Greg was running late.
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard of his truck. His son, Travis, was the starting pitcher today for his high school team. Travis had traveled with the rest of his team to the field and he was currently completing the last of his warmup pitches. Greg’s wife was going to meet him at the game which was scheduled to start in five minutes. Yet he was still fifteen minutes away from the ball field.
As Greg’s truck crested a small rise on the two-lane road, he spotted a tractor ahead pulling a cultivator. Greg braked hard and slowed to 20 mph, slamming his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. Another hill loomed in the distance. Greg eased the truck into the other lane numerous times, looking for an opportunity to pass the farm vehicle, which blocked his view. Each time, he retreated behind the tractor as a car approached from the opposite direction and passed by. Finally, Greg saw an opening. Ignoring the double-yellow line, he steered his truck around the lumbering farm equipment and quickly accelerated.
Greg didn’t see the oncoming vehicle. It was obscured by a small rise in the road. The last thing Greg remembered on that fateful day was swerving to the left. He watched in what seemed like slow-motion as fence posts were clipped by his front bumper, each one splintering like a matchstick before disappearing over the roof of the truck. At the end of the fence line stood a large locust tree…
Meanwhile, Travis had pitched several innings and was doing well. That’s why Travis was surprised when his coach came to the mound in the middle of the third inning. The coach asked for the ball and told Travis to go see his mother who was sitting in the stands behind the dugout. She was wiping tears from her cheeks while pressing a cell phone to her ear… Continue reading