Chapter 9 → "Meeting Tomasz" (2014)
The autumn air had turned crisp, and dry leaves scraped along the edges of the school playground like restless whispers. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the metal fence, and outside the kindergarten gates, Adrian stood with his plastic bat in hand, swiping at imaginary pitches.
The playground was nearly empty now, the other kids either gone home or dragged off by parents. But Adrian stayed, waiting for his father to finish a shift and come walking up the cracked sidewalk to take him home. He didn't mind the wait. This was his favorite time—alone, focused, his mind filled with the crack of distant stadium cheers he'd only ever heard through the TV in their tiny apartment.
Swish. Swish.
He gripped the plastic handle tighter, feet planted shoulder-width apart like Marek had shown him. His right foot twisted slightly on the follow-through, just like the pros. Over and over again, he repeated the motion, eyes narrowed in concentration, lips pressed together like a secret he wasn't ready to tell anyone.
But someone was watching.
Tomasz Grabowski leaned lazily against the chain-link fence, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across his broad chest. His tracksuit jacket was half-zipped, the worn whistle around his neck reflecting faint beams of late-day light. The clipboard under his arm was stuffed with dog-eared papers, player lists, and lineup sheets from youth baseball tournaments stretching back years.
He hadn't planned to stop. Just passing through, really—heading home after wrapping up a meeting about field permits for the coming spring. But that kid's stance…
It wasn't just the swing. Kids swung sticks all the time. No, this boy moved like someone older. Balanced. Feet turning properly, not wildly hacking at the air the way most kids his age did. And that focus. The world around him could've vanished and he wouldn't have noticed.
Tomasz scratched his chin, curiosity creeping up his spine.
Finally, he stepped forward.
"Oi," he called, voice low but carrying weight.
Adrian froze, bat raised mid-swing, startled. Slowly, he lowered it and turned. The man approaching him wasn't like the teachers or even the parents he saw most days. This man had a kind of quiet authority, like someone used to giving instructions and expecting them to be followed.
"You practicing for something?" Tomasz asked, nodding at the bat.
Adrian blinked, unsure whether to answer. "Just… swinging."
"Hmm." Tomasz crouched down so they were nearly eye level. "What's your name, kid?"
"Adrian."
"Adrian what?"
"Adrian Wójcik."
Tomasz's eyes glinted with faint amusement. "You've got good footwork, Adrian Wójcik. Did someone teach you that, or you just figuring it out yourself?"
"My dad," Adrian answered, his voice growing steadier.
"Your dad, huh?" Tomasz glanced up and down the empty playground. "He play?"
Adrian shook his head. "He wanted to. Baseball's not really… big here."
"No, it's not," Tomasz admitted. "But it should be."
Silence stretched between them for a moment, filled only by the whisper of leaves caught against the fence.
"You know," Tomasz finally said, rising back to his full height, "there's a club not far from here. Real practices. Real balls. Real bats. Might be worth you stopping by sometime."
Adrian's eyes grew wide. "Like… a real baseball team?"
Tomasz smiled, the kind of smile that held years of experience and hope all at once. "Exactly. We've got kids your age learning every Saturday. No pressure. Just come watch if you want."
Before Adrian could ask more, Marek's footsteps echoed along the sidewalk, growing louder and more certain. His father's workday was over. Marek's eyes scanned the scene quickly, landing on Tomasz and then Adrian with the plastic bat still gripped tightly in his hands.
"Everything alright here?" Marek asked, voice steady but cautious.
Tomasz extended his hand in greeting. "All good. Tomasz Grabowski. I run youth baseball around these parts. Saw your boy practicing and thought I'd say hello."
Marek shook the offered hand firmly, sizing up the man. "Marek Wójcik. Didn't think there was much baseball left in Warsaw."
Tomasz chuckled. "It's small, but it's growing. If Adrian's interested, he's welcome to join us anytime."
Marek glanced at Adrian, whose face was glowing with a mixture of surprise and excitement. "We'll think about it."
"Fair enough," Tomasz nodded. "Here's my number." He handed Marek a small card before turning to leave, but not without one last look back at Adrian. "You've got good instincts, kid. Keep at it."
As Tomasz's figure faded down the street, Adrian exhaled deeply, the weight of possibility settling on his young shoulders.
"Dad," he said quietly, "I want to try."
Marek's smile was faint but genuine. "Then we'll find a way."
—
That night, the apartment felt warmer despite the autumn chill creeping in through the cracked window. Adrian lay on his bed, clutching the plastic bat to his chest, the card Tomasz had given them resting on the nightstand.
Outside, rain began to tap lightly against the glass, a soft, rhythmic drumbeat.
Marek appeared in the doorway. "Rain's coming. Might be a good night to dream about the game."
Adrian smiled. "I want to play for Poland one day."
Marek sat beside him, the fatherly weight of years pressing gently into his voice. "And you will. But it takes more than dreams. It takes heart."
Adrian looked up, eyes shining. "I have that."
Marek ruffled his hair. "I know, son. I know."
—
As the rain whispered against the window, Adrian's thoughts were filled with new hope, the promise of a future waiting just beyond the horizon.
The game was no longer just a dream—it was beginning.
End of Chapter 9 → "Meeting Tomasz"