Softball Game

Click. Whirrrrrrrr. Up went the garage door, revealing two ski-masked men holding handguns. I was halfway to my car before I noticed them.

“Took you long enough,” said the short one.

“Seriously. We were out here for, like, an hour,” said the fat one.

“Uh, sorry,” I said. “What do you want?”

“We’re stealing your car,” said Short.

“Yup,” said Fat.”


“Yup,” they said in unison.

I looked at each of them, then at their guns. “Okay.”

“Really?” said Fat.

“Just like that?” said Short.

“It’s either that or, what, get shot?”

“Yeah!” said Fat.

“I choose not getting shot.”

“Wow,” said Short.

“That was way easier than I thought,” said Fat.

“Maybe you’re just really good at this,” I said. They smiled. “Listen, guys.”

“Yeah?” said Short.

“I was on my way to my daughter’s softball game.”

“That’s sweet,” said Fat.

“Thanks. She’s pitching. She’s really excited”

“Good for her!” said Short.

“Could I get a ride?”

Pause. “What?” they said.

“Well, now I don’t have a car, and the game starts in twenty minutes.”

Short and Fat started at each other for a minute.

And that’s why we need to wait for Mommy to drive us home.