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Sorry, Kazuya. Not today.
It’s an old refrain to him now when he asks his dad if they can do something together for the day. Sometimes, it’s something simple like wanting to go to the pet store to look at all the cool animals. Others, he finds himself boarding a bus alone to pick up school supplies at the tender age of eight. He never misses anything on the list, though.
Today’s solo adventure is for groceries. His father had left him five thousand yen to order whatever he wants for takeout, but Kazuya knows that money can be put to much better use by purchasing raw ingredients. He has a tentative grasp on how to prepare food, so to the market he goes.
The usual staples go into the basket: rice, his favorite veggies, whatever condiments he remembers they’re low on, and the obligatory chunk of tofu that he vows to figure out how to cook correctly one of these days.
One shopping bag slung over each shoulder, Kazuya treks the kilometer or so home from the store. It’s a hot day, slightly sunnier and sweatier than usual, so halfway through the journey he has to take a rest from the weight of the bags.
The small park he never looks at beckons with its benches and a sliver of shade. Once seated, he uses the hem of his t-shirt to mop away sweat and rolls his shoulders to work away the strain from his weighty burden.
Movement catches his eye, and Kazuya spies a baseball game in full swing at the park’s well-worn field. The players are young but a lot bigger than him, so he reckons they’re either high schoolers or college-aged, and every one of them has a laser-like focus on the contest.
Each motion, each catch, each throw is razor sharp. Kazuya watches in awe as players fearlessly dive onto grass and dirt alike to get those extra few centimeters necessary to complete the objective. Hitters swing with conviction, bats slicing through the air at pitches, both moving so fast that Kazuya and his outdated glasses prescription can barely track them.
And then there’s the catcher, an armored warrior commanding the troops on the field and seeing everything laid out in front of him.
It might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Kazuya stays and watches the rest of the game, and by the time he gets the groceries home, the produce is slightly limp and the tofu no longer cold. It’s still all right, though. Probably.
After dinner, he tracks down the two largest cans in the pantry and puts his spindly arms to work. One day, he wants to be one of those players on the field, soaked with sweat and determination. Shopping runs get a little easier as the rest of him grows stronger, as well.
The next spring when he sees signup sheets at school for the baseball club, Kazuya asks his dad for gear to play. He receives a grunt and a credit card in reply, and he makes a trip to the nearest department store to check everything off the list.
The hat’s too big, the jersey goes all the way down to his knees, and the bat is almost as tall as he is. Despite the ill-fitting uniform, being on the field with its fresh-cut grass and wide open skies feels like the best fit of all.