Down the Gopher Hole

“I got it!” I yell over my shoulder as I run to retrieve the ball. I couldn’t believe it when Tucker Thomas knocked on my dorm door and asked if I wanted to fill in for Michelle. I couldn’t say no while looking into those emerald eyes –or tell the truth that I am no good at sports of any kind. I managed to hold my own for the first round, but I guess it was just a lucky streak. Jonathan hit the ball like a future Babe Ruth, sending it flying over my head and into the woods that surround our little field.

Where the hell did it go? I kneel on the ground and run my hands around the brush. He couldn’t have hit it that far, I heard it hit the leaves. Light narrows in on a white object and I pounce on it. Can’t let it get away twice, I laugh to myself. As my fingers graze it, it rolls. And rolls. I hope Tucker isn’t watching as I army crawl in hilarious speedy fashion.

“Got ya now!” I yell, throwing myself on top of it. Chitters gain my attention. Looking straight ahead, still on my belly with the ball snuggled under my chest, I stare down the gopher. I swear the jerk is laughing at me. “Go away. Scat.” I wave my arm in a shooing motion as I push myself up, holding tightly to the ball in my fist.

The jerky-jerk gopher brings a bulb of some plant to its mouth and munches away while I dust my front off. “Did you enjoy the entertainment?” I ask. Chitters answer and the little monster hauls back and lobs the bulb at my face. Barely ducking out of the way I return fire with the ball. Dangit! Tinsley, you’re a moron. The gopher snags the ball and the hunt is on. Running full out, I chase the stupid creature. It zigs and zags around trees before diving into a hole. Once again on my stomach in the damp dirt, I push my arm into the hole to recapture the ball.

Too late I wonder if gophers bite or have rabies or any other ‘consequence’ to my idiotic actions. Face pressed to the ground, I start falling. And falling. I don’t even have time to scream before I’m looking up at a quickly closing hole. Musty earth smells surround me and I search around me in the dwindling light. Tree roots reach for me and rich muddy earth is all I see in any direction. Sitting up, a flash of white catches my eye. Following the bobbing orb, I’m led down a tunnel much the same as the space I landed in. The ball sits in a circle of light and I snatch it up before continuing to follow the sloping ground up toward daylight.

I emerge on the other side of the woods from the field and jog on its outskirts to return to Tucker. The hard packed dirt is weed riddled. The bases are no longer white and perfectly shaped, but cracked and dingy if not missing completely. The ball falls out of my hand and rolls away on the uneven space toward the pitcher mound. Where other students sat cheering us on earlier, there’s nothing but wind whistling through the dilapidated stands. Was there a disaster while I searched for the ball?

Running as fast as humanly possible I head toward the dorms. I slide to a stop when the building comes into view. Brick dust floats on the wind. The red bricked building is crumbling. None of the windows retain their glass. The massive oak door swings on a long hinge. “Hello?” I try to scream but only whisper. There’s no activity within or without the building. No chatting students, no chiming phones. Just me. Alone. I beeline for the cafeteria. Finding it in much the same condition, I go to the student parking lot. The only vehicle that remains appears to be melting into the cracked cement. The tires tread is bare and peeling away from the rims, no window remains unbroken, trunk and driver side door are missing completely. What the mother loving flub happened?

Aimlessly I wander into town, graffiti mars the walls of the businesses, doors and windows are obsolete, flyers ripped and fading fly on the stagnant breeze. Walking down the middle of the road, I’ve almost reached the residential area when I hear a shrill whistle. I hadn’t noticed the lack of sounds until one came out of the silence. Where are the birds? I search frantically for the cause of the whistle. In the window above the bar, there’s a flash of light behind the threadbare curtain. “Hello?” I call up.

“Tinsley? Tinsley Cox, is that you?” a gray haired man asks as he hobbles around the side of the bar. I don’t answer as I take in his stooped appearance: gray, greasy hair lays lank around his shoulders, a scar cleaves his face in half, bumpy and whiter than the tan flesh surrounding it, and then I met his eyes. Emerald green. His mouth curls into a grin revealing his missing teeth. “It is you! Heavens above. Where ya been?”

“Tucker?” I stammer out around my shock. “What happened? We were just playing not even an hour ago. Was there a bombing?” I can’t wrap my head around any of this. My stomach churns and the breakfast I had this morning –that morning?-- threatens to make a return.

“Seventy years you’ve been searching for that ball. I’ve prayed every day that you had been taken quickly unlike what those of us had to endure. Those aliens time freeze you? You truly do look exactly as you did on Invasion Day.” Tucker turns and limps back the way he came from. Stopping, he waves me to join him. “Come on, have I got a story to tell ya. And I want to know everything about what you’ve been through too.”

Stunned, I follow him back to his apartment. Invasion Day? What the F…