8. eight
eight
Brooks
“You sure you don’t want to get rid of those?” Jonah asks me as I clean out my locker at the clubhouse along with the rest of the team. He finished first because his wife is a professional organizer and came by to help him while their kids were at school.
“These?” I hold up a pair of fresh white socks I’ve never worn. “They’re brand new.”
“Dang it,” Jonah sighs. “I’m pretty sure a pair of socks worn by Brooks Alden would fetch a pretty penny on Ebay.”
I snort, chucking the socks at him so forcefully he has to fumble to catch them.
“Not after last week’s game they won’t,” I mumble, not intending for Jonah to hear me, but he must, because he rises from the chair he’s lounging in and comes to hover over my shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, prodding me with the balled up socks. “You can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“You screwed up. The world knows you’re human now. Capable of…humanity.”
“You write that line yourself?”
“Are you really still torn up about it?”
Torn up? More like shredded.
The day after the game, I’d gotten a text consisting of several paragraphs of commentary and criticism from my dad. He was sure to tell me everything I’d done wrong in the game and listed out his suggested ways of what I could do during the off season to ensure my “rookie” mistakes never happen again. It had made me so upset that I’d blocked his number on my phone. Should have done that sooner.
But his words found their mark and spurred me into action. I’ve spent the past week watching the tapes and re-working the play a thousand different ways in my mind. I’ve dissected my mistake from every angle with the help of my coaches. I’ve lifted at the gym, worked on improving my strength and mobility, and pushed my body to its limits these past few days. While normally it feels good to meet the edge of my physical abilities, I think I’ve gone too far. Most of my teammates take at least a couple weeks entirely off of baseball at the end of every season, and I didn’t allow myself even one day to relax after our loss. I’m exhausted.
I shove a pair of cleats into my duffle bag. “Am I supposed to be over it by now?”
“That depends on how much fun you want to have in the off-season. What are your plans?”
“Lift. Eat clean. Maintain my conditioning. Overhaul my game,” I say, mentally adding to the list that I need to try to get over the mental hurdle that seems to somehow grow taller every day that goes by. Right now it feels insurmountable. That bad play is now my identity. It’s all the media has talked about since we lost. It’s all anybody asks me about when I’m interviewed. I can’t escape it.
And though I blocked my dad’s number, it’s his voice that’s ringing constantly in my head. Telling me I screwed up big time. Berating me for my mistake, over and over and over.
That’s what happens when you’re raised by someone who tears you apart when you don’t measure up.
“Wow,” Jonah drags out with a grin. “You’re a real good time.”
“Aren’t you going to do the same?” I know for a fact that Jonah takes his off-season routine just as seriously as I do.
“Yeah, but I plan on at least taking the weekends off to do other things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I’m gonna make time to read more books.”
“Read…books?”
“Yeah. If I were you, I’d find ways to relax. Maybe talk to someone about whatever was bugging me. Then journal about my feelings.”
“Journal?” I snort. The only time I pick up a pen is when I sign autographs and even then, my hand cramps up.
“I’m going to eat lots of good, nutritious food. Learn how to make a few new dishes. Spend time with my family. Maybe pick up a new hobby.”
“Like what? Embroidery?”
“Hey,” he warns. “Don’t diss the stitch, bro.”
I snicker.
“No, but seriously. Find something you enjoy doing off the field. Something other than working out and beating yourself up about that game.”
His suggestions sound so…simple.
I’m not even sure what I enjoy doing outside of my sport. My life is baseball. It’s always been baseball.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Before I left home to play college ball, I enjoyed other things. Going to the movies or having a bonfire down at the harbor with friends. Visiting a pretty girl at Delia’s Diner and sharing a hot stack of pancakes or french toast during her lunch break.
It’s been a long time since I pursued any interests that didn’t contribute to improving my game. Jonah’s advice makes me realize that maybe I’ve been licking my wounds, dragging around my mistake like a ball and chain. The way my dad taught me to do.
I hate that I let him hold so much power over me. I’ve felt a renewed resentment towards him as I’ve been back in touch with Nora, because he’s the reason she was taken out of my life.
“It might take some work,” Jonah continues. “But if you can look at this as a chance to grow in more ways than just an athlete, I think this might end up being really good for you. This might be your chance to find out what else you can lean on when the game doesn’t go the way you want it to.”
“How much do I owe you for the therapy session?”
He holds up the socks and grins. “Let’s call it even.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m closing my locker for the last time this season. My bags are packed. My work here is done…for now. Hopefully not forever. The irrational fear of getting dropped or traded has been pinging around my mind like a pinball ever since we lost that game.
I mull over Jonah’s words all the way home to my apartment. Maybe he’s right. My brain has felt like it’s going to explode, stuck in a constant loop of negativity and stress. I’ve been this way ever since my dad forced me to break up with Nora my senior year of high school. All I had left after he took her from me was baseball. It became my everything. I felt so out of control after he steamrolled our plans and I left Kitt’s Harbor, and baseball was the only sure thing I could turn to. I couldn’t control what happened to Nora once I was gone, but I could try to control my game. And I have. I’ve worked my butt off to play my sport at the highest level, but it’s like one bad play has pushed me to the edge and I’m about to tumble off the cliff.
I haven’t had the guts to ever take a real break from baseball. It feels dangerous. What if everything I’ve worked so hard to shove down and numb comes back to the surface when I stop?
Maybe Jonah’s right.What I need is a new hobby. More time at home.
I’ve avoided Kitt’s Harbor for the past five years in an effort to avoid an encounter with my Dad. His work as an airline pilot means he’s away a lot, and since I’ve officially blocked his number, I’m starting to think that it may be worth the risk if it means I get to see my mom, sisters, and hopefully Nora again.
I call my agent, Desi, and run my thoughts by her.
“What if you kept some structure to your work week so you still feel productive, but then spend your weekends back home in Kitt’s Harbor?”
I’m surprised at how supportive she is of the idea. We continue to talk at length about what else I could do to set myself up for success in the new year, and alongside spending weekends at home, she suggests that I start seeing the team therapist.
“Anything that helps your mind will help your game,” Desi says, sounding relieved that I seemed to be actively looking for ways to get out of the hole I’ve been in. She’s tried her best to keep things upbeat, but I’ve been in a rut and, honestly, I think she needs a break from me, too.
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. I think you’re on the right track, Brooks. I’m here to support whatever you decide to do.”
After we end our call, I picture how happy my family will be that I’ll be around more. Would Nora be as excited as I hope they will be?
I tried to forget about what happened between us, tried to not let regret break me apart by throwing myself into becoming the best baseball player I could be. But clearly after seeing her again, I haven’t forgotten what she meant to me.
Because you don’t just forget about the girl who was your first love.
Believe me, I tried.