The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [117]
“Look, Brak, I pitched like shit today, I don’t think I want to deal with this right now.”
“Just hear me out, okay? I have to ask you because it’s part of the steps, for my sponsor.”
I got a better grip on the phone. Then something deeper and meaner than breaking down on a ball field took hold of me. “Is that it?” I accused. “Is that your way of asking me to forgive you for all the shit you’ve put us through? A fucking phone call and somebody put me up to this BS?”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“Then, what’s it like?”
“I’ve already talked to Mom and Dad, and I realize now that I’ve got a disease, Dirk. I’m an alcoholic.”
“No shit.”
“But I’m working on it. I’m getting help. I have a counselor and a sponsor and—”
“And this sponsor is going to fix it? What about all the other law-mandated counseling you went to in between trips to the bar? What about the other help that was supposed to stop you from beating the hell out of us?”
“This is different.”
“Doesn’t feel different to me.”
He sighed and labored to keep himself in check. I could tell I was frustrating him. I wanted to. I wanted him to explode. I wanted him to yell at me and turn into that monster I knew so well because I felt like one. I felt disgusting and broken, and I didn’t want to hold it back. I didn’t want to forgive, and I didn’t want to hear about it. I took plenty of blows from him, and it was his turn to take some of mine.
“I expected you to be skeptical, I understand. I know I’ve hurt you and a lot of people.”
“You know? You don’t know anything, Brak, I wanted to kill you. Seriously, I thought about it. I thought it through. I could claim self-defense and no one would bat an eye after all the trips the cops have made to our house because of you. I’ve lain awake hoping for you to wreck your car and die. That night you broke my head open and I had to lie to the police about it. That night you chased me around with a knife. When you grabbed the wheel of the car when I was trying to get you home and almost wrecked us. Every time I talk to Dad, every time I hear Mom yell, every time I think about home. You break and you destroy, and all we can do is try and hold it together.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!”
“YES I DO!” he roared. “There were nights I wanted to be dead too! There were nights I wanted to kill myself, Dirk. Do you know what the fuck it’s like to feel like that? Of course you don’t. You think your fucking baseball struggles are everything in life, running from one side of the country to the next while I fuck up back at home. You’ve never known the shit I have. What’s the worst you’ve dealt with, huh? Make a bad pitch? Christ!”
“The worst I’ve had to deal with is you, Brak.”
“Great, then think of me the next time you pitch like shit. It should make you feel much better.”
The phone sat silent for a minute while he collected himself. I had beaten him, but it did not satisfy as I hoped. “I know this is my own fault,” he said, somber, focused. “There are no excuses. That’s one of the first things AA teaches you, and it’s true. There are no excuses; you have to accept responsibility. I accept my actions, but you are part of this.”
“How am I a part of this? I didn’t make you start drinking.”
“Yeah, but you have the power to forgive me for it.”
“Why should I? Because your sponsor needs me to do it so you can get your AA merit badge?”
“Goddamn it Dirk…. No, not because of AA, but because I don’t want to struggle with this anymore. Because I’m tired of fucking up. I want to have control of my life again. I’m not good with words like you, but I’m asking you the best way I know. I need you to give