The night is dark and full of terrors, only broken through by the glistening lights that shine on the baseball diamond. In the center of the field, a team huddles up.

“Break!” The team’s huddle disassembles, and the players head into the dugout. Matt, the star player, hears, “I’ll meet you in the car,” from his brother Frank, the college baseball superstar. But as Matt, the last player in the dugout, walks out, he doesn’t head towards the exits or any other direction that his teammates are headed.

“Where are you headed, Matty?” one friend says, But Matt ignores him and continues walking. He walks towards the bleachers and goes to the highest level, about 60 feet above the ground. A bat in hand, he rapidly taps his foot on the metal of the bleachers.

He hears, “where are you, Matt?” from Frank, coming to find him. But he doesn’t respond, only tapping his foot until he sees Frank, 60 feet below him. He is tapping still, until Frank comes up the steps and sits next to Matt.

“What’s the matter, you had a bad practice? It’s fine; you already got scholarships.”
Matt, distraught, nervous that what he was about to say would shatter the world, responded, “That’s the thing, Frank! I’m not sure that I wanna,” Matt snaps his fingers rapidly, looking up, down, side to side. “You know”

“Know what? Just spit it out,” Frank says.

“I don’t know if I wanna play baseball further… There alright, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and I just don’t know; I don’t wanna do it.”
Matt says this as if he confessed to a murder, like he dropped a bombshell over a crowd of people, like he had finally done it, the thing that would make everyone that loved him simultaneously stop.

Frank looks down, not in a disappointing way, but nods as though he understands what he’s going through, as if he’s relating to him.

“Then quit. The only thing that Mom and Dad want is for you to be happy, and if baseball doesn’t do that for you, then get on with it, throw it in the trash. But, you’re going to have to let them know because right now, they think that baseball is the thing that makes you happy.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well then, what are you gonna do now?” Frank says curiously.

“Well, I thought about being a lawyer, imagine how cool that would be, just being in a courtroom all the time arguing with people. You know how good I am at that,” Matt laughs.

“OH Yea, don’t remind me.” Frank chuckles.

“But then, I thought about making a movie, directing, acting, writing, the whole nine yards.”

Matt puts his hands up and waves them like he’s about to part the sky wide open.

“Imagine this, a sick action spy thriller starring Matthew Mabry, directed by Matthew Mabry, and written by…”

“Matthew Mabry,” Frank says. “You know, I say go for it, but unfortunately, you have to let me be a character.”

“I was thinking the alcoholic, who dies at the very beginning in a stupid, ridiculous way,” Matthew says, laughing.

Frank punches him jokingly, and Matthew throws one back. Frank dodges it and tackles Matt, but in more of a hugging manner.

“Thanks for this, Frank. I really mean it.”

“Any time.”

A loud noise, the bell, Matt wakes up. He is discombobulated like he woke up from a coma and into an illusion.

“Aye yo, last practice of the year, you excited?”

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” Matthew says as though the emotion was sucked out of him and only left sarcasm.