The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [47]
In the bathroom, I scooped up some water from the sink and splashed myself in the face. I let it trickle down my neck and soak into my shirt, not bothering to stop it. The hair on the side of my head matted to my face, and beads of water hung on my nose. I passed a hand over myself to flick off the excess. Then, flushed and broken, I stared at my disheveled reflection in the mirror. I looked in at Dirk, the baseball player. He stared back at me in his pristine uniform, hat on, glove at his side.
“You lied to me,” I accused.
“You lied to yourself,” came the calm response.
“Don’t give me that! I’ve done what it takes to get us here.”
“You’ve inculcated yourself.”
“Very funny, smart-ass.”
“You’re uptight because you’re afraid.”
“Afraid?” I laughed. “Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of the day you’d have to take this uniform off.”
“I’m not afraid. That’s ridiculous! I was ready to quit before I came here.”
“No,” he said gently, “you were ready for Dad to say you could quit, but he didn’t.”
“That’s not true. I can do it anytime I want,” I said like a defiant child. I knew the truth though, and my words weren’t convincing.
“I don’t blame you, really. You’ve been hiding behind that jersey for years now. It’s what you know.”
“Hiding! Who’s hiding? I’ve always been out in the open.”
“Out in the open that you play baseball, sure. But you’re afraid you won’t be important without it.”
“Fear has nothing to do with it! I’ve earned the right to be a respected athlete. I’ve paid my dues. There are only two kinds of people in this world: somebodies and nobodies. Baseball has made me somebody!”
“Really?” A skeptical look followed the question.
“Yes! I’m one of the special few who gets to do this!”
“Do you feel special right now?”
“…”
“You don’t know who you are, and you’re terrified of losing this.” He tugged the uniform.
“It’s my gift! Baseball is my gift, and I’m fighting to keep it.”
“Baseball is also your curse, and the fight to keep it is killing you.”
“Wrong—it’s the only thing that’s keeping me going. I have nothing else.”
“You have more than you think.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your biggest problem.”
The next day, I took the early van to the complex. I didn’t talk to anyone, not Frenchy, or Ox, or Brent. No one knew what was going on, except maybe the maids who would have a hell of a time cleaning up the mess I made of the place. I cut through the crowd on a direct line for the back office. I didn’t bother to look for Bruce; I went right to the source.
I came to the executioner’s office and walked in without knocking. Sitting at his desk, Earp turned away from stapled sheets full of stats and names and looked at me. The stark expression I wore did all the talking.
“I’m sorry. You had a good spring, and I fought for you. You’re not gonna like this, but it’s a numbers game.” He offered me a job in Lake Elsinore, Single-A ball—if I wanted it.
Chapter Fifteen
On buses like this, there are certain seats that can be removed and modular tables put in their place. These particular seats offer a few more inches of legroom as a side effect of their dual-purpose architecture. It’s hardly perceptible by those who don’t spend weeks of their life aboard buses, but I know it’s the best seat in the house, and every bit of leg comfort counts.
I placed my backpack down on the seat closest to the window, emptied my pockets of my cell phone and wallet, feeding them to one of my pack’s many outside pouches. Then I sat next to the pack in the seat closest to the aisle, stretched