Page 32 of The Battery

I popped to my feet and turned my head away as the trainer began shoving down onto Cody’s chest. I waved at the bevy of trainers beside the bullpen who were already jumping to action. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “ AED! AED! ”

I dropped beside the trainer, who was huffing with each pump. “What can I do?” I asked. I tried to stay levelheaded and calm, but it warbled out. I looked up to see Rome coming in from the outfield at a dead sprint, pushing the human limitation of speed.

“What can I—”

“ Quiet ,” the trainer barked. “C’mon, c’mon…”

A golf cart skidded to a halt just short of the mound and six people dumped out of it. One ran over holding a red box that he laid down beside the trainer who was still pumping to the rhythm.

“Get the shears,” the trainer said at the same time someone already procured them.

The metal reflected the stadium lights. They went up the fabric of Cody’s jersey as the trainer pulled away.

Another person forced me back, but my bulk refused to budge.

A second person joined in and pushed me away.

I think it was Rome. I wasn’t sure. I fought him, too.

Rome’s words of calm were lost to me as I heard the AED speak in a bell tone clear voice. Pads were applied to Cody’s chest in two separate spots.

“Clear! Everyone, get back!” the trainer shouted as Rome’s iron grip hauled me back a step.

Then the machine automatically administered the shock and Cody’s chest heaved upward like a rag doll bouncing off the ground. It almost looked inhuman to my eyes, as if Cody were an animation.

Someone I recognized as one of our nurses was kneeling beside Cody with two fingers to his neck.

“Pulse,” she said, then removed the AED pads. “Faint, but it’s there.”

Cody stirred. His eyes had shut at some point, mouth parting a fraction. Still unresponsive, but blessedly, he had a heartbeat and I saw his chest moving.

The chaos around me remained in a controlled state, frenzied but organized. Someone from the group stepped away and gave a serious but enthusiastic thumbs-up toward the dugout. The crowd erupted, which shook me from my focus on the mound. I turned.

The entirety of the stadium was on their feet, all of them whooping and clapping. The jumbotron had zoomed onto the scene, showing every last detail. No doubt the television cameras, too.

The trainers and nurses made quick work of loading Cody onto a stretcher, which they then slid onto the back of a golf cart with an elongated bed.

“Go,” Rome said as he urged me toward the cart when they began securing Cody. “There’s probably an ambulance waiting. Now’s your chance. Go. ”

I didn’t need to be told a third time. I jogged over and hopped into the passenger side of the golf cart, much to the driver’s surprise. Two trainers jumped into the back and then the cart sped away from the mound toward the exit.

The electric cart made a resonant humming sound as we sped down the concrete tunnels.

Cool air blasted the back of my head, I had been turned around, neck craned to see Cody with his pinched eyes.

We were at the loading dock a moment later, an ambulance backed up and waiting for us.

EMTs rushed toward the cart as the medical professionals exchanged information.

“All right,” the trainer said as they finished loading Cody into the ambulance. “Get in, Leo.”

I stood for a moment, confused. Had… everyone figured it out?

Did it even matter if they had?

“You comin’, Spartan?” one of the EMTs asked. I got in. They hit the sirens and lights, and off we went.

*

The stillness of a mostly empty waiting room felt at odds with the mounting terror in my chest. I had the willpower of a Titan, but even this put me to the test. I sat in one of the oversized chairs in a bizarre, kaleidoscopic pattern of black, turquoise, and magenta.

I alternated bouncing my left knee, then the right while my hands white-knuckled my thighs.

I could smell my own stink, still wearing my uniform covered in dirt and sweat. I didn’t even have my phone.

No one came out to give me an update. Twice I went to the front desk to ask, to which the attendant politely asked me to be patient.

I passed the time by watching reruns of an old sit-com on the television mounted in the corner.

Or reading two-year-old magazines. Or finishing a crossword puzzle someone had left behind.

I was the king of compartmentalizing. Separating one emotion from another. And yet, there I sat, a jumbled mess, not knowing which direction to think.

So, imagine my surprise when two women slow walked into the waiting room clutching each other.

One short, the other shorter, both in stretch jeans.

One wore a blue blouse, the other a white t-shirt.

After the one in blue spoke with the attendant, the lady in white did a double take.

She elbowed the other lady in blue, whose head snapped toward me.

Like she-wolves targeting their prey, the ladies crossed the waiting room and split apart to sit on either side of me.

“You’re Cody’s teammate? You’re that transfer kid, right?” the one in blue asked. I must have given her a look, because she added, “I’m Ronda.”

“Carrie,” said the one in white.

“We’re Cody’s moms.”

At that, my brow lifted. I had no idea…

More movement. Another woman entered the waiting room. She spotted Ronda and Carrie and came over.

“That’s Becky,” Ronda said.

Becky, in a long skirt and long-sleeved shirt, waved at me and sat beside Carrie. “Hello. I’m Cody’s mom. You must be one of his teammates,” she said as she pointedly looked me up and down. “I think I saw you on the replays.”

I blinked. Three… mothers? What?

“Becky,” Ronda said, “Sherrie said she’ll be here in two more hours. We just texted her that we arrived.”

Becky nodded. “I talked to Yolanda on the way in. She’s coming with her husband. They should be here in an hour.”

Carrie had been on her phone this whole time. She lowered it and looked at me. “Is your name Leo?”

“Yes,” I said after a delayed minute of confusion. Were Sherrie and Yolanda… other moms?

“ Oh ,” Ronda said enthusiastically. “You do look like his type.”

My mouth dropped open. Becky, who had been seated next to Carrie, reached over and slapped my knee. “ Shush , Ronda. Leo, don’t worry. We’ve all raised enough shy kids in our day to fill a book. Mom code. We don’t tell.”

I continued to stare in disbelief and wonder. Who the hell were these women?

“You must have come in with Cody,” Becky continued. “So, what do we know so far?”

As if on cue, a petite woman wearing sky blue scrubs walked into the waiting room. “Leo?”

The three women stood before I did and crowded the nurse. “We’re his moms,” one of them said.

“Well, foster moms,” another corrected.

“Same difference,” a third said. Their backs were to me, I hadn’t quite learned their voices yet.

Foster. I was starting to piece things together…

And felt a stab of more regret. I had no idea Cody had a foster family. Fami lies , rather. I had dominated our conversations with my resilient silence, as if blockading my own past did the same for his.

Everything needs to change , I realized as I stood and towered behind the three women.

“We’re all here together,” I said and put my arms out to rest my hands on their shoulders. “Two more on the way. What do we know so far?”

“Well, he’s stable,” she said. Ronda—I think she wore the blue?—nearly fainted. “He experienced something called commotio cordis…”