I heard someone whisper my name. I turned and was struck in the side the head. Everything went bright white and fuzzy.
Floating above an arena as if to hold a bull fight I looked down to see the infield of a baseball diamond. The wall was right behind the players. There were two people where the short stop should position would be. The one closest to second base was wearing what looked like a large heavy black apron.
A ball had been hit right to him. He was using a catchers mitt but fielded it cleanly. He ran toward the pitcher mound as if looking for where to throw the ball.
Suddenly I was on the ground, watching this all happen in front of me. Was I an umpire? One of the other players. The ground was hard packed clay. Shiny and smooth except for where cleats had made small holes and bug up small chunks of the ground. The man in the apron still holding the ball was frantic. Looking from side to side, desperate to throw the ball to someone. Anyone. As if his life depended on it.
In a small room there were six of us. All sitting on small squares of white cardboard. They undulated under us as if placed on top of a water bed. The room was dark yet I could see each of us clearly. There was a man I guessed to be in charge, or the leader. A guru type figure I had never seen before. He sat, legs folded in front of him, back straight, eyes closed and softly chanted. What I did not know and could not understand. A girl I knew from high school sat on his left in the same position. It was odd. She had died almost 20 years ago. I was pleased to see her. She was having trouble staying on her square of cardboard as it moved up and down.
I stood and walked away from them. As I turned to face them all and look at the other three figures I feel to ground. Back to the arena. I was the man in the apron, still holding the ball. A runner was going from first to second base when I spun and threw the ball to the second baseman. The runner was tagged out by the other player. The umpire held his arms wide to call him safe. I fell hard to the ground, distraught with grief. In agonizing pain. My face was laying on the hard cool clay of the field. My eyes sprung open a torrent of tears. Like a fire hydrant had oped between my face and the ground. Water was quickly running across the clay covering the surface.
The umpire stood over me looking down, puzzled at my expression of pain and sobbing. The runner who had been called safe was jumping up and down. He ran toward me with a look of utter satisfaction and joy. He knelt down close to my face and screamed "Viva la revolution, viva la revolution. I am sorry for you friend but it is a joyous day for me". He stood and ran away. Jumping and screaming the phrase viva la revolution, over and over.