Fiction by Mathieu Cailler
The pitcher for the hometown Jackson Prairie High School has just given up a two-run shot into deep right. A curveball that got away from him. He knew immediately from the sound of wood on leather, a perfect pop. The scoreboard tiles flip, heavy, like a vintage alarm clock, and he studies the cocky toss of the bat from number 22, end-over-end, till it settles onto manicured grass; then watches the stride of the batter as he turns first and second, causing soft puffs of dirt to rise from his cleats then settle. The pitcher allows himself rage, doubt, pity for the entirety of the batter’s lap around the bases. But, as soon as 22’s left heel scrapes the rubber of home, the pitcher treats himself to a heavy pour of amnesia. He takes a breath with his whole body, feels the tissue of his lungs fully deflate and rise again. The next batter—Langston McFee, a lefty, a powerhouse with scouts in the stands—strolls into the box, rubs his toe in the dirt, spits accurately. The pitcher collects a new ball from the catcher. High on the mound, sixty feet and six inches away from terror, he reads the signal from his teammate. He nods. He licks his fingers. He fires up his knee, juts his shoulder—every fastball a new beginning.
Mathieu Cailler writes poetry, fiction, essays, and children’s books. His work has appeared in publications including The Saturday Evening Post and the Los Angeles Times. Author of six books, his most recent–Heaven and Other Zip Codes (Open Books)–was winner of the 2021 Los Angeles Book Festival Prize.
