Jackson felt it now, standing in the Little League field, thinking back, his heart pounding his chest like a drum, or a fist, clenched and slamming against his rib cage, then working its way up his throat, cutting off his breath. He could not breathe. He could not breathe. Breathe, breathe. Exhale, mouth wide open exhale. Instant nausea. Time slowed to a crawl. The stadium rumbled, he felt the vibrations of Mother Earth, under his feet. His feet would not move. He blinked once, twice. Somebody was waving to him. It was blue, waving. Get up here, next batter.
You’re up. It’s me. Bases loaded, two down. A million times in Little League he dreamed, he dreamed this dream. This blur. Slow moving. He took a molasses step. Stopped. What’s holding my feet stuck to the turf? My cleats. No, nothing
