What's Your Last Name

Playing softball for my girlfriend-at-the-time’s team turned out to be one of the most memorable experiences I have had. My ex, Amanda, had decided to coach a softball team for her senior project and managed to recruit me along with a group from her neighborhood, some friends from school, and even one of our teachers and her husband to join her team. We signed up at a local softball sporting club called Kasche Park where we were scheduled to play every weekend as a minor league team under the name of The 61st Crew. Naming ourselves after the street that most of the players from our team lived on, we played rain and shine and beat almost every team. I believe we lost three games (to the same team every time) out of the Above: My ex-girlfriend and I
at her sister's wedding. No photos
from the actual game. Photo taken by her sister, Michele.

ten or twelve games we played. The first time we lost to our new found adversaries, we realized they were not meant to be in minor league and probably signed up for the practice even though practicing with teams who aren’t that good doesn’t give the team much of a challenge. Nonetheless, we played against them for a second time, which became the most exciting game of our season.

This particular day was a pretty normal overcast, cold spring day for Everett. As I sat waiting for my turn to bat, I watched people from my team hit and run the bases. I was finally up to bat. Nervous, I stood too close to the base, making it hard for the other team to pitch to me. First throw, pitcher at fault, the ref called ball. Second pitch, I hit as hard as I could. Tossing the bat, I started to run. The adrenaline from getting the hit made me fun faster than usual. The wind rushing past my face, chilling me but too preoccupied with rounding the bases to care, I safely made second base. Beaming, I waited for Adam, Amanda’s best friend and our best player, to make a hit. His hit almost made it out of the park, landing close to the fence, near no one. The other team was quick, hoping they could keep their perfect score. I made it to third. Adam ran to first. As we waited for the next pitch, he sat chatting with the first baseman. Just as our next player was about to make a hit, Adam yells, “Hey, Chelsi! What’s your last name?”

Confused, I just looked at him. Amanda, knowing how much I hated my last name for being the butt end of jokes through grade school, thought Adam was just going to joke around and make fun of it, hollers back, giggling, “It’s Donaldson!”

Above: Waiting to play ball in the field.
Michele, Amanda's sister and Shain, Michele's boyfriend, and one of my best friends.
Photo taken by me.

Hearing the crack of the bat, and seeing that no one had caught the ball, I started to run to home. As I was running, the baseman on the other team shouts, “Hey! That’s my cousin!”

I realized she was talking about me. I touched home with my right foot and continued to run, heading straight to the benches. The ball somehow managed to get lost and Adam and our last hitter hit home as well. Shocked, feeling numb from head to foot but not from the cold air rushing around me, I just sat there and looked dumbfounded as I pieced together what just happened. I had been separated from my family for around six years due to arguments continuously ensuing due my stepmom and me not getting along. I had been moved into a teen shelter because we had all felt that this would be better for me and the family. The last time I had seen them, I was just a child barely just over 18 and the reconciliation we had attempted to fix our broken family failed miserably. I knew that my cousin, Lisa (the person that recognized me,) spoke with my parents and the rest of my family as well (they weren’t all on speaking terms, due to my parents lack of parenting). Unfortunately I was unsure of who spoke with whom, so I started panicking. “Who is she going to talk to? Will she tell my parents? Are they going to start coming to my games to torment me? What am I going to do?” thoughts screamed through my head.

Knowing my family history and seeing the disbelief and astonishment that had frozen my face, Adam gave me a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he said. “Are you okay? What’s going to happen?”

My thoughts still racing, I just shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. We’ll deal with it later. We have a game to play,” I said almost to myself, the words and sentences tumbling over one another barely discernible.
Even with our three runs during the second inning, we still managed to lose to my cousin’s team. She didn’t speak to me at all throughout that entire game, making me even more nervous. Unsure of what to do, I didn’t try to approach her either even though I knew who she was. The next weekend, her team didn’t even show up, rattling my nerves all over again. I was so anxious; I kept glancing into the stands and around me, probably making everyone think I was on drugs, searching for any sign of my parents. They were nowhere to be found. I started to think that maybe I was just being a chicken. Why would they show up? There was no reason for it, I realized. The next game, I was still a little nervous but I thought I was just being a big dork.
As I sat with a couple friends in the stands, I glanced over my shoulder, still searching through the people walking around. I noticed a person looking around like I was, searching for the right game to watch. “Oh God. This is it. I can’t do this. Not now. I can’t. This isn’t fair. Why is this happening, now?” Gasping for air, trying to get my body to have a reaction other than panic, I look over to see where he was and realized that it’s just my grandpa looking for me. He neared the stands I was sitting at. Although he was able to recognize me sitting there, he took his time, his frame much older looking than I had remembered. The age he had gained while we had been separated didn’t change how easy he was for me to recognize. The look on his face said everything as he stood there, waiting for me to make up my mind. Tears streamed down his cheek as he smiled, and watched my teammates play. I turned to my friend, Jessie, and just started crying, “I don’t know what to do. My grandpa is standing over there and I haven’t seen him since I was twelve. I have no idea if he still talks to my parents or not. I don’t want him going to my parents. I don’t want to deal with them again. They are out of my life for good finally.”

She convinced me that everything was going to be alright. He probably just wanted to see me and missed me. I was his granddaughter after all. Why wouldn’t he want to see me? “If you need me to,” she said, “I can go over there with you. I’m in this with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

After sitting there contemplating on what to do for about two minutes, I finally managed to squeak out over the hysteria that kept building in my chest, “No, I have to do this on my own. I’m a big girl. I think.”

I walked over to him, with my heart racing, hands sweaty, and sobs caught in my throat. I couldn’t even say anything. All I could manage was to wrap my arms around him and hug him until we both stop crying. There was an unspoken understanding between us that everything was going to be okay. For the rest of the game, I didn’t move from his side, except to introduce him to my friends and newly founded family. He told me how Lisa had realized who I was and because my family had been looking for me since he found out my parents had kicked me out of the house she reported to my

Above: My grumpy grandpa not wanting his
picture taken. Photo taken by me.

grandpa where he would be able to find me, if she hadn’t scared me off. It had taken him three years to find me; he wasn’t going to lose me now. I have been living with my grandpa for almost three years now and I don’t know where I would be if I didn’t have him.