A GIFT FOR TIMMY
It was a cool October evening. The crowd exploded in a mind numbing roar that could be heard halfway around the world and partway to heaven. Tonight is the opening night of the World Series and the fans are in an ecstatic mood. There in the middle of it all, stepping up to the plate for the opening pitch is the object of this unbridled enthusiasm, a ten year old phenom named Timmy Williams.
Through the din of the crowd came those magical words, “Play Ball!” and Timmy slowly made his way to the batter’s box, confidently swinging his bat with each stride and drinking in the chaos and excitement of the moment. Flash bulbs popped like tiny star bursts all around him as he reached his destination and tapped the tip of his bat against the cold hard plate. Looking up, his gaze fell upon a young beauty in the front row who immediately sent a kiss in his direction. He touched the brim of his helmet, smiled, then looked toward the pitcher’s mound.
The lanky pitcher appeared less than confident as beads of nervous sweat dripped from his brow in spite of the cool night. He slid a forearm quickly across his face to clear his vision then immediately went into his windup.
The first pitch came in fast and hard, a trajectory clearly intended to displace the batter from where he stood. Timmy avoided the bullet just in time as it whistled past his chin, but the sudden jerk of his body caused him to fall backward and into the dirt.
“Ball one!” screamed the umpire.
A barrage of boos issued forth from the crowd as they signaled their displeasure with the pitchers obvious attempt at decapitation.
Timmy dusted himself off and got set once again, but the next pitch arrived even closer this time and sent him sprawling to the earth in the same manner as the first.
“Ball two!”
The crowd hurled a measure of curses toward the mound, but the pitcher was now feeling a sense of command and shot back a menacing look.
Timmy dusted himself off once more but this time he patiently stood outside the batter’s box and stared long and hard at the man on the mound. A crease of a smile formed across his face as he lifted his bat with one hand and boldly pointed it in the direction of the outfield. The gesture caused spasms of outrage in the pitcher but the crowd was fully behind the boy now and roared its approval.
Channeling his anger, the incensed pitcher screwed himself into a fantastic contortion and let loose a deadly projectile. The screaming fastball streaked toward the boy with the full intention of splitting him in half, but Timmy was ready this time. As the ball left the pitcher’s hand, Timmy cooly took a step backward and swung with all his might; the ensuing collision between ball and wood created a tremendous concussion, the sound of which cut through the noise of the crowd like a sonic boom. For a moment afterward, there was a pause of dead silence as everyone present was stunned by the rocket like lifting of the ball, which seemed to defy gravity and quickly disappeared from all eyes as it left the stadium.
Thunder from the exploding fireworks and the roar of the crowd shook Timmy out of his momentary stupor; he blinked and focused on the first base coach who was sporting a huge grin and frantically waving for him to run the bases. Timmy dropped his bat and started what he hoped was the first of many victory laps that night. The entire crowd was on their feet now, wildly pumping their arms and stomping their feet. The chant of TIM-EE! TIM-EE! broke out and soon every breathing creature, save the opposing team, had the boy’s name upon their lips.
As he trotted along, he felt a euphoria unlike anything he had every experienced before. His senses were on fire as he absorbed every nuance of emotion. He rounded third base and could see his teammates enthusiastically urging him on toward home plate. His heart was pounding out of his chest anticipating the welcome. TIM-EE! TIM-EE! But the chant was echoing strangely in his head now as if calling him from far away. His surroundings became fuzzy. Forms seemed to lose their shape and before he knew what was happening his entire world faded to black.
“Timmy…Timmy, are you awake honey?” came a lilting voice from somewhere outside of him.
Timmy slowly opened his eyes and realized that he was back in his room. The voice, his mother’s voice, was the one who pulled him out of his dream and back into the harsh reality that was his life. He sat there misty eyed at what might have been, forcing back the tears that he knew would certainly upset his mother.
“It’s getting late, Timmy my boy,” she said as she got behind him and maneuvered his wheel chair away from the window and toward his bed.
He let out a slight yawn. “I must have fallen asleep mom, I was watching the guys playing ball in the field and I guess I just nodded off.”
His mother pulled back the covers from his bed and fluffed up his pillow. “Oh my, that game was over hours ago,” she said, undoing the restraints that held his little body securely. She lifted him easily from the chair and placed him on the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and primping in the manner only mothers tend to do.
After finishing, she bent close to his face. “You did have a nice day, didn’t you honey?”
He gave a big smile. “Yeah mom, it was a great party, in fact, the best I’ve ever had. I’m glad all the guys could make it this year.”
She looked a little sad but smiled back just the same, her one hand cupping his cheek as the other gently brushed back the hair that fell across his face.
“Well,” she said, “it’s not every day a boy turns ten you know, and like your father said, you’re practically a man now!” He raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. She laughed and kissed him on the forehead. “Sweet dreams honey, I’ll have a nice stack of blueberry waffles waiting for you when you wake up.” She got up, turned off the light and left the room.
Timmy lay there in the quiet darkness, his mind returning back to the happy thoughts of his birthday party earlier in the day. His parents had decorated the living room in a baseball motif, what he most adored. There were streamers of baseball cards hanging from the ceiling and an enormous birthday cake shaped and decorated like a baseball. More importantly, the whole gang was there; all of his friends from the ball team for whom he was voted honorary captain last year.
Leading up to the party, his mom was a bit nervous; she knew there would be risks in having a bunch of rowdy prepubescent boys in her home, but after a while she realized that the house was still in one piece and started to relax … until something unexpected happened.
The boys were sitting around the dining room table chatting away after they had sung a horrendously loud version of Happy Birthday. It was time to cut the cake and Timmy’s mother served a large slice to each boy. She was about to feed Timmy his first bite when Bobby jumped up and asked if he could take over the feeding chores. His mother hesitated and looked in the direction of her husband who smiled and nodded his approval. She handed Bobby the plate and fork, taking a seat beside her husband. Bobby stood there a long moment, inches from Timmy’s face, with a big Cheshire like grin that stretched from ear to ear. He looked at the plate then at Timmy and again back at the plate.
“Happy birthday, old boy!” he yelled and proceeded to squash the contents into Timmy’s face.
His mother let out a shriek and the whole room fell silent. Bobby removed the plate and there was Timmy, his entire face covered in frosting, laughing hysterically. Moments later, each boy repeated the gesture to one sitting next to him and soon there were chunks of cake flying across the table in every direction. Timmy’s mom stood in shock, not knowing what to do, until her husband calmly placed his arm around her waist and walked her out of the room. The melee lasted a good five minutes until there was no more ammunition left except for what was stuck to the walls. The boys fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
As Timmy remembered the scene, he started to giggle, but a sadness suddenly came over him as he realized that today had been the first time he had ever seen his mother cry. It was just before the cake fight when the boys presented him with his birthday present. He asked his mother to open the box an
d when she did, his eyes got big as saucers. She pulled out a regulation big league uniform and held it up for everyone to see. The jersey had “WILLIAMS” stitched across the back in bold letters; both shirt and pants had been professionally tailored and adjusted to fit a boy such as Timmy, who had no arms or legs. There was also a cap which Timmy’s friend Greg placed squarely on his head for him, and in the box was a new catcher’s mitt. Timmy asked Gregg to hold it up to his face so that he could smell the leather and, as Greg held it in place, Timmy could see his mother over top of the glove, wiping away tears from her eyes.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices coming from the register on the floor near his bed. He could clearly hear the conversations people were having in the kitchen below his room, like the night he overheard his parents talking about how sad it was for their boy to be given such a fate as his.
“He will never know what it’s like to fall in love or even to have his first kiss,” he heard his mother say with an unmistakable sadness in her voice.
He remembered feeling sorry for himself many days afterward, that is, until the night of the dream…or at least he thought it was a dream, but then he wasn’t quite so sure.
On that day, he was feeling particularly downhearted. Earlier, he had seen some boys pass by his window in full flight, heading across the street, gloves in hand, laughing and carrying on. He instinctively thrust his body forward as if to follow them, his chair made a creaking sound and he was reminded once again of his affliction. He cursed under his breath for the first time and brooded the rest of the day.
That night, as he lay staring into the darkness, a most amazing thing happened. Out of nowhere a small ball of white light floated in the air at the foot of his bed, soon followed by another of the same. Before long, his room was radiant with hundreds of small luminescent spheres. They began to dance to and fro and were in constant motion until a larger crystal blue sphere of light entered the room, then all movement ceased. Timmy’s eyes were transfixed upon the ball of blue brilliance. He felt no fear for what was taking place, only a sense of wonder. The blue light began to transform and elongate itself until Timmy could start to see the distinct outline of a human form. The figure was blurry at first but as it made its way towards him its features became more defined, it was a man, an old man…in fact, a very old man. As he looked down at the boy, his long white hair fell forward; his bushy eyebrows and beard white as snow. Timmy couldn’t help but stare into his eyes, which seemed to be aglow somehow from the inside to an unfathomable depth. The old man said nothing but placed his hand upon the boy’s brow; the touch sent an instant wave of warmth and colored light racing across his mind. Timmy closed his eyes trying to assimilate the sudden and beautiful intrusion upon his senses. When he opened them once more, his room was again dark and silent. He lay there for a long while pondering what had just happened until sleep finally took hold of him.
That night he experienced the first of many extraordinarily realistic dreams. Earlier in the afternoon, he had watched a TV program of a young couple snorkeling off the sunny beaches of the Hawaiian Islands and yearned to be part of the same adventure. In bed that night, somehow, someway, his wish had come true. He found himself floating in warm blue water, paddling his way among a beautiful underwater menagerie. A large sea turtle gently rubbed across his left leg as it passed by and he found the sensation to be exhilarating. He dove deep to the bottom and picked up a conch shell from the sandy floor and brought it close to his face. He turned it over and over in his hands, the speckled markings glinting like polished jewels in the clear water. As he stared at the shell, he realized that it was he who was holding it and not someone else.
The next morning, he awoke feeling refreshed and as happy as he could ever remember. His mother came into the room to get him for breakfast and as she leaned across him a strange look came over her. She tilted her head closer and sniffed the boy searchingly, then pulled back and shook her head. “I don’t know why it is, but I swear that you smell just like…well…a beach!”
He couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Since then, every night a grand new adventure played out in his mind. One night he was skateboarding with his friends at the park downtown and the next, riding the wild rapids of the Colorado and hiking the great canyon. There was even the dream where he found himself walking hand in hand with a beautiful young girl, the one in which he got his first kiss.
There would be an endless list of places to visit and adventures to consider, but none so desirable as the one he had not been able to fulfill earlier. The blessing bestowed upon him by the old man was unfaltering and at some point that very night, magic once again visited the dream filled sleep of young Timmy Williams. Through the night time shadows could be seen his slight form gently rocking from side to side in his bed as he rounded third base and fell laughingly into the arms of his awaiting teammates.
THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR