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Standing on the pitcher's mound is a lonely thing. The opposition team is closer to you than most of your own teammates, and you stare down a tunnel at the batter as though you and she are the only two people in the world.
Ellen Sue finds the isolation difficult. She's the third-string pitcher, catapulted into the spotlight because Kit is traded to Racine and Betty goes home to her husband's family. So the third-string becomes the number one pitcher. She'd never get through a game without Doris yelling at her from third.
Doris' voice is inescapably rough. She shrieks across the field, cutting through the noise of the crowd and the other team yelling at their girl. If the only person Ellen can see is the batter, then the only person she can hear is Doris: one, two, three, one, two, three, keep it going, Ellen Sue.
She knows Doris' voice the way she knows no other. Evelyn's voice is sweeter, Helen's is richer. May always sounds cheeky and seductive, Dottie manages to be maternal and sophisticated all at once.
But it's Doris that Ellen Sue wants to hear yelling at her. Doris keeps her grounded, keeps her going after strikes, after balls, after the ones that kiss dirt that make Ellen blush and kick into the pitcher's mound. Doris keeps her together during the games, and then goes off arm-in-arm with May afterward. It doesn't hurt too much, because it's the games that are the important thing. And Ellen Sue knows that as long as the game is on, Doris is all hers.