My dad drove frantically to the hospital, zipping past every car we passed on the long highway. I could hear my mom mumbling to herself, "He's going to need stitches. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh..." I attempted to sit up more in the back seat of the minivan, and I saw a tissue float down from my mouth. It was drenched in a scarlet liquid, and, feeling the throbbing pain in my mouth, I remembered what happened to me. How can I ever forgive him for this? I thought to myself. Will my life ever be the same?

I thought back to my second tournament baseball game that occurred only moments ago. Wearing a purple Twins jersey, cap and baseball pants, I sat in the dugout and stared into the sky. It was a beautiful day; the sun shone brightly in the vast, blue, cloudless blanket above, and it felt incredibly warm. I took my cap off, hoping that even the smallest breeze would rush through my long brown hair. People of all ages sat around the dirt and grass field, cheering as a player on the opposing team caught a pop fly. The stench of dirt crept into my nostrils, making me sneeze. Because our team was in the lead 20-2, I judged that the other team was in a younger league than we were. I stood up to watch my cousin, Matt, bat. Standing motionless and gazing towards the pitcher, Matt smacked the ball into left field. The crowd cheered as a runner charged past home plate, scoring us yet another run.

Soon enough, I realized it was my turn to bat. It was only the second inning, and I had batted three times before. They might as well just forfeit now; we've already won this by a landslide, I thought to myself. Watching the field, I slowly walked over towards my baseball bat and helmet. Suddenly, I heard a loud DING! After that, everything went completely black.

Next thing I know, I find myself lying on the ground, bawling my eyes out, and my mouth stung with an agonizing pain. My arms felt like balloons flying and flailing around in the sky. Not realizing what was going on, I kept my eyes shut and continued to cry. I could hear all of my teammates gathered around me, staring at me, but hardly breathing.

Suddenly someone lifted me up with one arm, obviously having no difficulty carrying my light, skinny body, and began carrying me back into the sunlight. When I opened my eyes, I looked back to where I was lying. The ground, which used to be a clean, concrete floor, was now a pool of dark red. Staring at my jersey, I saw that the same ghastly liquid stained my shirt. My mouth was a roaring waterfall, spewing blood ferociously down on top of me. I was confused; I had absolutely no clue what was happening; I was terrified. What's going to happen to me? I frantically thought. Will I ever look the same? Did I lose any teeth? Will I ever recover?

The person who carried me set me in the backseat of a minivan. By now, a mob of people, mainly moms of the other players, huddled around me. The moms, a worried bunch, had deeply concerned faces. I could hear some of them say things like, "Oh my gosh, he's bleeding so badly," and, "I'm so sorry." Then someone exclaimed, "Wow, what beautiful eyes! I thought they were blue at first, but now they look green! How pretty!" The rest of the moms agreed. I was elated that they cared so deeply about my anguish at the time.

My parents finally arrived, along with my coach, Rick, who was also my uncle and father of my cousin, Matt. They explained to me that Jesse, a player on my team, was swinging a bat in the dugout when he never should have been. The bat had smacked me in the mouth, which caused it to bleed so horrifically. My parents then told me they were taking me to the hospital to make sure everything was all right. Looking back today, I think part of the reason they were so worried about taking me to the hospital was the thought that they would have to spend a fortune paying the doctors to pay for a possible surgery.

When we arrived at the hospital, I immediately went to a room. The scent of plastic gloves clung to the air. The room gave me a nostalgia of winter; the walls, cabinets, tables and floor was snowy white, not to mention that the hospital, which was also painted white outside, felt freezing cold. Chills ran down my spine, giving me goose bumps. I believe part of the reason I felt so cold was not only from the chilly room temperature, but also from my own fear of what might happen to me next. By now, the worst of the bleeding ceased, and I had thrown the tissues I had held up to my mouth away. After ten or so minutes, a doctor came into my room. He was tall, had short black hair and was extremely tan. He smiled the entire visit, possibly trying to show off his pearly whites. He glided over to me and calmly asked, "What seems to be the problem?"

I stared blankly at him. Was this guy being serious? I thought. "Um, my mouth...," I replied, revealing a hint of annoyance in my voice.

"Ah, yes, of course," he chuckled. "Now open wide and say 'Aaaaaah.'"

" Aaaaaah," I moaned. After a brief check, the doctor strode over to his clipboard and jotted down a few notes.

"Well, everything seems to be fine," he said when he had finished.

What the heck? I thought. How can everything be fine? Did you even look at my mouth at all? I don't see how saying 'Aaaaaah' solves anything!

"No serious damage seems to have been done," he continued. My parents breathed out a sigh of relief, again making me question whether they cared about their paychecks or me. He left the room, but he returned in a quick minute with something behind his back.

"Now, I highly recommend that you eat ice cream and Popsicles to help numb your mouth," he emphasized. "Now have a splendid day!" He held out a gigantic, bright red Popsicle, and my eyes widened with pure joy. I ate that Popsicle the entire ride back to my house, forgetting about the day with each lick.

That night Matt and my uncle called. They told me that Austin, another player on our baseball team, passed rumors after the game that my teeth had jutted back into my throat. Austin always acted like a know-it-all, so of course no one believed him. The same night Jesse and his father called, asking about me and apologizing for what happened. Jesse sounded terribly upset; it sounded like he was in tears. All I really told him was thanks; I was way too busy eating strawberry ice cream to care what he thought at the time.

My lip had swollen over my bottom lip for a couple of weeks, but I had never enjoyed Popsicles and ice cream more in my life during those glorious days. I suppose forgiveness comes easy when life starts running the way you want it; in my case, having a wonderful life of sitting around the house all day shoving ice cream and other various frozen delights into my system allowed me to forgive Jesse almost immediately.