7. Shawn
Shawn
“We made it,” Blaze calls from up ahead and somewhere above me.
Misty’s been leading the way since he let her off leash, apparently unconcerned about her roaming free on top of a mountain.
I’ve come to trust that Blaze knows what he’s doing.
I guess I’ve come to trust him in other ways, too, otherwise why would I have spouted off to him about my life?
I’m vaguely embarrassed about what I said.
Here’s a guy who was orphaned at nineteen, took over raising his sister, and has carved a life for himself out of the Maine woods, where it can’t be that easy to find work or opportunities, while I’ve got stupid rich people professional athlete problems that, when you think about it, aren’t really problems at all.
I mean, so I don’t have any direction, and I wasn’t lying when I said baseball has been my entire life since I was a kid.
But I have a few things going for me. I’ve got a nice apartment and three—I mean, two cars.
I have great parents, even if my dad hasn’t talked to me since I got cut from the team.
I’ve got friends—all of whom are baseball players or paid to be around me, like Callie.
Okay, I’m depressing myself again.
The point is, I thought I’d be one of those players who stuck around the majors until I got a potbelly and only got trotted out for a few innings at meaningless home games. But I’d still be in the clubhouse, in the dugout, part of the organization.
Well, the organization had other plans.
I’m in the woods with yet another guy who’s getting paid to hang out with me, but at least it’s nice to have a connection with someone outside of baseball, even if he is a Laurels fan.
I guess that gives us something else in common, because I’m still a fan, despite everything.
“Hey, Blaze, can I ask you something?” I say as I push myself over the top of a large boulder, glad that I’ve kept up my workout routine as I scale the steep incline to where Blaze stands with his back to me, arms akimbo.
“Always,” he responds.
But my question dies when I walk over and realize we’re at the edge of a cliff.
The boulder we’re on gives way to—nothing.
Truly nothing, just air a foot away from us.
Misty stands next to Blaze, seemingly enjoying the view, too.
I’m nervous about her being so close to the edge, but Blaze doesn’t seem to be, so I relax. He knows his dog.
I let it go and take in the view. Pines surround us in a semicircle and cover the higher crest behind us.
Up here is high enough for me. Below, a burnished gold and red carpet of deciduous trees is interspersed with dark, glossy evergreens.
The sun is setting at a rapid clip off to our right, so I surmise that’s west like a good little boy scout.
Not that I ever was one. Too busy with baseball practice, baseball camp, baseball, baseball, baseball.
Suddenly, I’m fed up with my love of the greatest game. If I had a baseball right now, I’d throw it off the edge of this cliff with all my might. It’s like I had a transplant when I was a kid—trading my heart for a ball. And now I wish I had something of my heart left.
I glance sidelong at Blaze, whose kind, bearded face is limned by the rapidly depleting sunlight. He seems to think there’s something left inside me, something among the stuffing and the leather that’s worth digging around for. He doesn’t think that I have a rubber core.
Maybe as long as one person thinks I can get back in touch with my humanity, that’s enough.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, in a pathetic understatement.
“Yeah. I never get tired of this view,” he says. “We’re going to lose the light in a minute. I better set up our dinner while I can see.”
“We have flashlights or something, though?” I ask, some of my city-boy anxiety rising up. I’m still not convinced we’re not going to meet a bear before getting back to the safety of the truck.
Blaze nods. “We’ve got plenty of light for the hike back, though we’ll need to be reasonably careful about where we step.
” He crouches down and opens his pack. Like a magician extracting an endless stream of colored scarves, he begins producing item after item from the relatively small bag.
First, he brings out two foam disks that I figure out are supposed to cushion us from the hard rock.
This seems like an unnecessary luxury, but maybe my ass will be grateful for them after a while.
Then there’s foil-wrapped sandwiches, real cloth napkins, plates and forks.
The sandwiches go on the reusable plates, along with pasta salad, the pungent vinegary scent of which hits my nose and goes straight to my rumbling belly.
Blaze pulls out a small battery-powered lantern but doesn’t switch it on.
Next comes a large glass bottle of beer and two small plastic tumblers.
“This is no ordinary picnic,” I say, diving into the sandwich with zeal.
“It’s pretty nice,” Blaze agrees. He’s eating with as much enthusiasm as I am, though he takes a break to pour some kibble into a dish for Misty. “Want some beer?”
“Sure.” The brew tastes pleasantly bitter and surprisingly cold against my tongue. “Do you have a refrigerator in there?”
He laughs. “There’s an insulated compartment, yeah.”
“Fancy.”
It’s gone full-on dark, and I become aware of the big moon in the sky right above Blaze’s head. “Wow.”
He twists to look where I’m looking and nods. “Seems bigger up here.”
“I’ll say.”
Stars pop out of the inky dark blue sky by the dozens. The longer I watch—it’s honestly overwhelming. It’s so beautiful, and it’s happening because it’s simply what happens. Blaze and I didn’t do anything to make it happen. We’re just here taking in the show.
God, I’m a spoiled brat. All of my dreams came true, and I thought my life would always be a certain way. But it’s hitting me now—that’s over. The dream of playing baseball on a big-league field? It’s never happening again.
Do I feel like…crying? Is that what this thick sensation in my throat, the prickle behind my eyes, is?
I didn’t cry when I got cut from the team.
I didn’t cry when they told me I’d have to have surgery.
I didn’t cry when Dr. Russell told me it could take months or years of therapy to work through this sudden change.
But now, under this blanket of stars, I feel like crying. It’s like being closer to the sky has thinned the walls around my emotions. Out here I can’t hide from anyone, including myself.
But I’m not going to cry right now. That would really put the cherry on top of my embarrassment around Blaze.
I mean, Blaze is, like, a real Maine mountain man. He’s not going to want to see me break down and cry.
Fuck. I’m not sure I can stop it.
I set my sandwich down and stand up. “Um.” The sob in my gullet is going to come out if I try to say anything else. I turn and walk away, away from the edge, away from the view, away from the guy who’s accepted me without question, without judgement, from the minute I arrived.
I get a few feet away—is it far enough?—before I let out the breath and the sob, and it sounds way too loud to my ears. But once it’s out, I’m crying for real—actual tears welling up and popping out of my tear ducts, drops of water plopping from my face down to the stone floor below.
The tears feel like punishment for being in denial for so long. Callie tried to tell me. Dr. Russell tried to get me to see it for myself. I thought I understood, but now I finally get it—my career is really and truly over.
Who am I now?
God, this is humiliating. There’s no way Blaze can’t hear me breaking down like…like, I don’t know. Whatever’s the opposite of a stoic athlete who doesn’t show when he’s hurting.
I’m sniffling and wishing I had something besides the hem of my hoodie to wipe away the tears and snot when I sense Blaze behind me.
“Fuck.” My voice cracks on the word.
Something touches my arm, and I look down to see one of our dinner napkins. I take it and scrub my face, blowing my nose into the makeshift handkerchief.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, voice as soft as the darkness around us.
I don’t look at him, don’t see if he’s gone back to our picnic spot, but finally I get my breathing under control, wipe my face one more time with the now disgusting napkin.
I stare into the semicircle of trees that ring the boulder outcropping, a dense blackness that a person could disappear inside.
For a second, I think about it. What if I just went into the woods and never came out again? Is that why I lost control of the Lamborghini? Because I wanted to crash?
Eventually, I turn away from the darkness. No. That’s not what I want. I still don’t know what I want, but I guess I’m choosing to try to find out.
Blaze has gone back to the picnic but isn’t sitting down. He’s standing, his hiking boots lit up by the little lantern at his feet, the rest of him just a silhouette. He seems to be waiting for me, giving me privacy, but ready if I need him.
I walk toward him, treading heavily. “Sorry. I don’t really know why—why that happened. Right now. Didn’t mean to ruin our picnic.” I attempt a watery smile.
“Hey, it’s fine. You want to head back? I can have this stuff cleared up in a second.”
“Do we have to?” I suddenly remember that it’s Friday night. Maybe he has somewhere else he’d rather be. Maybe he’s got someone else he’d rather be with.
But he says, “No, let’s finish,” with such simple sincerity that I let myself trespass on his kindness again.
I lower myself down onto the rock, tilt my face to the sky. There are even more stars now. “I think—I don’t know. Being out here…it makes me feel—small. But in a good way?”
“I know what you mean,” Blaze says, finishing his meal and tidying away the dishes while I go back to mine.
“You do?”