for a massive team huddle at home plate. The Soft Serves were tied for the league lead. We won our first league championship the season before, and now we were the defending champions. Our prospects looked good, but the season would be a tough fight.

My teammates considered me the hero of the game. We gathered in a huddle around home plate and shouted war cries for the Soft Serves. I was ushered off the field by Billy on one side and Blake on the other. Blake said, “You’ll join us at the Toolbox right, Marshall? We can’t have a proper celebration without our slugger.”

I said, “I will be right there, guys. First I need to say hello to someone.”

I could feel Billy’s eyes on me as I jogged over to Jordan. He was walking away from the field with the high school boys at his side. As I approached, I called, “Hey, Jordan!”

They held up and Jordan turned his head. I was met with a wide, genuine smile. He said, “Marshall! You were the big hero today. I loved seeing you hit that home run over the fence.”

Shane added, “I think Billy and Blake better watch out. There’s a new guy trying to be the star of the team.”

I shook my head and lowered it saying, “That might be taking things a little too far.” Then I shoved my hands in the pockets of my uniform pants and said, “Well, I just wanted to say hi and thank you all for coming to our games. It’s great to have fans in the stands.”

Jordan said, “You help make it worth watching, Marshall.”

I could feel his eyes on me, and I wanted to ask him out for a drink or coffee, but something held my tongue. I gestured back in the direction of the rest of the team and said, “Well, I gotta go celebrate with the guys. Will you be at our next game?”

Shane and Joey turned toward Jordan while he looked back at them. Jordan said, “I don’t know why not. I think it will be the last one while school is still in session. Then I’ve got a lot more free time over the summer. I think the Soft Serves have picked up a loyal fan.”

Shifting from one foot to the other, I said, “Well, guys, thanks again. See you all soon.”

I turned and jogged off toward the rest of the team. I was already kicking myself in my thoughts, but at least I knew that I would have another chance to ask Jordan out at the next game. I repeated that thought in my mind, and it helped me relax. By the time I arrived at the Toolbox, I was my normal self again.