I walked onto the red dirt field. Smells of fresh cut grass and sweat stormed throughout the dugout. The clank of the bats were heard as they were lined up amongst the concrete wall. The sound of metal crunched across the dirt that many other teams had walked on that week. Now, there were only two of us. Two opponents. Two rivals. Nevertheless, all with the same goal in mind. Winning. Eventually, the umpires called us to the field to exchange line-ups. 

 All 13 of us ran to the pasty white-chalk line, our coaches following up closely behind us. The dirty looks on our opponents faces made us want to win even more. We returned to the dugout, and the game started. I quickly ran to the pitcher's mound, wanting to get as many pitches in as I could before the batter was ready. 

Coaches emphatically called out plays as I got ready to throw pitch signs. “Runner on 2, know where your play is!” As we made our first error of the game, an overthrow to second after a line drive in the second inning, we realized that this would be our first and only mistake in the field. I struck their last batter of the inning out and quickly ran back to the dugout, knowing I needed to get ready to bat.  

Jessica quickly went through the line-up that we’d heard so many times the day before. “Lina, Krryn, Zoey, Caitlin...”. I walked up to the batter's box and was astonished to see the pitcher. She was a lot bigger than what I'd previously seen in this tournament and even looked too old to be playing in our age division. I was frightened but decided that she wasn’t worth my feelings of nervousness. She threw her warmup pitches as I steadily watched and timed her up.  

“Batter please” the umpire called out. My heartbeat was racing. Faster than I could remember it beating earlier. 

“You got this number one!”. My teammates called out, but I could only hear their voices slowly fading away. The pitch was thrown, and I was ready. Or at least I thought I was. I felt a sharp pain against my head, and everything went black.  

“That’s the last thing she could remember.” I heard my mom say. It was hard to sit up right then and there, but that’s all I wanted to do. The excruciating pain was starting to go away, but it was still unbearable and I couldn’t stand it. I was finally able to open my eyes. The only person I could make out in the small crowd of people around my bed was my best friend, Katrina. She noticed me and wrapped me in a warm, tight hug. However, I was in too much pain to say anything at all. 

What happened? I thought to myself. I tried to think of as many possibilities as I could, but I couldn’t even remember where I was or how I ended up here. My mom must’ve realized that I was thinking. Therefore, I didn’t have to wait very long for my answer though.  

“You were hit in the head sweetie”. I was so confused and didn’t understand what she meant. 

“65 miles per hour to the head”. Suddenly, everything came back to me. The pitcher, the look on her face before she pitched the ball, the gasps of the crowd as the ball made contact, and the look on my mom's face while I was silently laying in the dirt. I didn’t remember the ride to the hospital, but I knew that I wanted to be out of there as soon as possible.  

“She has traumatic brain damage”. I heard Doctor Peck say to my mom when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I realized right then and there that it was going to be a long road to recovery considering where I was at that point in time. The small crowd of people left, as per request to my mother. She said that she needed to talk to me about something, thinking that I hadn't heard what was just said in the other room.  

She sat down and said to me, “This isn’t going to be anywhere close to easy Lila. You know that right?” 

I replied with the only two words my mind could come up with. “I know” 

“Lila, I really don’t want to say this to you, but I know I'll have to talk to you about it eventually.”   

What could she possibly be talking about. What does she mean... A thousand thoughts flew through my head when she said those words to me.  

“You’re possibility of getting back out on the field are slim to none.” 

My heart shattered at the sound of those words. The center of my world was slowly and slowly being ripped out of my reach and I could do absolutely nothing to stop it. The only thing I could think about doing in that moment, was closing my eyes and hoping this was all just a dream. So that’s exactly what I did. 

As the days went by, I continued to get stronger and stronger. Physically and mentally, I was recovering. 

I am going to win this time. I had thought this so many times before, but this time I meant it. I was going to fight. For however long it took for everything to go back to how it was before. My mental state was getting better and better every day, and all that I could think about was getting back out and onto the field again. 

After many exercises, hospital meals, and physical therapy appointments, I was ready to leave the hospital and return to my semi-normal life. Or so what I remember of it at least. I arrived home and the first thing I wanted to do was pick up my mitt. The second I picked it up, every memory I could remember popped into my head. It was almost like an explosion. Everything was happening so fast and so violently that I threw it down. Knowing that it’d be at least another year before I got to play the game again. The game that had been my entire life a few months ago. The game that ruined my life. And now I only had three things left of it. Memories, Equipment, and Heartbreak.