He stared in disbelief at the ball in his glove for a moment, but then became aware of the multiple people yelling at him. Snapping back to reality, he started to throw the ball to the second baseman — who wasn’t there. Becoming only the third player to recognize his team didn’t have anyone covering second — after Todd and Jon — he had no choice but to run for second himself. Todd realized he wasn’t going to make it and tried to turn around to return to first, but couldn’t reverse in time and Arnesto tagged him out.
“Good out,” the coach yelled. He enjoyed throwing praise to students he felt seldom deserved any. “Alright, let’s bring it in. Somebody grab those bats.”
“Who won?” a kid named Josh asked.
“You did,” the coach said. “Only you though, nobody else.”
“Sweet,” Josh said.
Arnesto sauntered inside the school to his locker, still mulling over what had just happened.
“Golden Glove Boy!” Josh yelled at Arnesto while strutting by. Arnesto’s best friend Pete Morgan was at his own locker a few feet away. Pete looked at Josh then at Arnesto.
“What was that about?” Pete asked.
“I made a good play in softball,” Arnesto said.
“Wow, what’s that like?”
“Kinda weird actually. I’ll tell you about it after school,” Arnesto said, shutting his locker.
“Wait,” Pete called after him. “We’re playing softball today? It’s freezing out there!”
“You’ve got five red lines in a row coming up,” Pete said.
“Good,” Arnesto replied. Having enjoyed a nice dinner at Pete’s house, the boys had retired to the basement, where they waxed philosophical while playing split screen Tetris. It was always a friendly competition to see who could survive the longest. Pete, being better at the game, got ahead of Arnesto, meaning he could warn his less skilled friend about upcoming tetrominoes. In this case, the news was quite welcome, as the series of straight, red line pieces would help Arnesto clear out some of his uncomfortably high tower.
“So you made a good play in gym?” Pete asked.
“Dude, it was weird. I was playing short, and Jon Kelley used me as a cutoff from left.”
“What happened?”
“I tagged out Shea.”
“Ooh,” Pete winced. “I wouldn’t piss off Shea.”
“The weird part is I never saw Jon throw the ball. I saw him start to, but I looked away, he hummed the ball right at my head, and I caught it,” Arnesto said.
“That’s cool. All this video game playing must have given you good reflexes.”
“No, Pete,” Arnesto said, pausing the game. “I never saw the ball. The crazy thing is I don’t think I was supposed to catch Jon’s throw. I think — I think I was supposed to get hit.”
“What do you mean? Is that why you’ve been rubbing your nose all night?”
“Yeah. I think it hit me right here,” Arnesto said, rubbing his index finger down the bridge of his nose.
“But it didn’t. You caught it. Can we unpause the game now? I was in the zone.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Arnesto said and unpaused. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but it’s like I saw it happen. Well, I never saw the ball hit me, but I saw the aftermath. Being on the ground, blood on my shirt, my nose hurting like hell, somebody helping me to the nurse’s office… Also, the ridge of my nose gets permanently flattened. Not a lot, but if you saw it in before and after pictures, you could tell the difference.”
“So, you had a vision? Damn it. Seven squares in a row. Seven fucking squares,” Pete moaned.
“I don’t think so. It’s more like… like I remembered it.”
“How is that different from a vision?” Pete asked.
“Because I still remember it.” Arnesto looked over at Pete, who quickly glanced over and then back at the television with a concerned face.
“You’re looking at me like I’m crazy,” Arnesto said.
“I’m not looking at you. I’m looking at all the squares building up on your side.”
“Shit.” Arnesto was already in trouble, and the square pieces put the final nail in the coffin. He finished with 392 lines, while Pete was still going strong at 405. Knowing there wouldn’t be time for him to start a new game, Arnesto put down the controller and leaned back against the couch. They both watched Pete’s side of the screen for a while until Pete finally broke the silence.
“Do you remember the lottery numbers?” he asked, joking.
“It hurt like hell!” Arnesto said. “You know what, forget I said anything. I must be losing it.”
“Okay,” Pete said, still focused on the game.
The next day, Arnesto was still troubled by his good softball play that he felt shouldn’t have happened. He stopped by the nurse’s station after his last class and peered in from the doorway. His eyes scoured the room, looking for something, anything that would help him remember. This would have been the first place he would have gone with a smooshed nose, and he felt like he had come there. So why couldn’t he remember anything new? Was it possible he had an overactive imagination?
“Can I help you?” the nurse asked.
“Just browsing,” Arnesto said as he turned around and headed for his locker. He was starting to realize how absurd it all sounded and regretted mentioning it to Pete. When he reached his locker, he saw Pete was already there. They had gone the whole day without broaching the topic and Arnesto hoped it would stay that way.
“Hey,” Arnesto said.
“Hey,” Pete said. “I almost forgot, how was gym class today?”
“Fine,” Arnesto said dryly. “How was your gym class?”
“You know why I’m asking.”
“Look, about what I said last night, I was messing with you,” lied Arnesto. “Can we pretend we never had that conversation?”
“I don’t think you were lying,” Pete said.
“So, you believe me?”
“Do I believe you had a… precognition? Hell no. But I believe something happened. Nothing supernatural — probably a crossed wire in your brain — but you sure sounded sincere when you were telling me.” Arnesto looked mildly uncomfortable but didn’t say anything, so Pete continued. “You said you still remembered being hit by that softball. Wouldn’t that mean you have two memories? To make it easier, let’s say we’re making up a story for writing class.”
“So, hypothetically?” Arnesto asked. Pete nodded. “Well, in this hypothetical world, my amazing friend… Blarnesto had this odd experience — this one time.” He held up his index finger for emphasis. “And yes, he has both memories.”
Pete chuckled. “Then my amazing friend, Blete, asks him what else is different about the memories besides the obvious hit/no-hit action.”
“Well,” Arnesto said, “Blarnesto clearly remembers making the catch. But while he also remembers getting hit and the ensuing aftermath, it’s not as clear.”
“Is it more fuzzy, like a dream?” Pete asked.
“More like… faded. Like the memory is old.”
“Very interesting. Oh, look, it’s Blosh,” Pete said, motioning toward an oblivious Josh walking by. By now the increased jocularity had dissolved any tension Arnesto felt. “Blete requests Blarnesto inform him should any further incidents occur.”