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Heavenly Touch

By Mr. Kevin D Travis

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CHAPTER 1

THOUSANDS OF FANS WERE screaming my name. There was one in particular that seemed to echo in my mind. It was the voice of my dad. But that couldn’t be. My dad was dead.
I blinked and tried to focus on the pitcher. I needed to concentrate because the pitcher, Moose McGavin, threw some serious heat. Sometimes that heat would get away from him.
McGavin, the dominating closer for the Detroit Tigers, not only looked a bit wild, but was a bit wild with his pitches. The big, bulky right-hander with the thick handlebar mustache led the American League in saves, but also in hit batsmen. The last thing I needed was his 98 mile-per-hour fastball hitting me between the eyes.
I locked in on McGavin and tried to tune out all the distractions, but I couldn’t get that one voice out of my head. I quickly held up an arm, asked the umpire for time, and stepped out of the batter’s box.
The fans continued to scream my name or my jersey number, “7”, which I wear in honor of my cousin, Trent. That was the number he wore throughout Little League and high school. I changed my number and dedicated the season to Trent after his recent accident.
I looked around and saw a sea of blue and red. It gave me goose bumps. As much as those frenzied Cleveland Indians’ fans loved me, I loved them even more.
I took off my batting helmet, used a forearm to wipe my brow, and glanced at the giant scoreboard in centerfield. The huge lit-up numbers showed the Tigers were leading 5-2 in the bottom of the ninth inning. There were two outs, but we had the bases loaded. A solid hit into the gap could potentially tie the game. A home run would give us the win.
I had dreamt of this moment when I was younger. I had wished for this moment ever since I put on a baseball uniform.
My cousin, Trent, and I always used to ask each another, “If you could do anything in the world for just one day, what would it be?” When I was young my answers would range from being a star baseball or football player to being a superhero to being able to time travel.
The answers changed a bit as I got into my early teen years. They ranged from being a star baseball player to being famous to being rich. As I got a bit older, the answers changed again. They usually involved beautiful women and deserted tropical islands, but being a star baseball player was also at the top of the list. It’s funny how your priorities change as you get older.
I thought I was right where I wanted to be – in front of my hometown fans with the game on the line. It was my dream-come-true. My wish fulfilled. My pot-of-gold at the end of the rainbow. Speaking of rainbows, there was a brilliant one just beyond left field. It was the biggest, brightest, most vivid rainbow I had ever seen. It instantly made me think of my dad.
Before he died, my dad said he would find a way to always be around me. I just had to look for the clues. He said it would be him when I saw a rainbow. He said it would be him when I saw a penny, head up, on the ground. He said it would be him when I heard the flapping of wings.
As I said, I thought I was right where I wanted to be. But life happens. Heck, even death happens. Suddenly, you change. Suddenly, your priorities change. Suddenly, you have an entirely new outlook on life.
I changed on this day. I changed mentally. I changed emotionally. I changed physically in ways that I still can’t really comprehend.
As I stepped back into the batter’s box, the fans grew even louder. So, too, did that voice. That voice that sounded so much like my dad’s. My eyes shifted around the park trying to locate where the voice was coming from, and then quickly darted back to McGavin.
His pitch, his fourth to me, was a high, inside heater that got a bit away from him. It was bearing down on me. I arched my back and stumbled backward, watching the baseball zip past my eyes and smack into the catcher’s mitt with a thud. It got my heart racing. A chorus of “boos” came from the fans.
I shook my head, readjusted my batting helmet, looked around the stadium, and then hopped back into the batter’s box. The count was now two balls and two strikes. The stadium grew louder than I had ever heard it. Still, I could pick up on that one voice. That voice that sounded so much like my dad.
I tried to hear what it was saying. I squinted, put my head down just a bit, and took another quick peek around the stadium. All I could make out was “okay” and “alone” and “help.”
As McGavin was going into his delivery, I returned my focus to him. I knew he would have to be more careful with his pitch. I was expecting something a bit off the plate. His pitch, a slider, was low and away. That made the count three balls and two strikes. Another ball would give me a walk and force in a run. I knew McGavin didn’t want to do that. I knew he wanted to throw a strike. The fans grew even louder when the Tigers’ manager called timeout so he could have a talk with McGavin.
I looked around the stadium once again. A big smile formed on my face. I was playing my favorite game for the team I cheered for my whole life.
Visions of me playing Little League, middle school, and high school baseball swept over me. The one constant in those visions was my dad. He was always at every game, rain or shine, near or far, to support me.
My dad was the one who introduced me to the game. My dad was the one who taught me how to throw a baseball. My dad was the one who taught me how to catch a baseball. My dad was the one who taught me how to hit a baseball. My dad was the one who taught me how to love the game of baseball.
He always said his favorite sound since he was a little boy was the whack of a wooden bat hitting a baseball. It quickly became my favorite sound as well. Sure, the ping of an aluminum bat striking a baseball is nice, but there is just something old-fashioned and good and brilliant about the whack of wood connecting with rawhide.
As I made my way back into the batter’s box, I heard the voice again. Again, I could only pick out certain words – “okay,” “alone,” and “help.”
I had no idea what they meant. Hearing the voice gave me a strange feeling. It was comforting, but it also made me sad. I yearned to see that smile of my dad’s again. I yearned to throw around the baseball with him again. I yearned to sit on the porch and talk baseball, and life, with him.
Darn you, cancer. Darn you.
A tear formed in my eye. I quickly blinked it away and looked at McGavin. He was staring at me and then stared at his catcher. He shook his head once. He shook it again. He gave a slight nod and then started his delivery.
The fans were on their feet. The stadium seemed to be shaking. I loved this stadium. It truly was a magical place to play. I often referred to it as baseball heaven.
If I only knew.
I watched as McGavin released the ball. Just then, through all the yelling and clapping, I heard the voice once more.
In my heart I knew it was my dad. My dad, who died twelve years earlier, was right there with me.
A smile began to form on my face. I focused on the ball, swung the bat with all my might, and heard a whack. That beautiful whack sound I loved so much.
I connected with the barrel of the bat. It was arguably the sweetest swing of my career. I watched as the ball sailed toward left field. Toward that beautiful rainbow.
The outfielder began running back toward the wall as fast as he could. The fans were on their feet waving their arms and cheering louder than ever. The baserunners in front of me took off at the crack of the bat. My teammates began to pour out of the dugout to watch the flight of the ball.
I sprinted toward first base. As I did, a bright reflection on the ground caught my eye. I saw a shiny penny, head up, just sitting there along the first base line. As I glanced down at it, I heard another whack. But it wasn’t like the whack sound of wood and rawhide connecting. It was a loud, sickening sound that was followed by what felt like a punch to the chest.
The cheers I heard were suddenly replaced with groans and cries. I gazed around the stadium in a daze, grabbed at my chest, and then crumpled to the ground. Coaches, teammates, and medical personnel ran toward me. Some called out my name while others began to work on me. Somebody said my heart had stopped and they were working to get it pumping again.
I looked up. It appeared as though the skies had opened up. Faces smiled down at me. Somebody with wings floated directly above me. And then I heard the voice again. This time, I heard all the words.
“You’re going to be okay. You’re not alone. You’ve never been alone. I’m always going to be with you, one way or another. You were meant to help others and that’s what you’re going to do. From this day forward, it’s all about faith, hope, and love. It’s time to rise and shine.”
That last line were the words my dad would always tell me before any big game, big test, or big decision I had. He would look me squarely in the eyes and put a hand on my shoulder before saying, “It’s time to rise and shine.” Those words always inspired me.
The wings of the being flying over me opened. My dad smiled at me. I didn’t know if I was dreaming, hallucinating, or dead, but it was so good to see my dad again. I tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
I blacked out for a moment. When I came to I found myself in the back of an ambulance. A man and a woman were working on me, frantically checking buttons and checking on me.
I noticed a heart monitor blinking feebly behind them. Suddenly I heard a long beep and noticed a straight line across the monitor. The man and woman looked at each other with worried expressions. They stuck something on my chest. There were zapping sounds and my body jerked. I knew something was going on, but I couldn’t feel anything.
“Come on,” the man said. “Come back to us, buddy.”
“Stay with us, Gabriel,” the woman said. “Stay with us.”
I saw my body hovering above me. It started to float away, but then I saw my dad again and it stopped. I also saw a beautiful lady – the most beautiful lady with the most amazing blue eyes I had ever seen – smiling at me. I then saw a little girl – the most adorable girl I had ever seen – surrounded by pink butterflies.
“It’s not time for you to go yet, son,” my dad said, wings flapping behind him. “You still have way too much to live for, way too many things to do, and way too many lives to touch.”
The beautiful lady bent over and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. It felt so sweet, so tender, and so familiar.
“You deserve a second chance,” she said.
The adorable girl, who was still surrounded by pink butterflies, leaned in and hugged me. It felt like the best hug I had ever received.
My dad gave me a kiss on the forehead. He pointed and said the lady was Faith and the girl was Hope. “These two, Faith and Hope, will become your whole world. Together, you will make a difference.”
The long beep of the heart monitor ended. It was replaced by a series of shorter, rhythmic beeps. There were now waves instead of a straight line on the monitor.
“Thank God,” the man in the ambulance said.
“Hallelujah,” the woman said. “Welcome back, Gabriel. Now stay with us this time.”
My dad smiled and said, “You were meant to help others and that’s what you’re going to do. From this day forward, it’s all about faith, hope, and love.”
My dad, the beautiful lady, and the adorable girl started to disappear. Before he was gone, my dad looked at me said, “It’s time to rise and shine.”
It turns out my dad’s words were prophetic. It took me a long time, and the incident at the ballpark, to realize exactly how important those words were to me.

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