Read Online Out of My League by Dirk Hayhurst - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dirk Hayhurst
Ads: Link
Bonnie’s clients bowed, Bonnie bowed out, never trying to steal a hint of fanfare for herself. I noticed this, if only because it seemed so counterintuitive to me. All my life I’d been chasing a job that would give me attention, fame, and glory. Yet here was Bonnie, spending her life to give the attention to others, people who couldn’t champion their own causes.
I loved her; I loved her world. There was no trash talking here. No competitive anteing. No crushing the other person so you could stand out as the best. This was a place where everyone had a chance to shine. Bonnie was selfless and caring and openhearted. Her tenderness drew me to her. She afforded me an opportunity to drop the guard that living in a world of testosterone stats, broken family relationships, and long-shot odds forced me to construct. Being around her reminded me of the Dirk I was before professional baseball caught me between its hammer and anvil, and before alcoholism and anger left its scars in my personal life. She made me feel creative and capable. She made me feel safe, and keeping that feeling was easily worth ten thousand dollars of lost wages. In fact, as I watched her onstage, I believed it was worth whatever price, even if I moved baseball permanently out of my number-one priority spot.
After dinner, we sat in Bonnie’s car, a beautiful new Audi, parked next to my car, a crappy, rusted-out Corolla, in the parking lot of the value-based Italian restaurant where I had taken her to dinner. Bonnie was curled up with my arm around her, both of us gazing at the winter sky through the unfrosted portions of the windshield. The radio was on some oldies station playing music you could still make out the lyrics to. This was our only alone time now. Privacy was at a premium for us; our dates consisted of fleeting hours meeting after work, staying at coffee shops or bookstores or restaurants until they closed, and then lingering in their parking lots.
Though I was in Bonnie’s neck of the woods tonight, she wasn’t comfortable with me hanging out at her house too late. Bonnie still lived at home with her parents, and Bonnie’s mom had a tendency to “sleepwalk” if she suspected a boy was in the house doing anything more than G-rated behavior with her daughter—though her daughter was twenty-eight. Unlike my family, Bonnie’s had good relationships, good jobs, and a nice house. Bonnie’s folks loved having their daughter around and even encouraged it, as they considered it good Christian parenting to keep an eye on her until a suitable gentleman came calling. This conservative, chaste imprinting was also one of the reasons Bonnie and I had only shared kisses and snuggles and not much else. That and we both drove compacts.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about ways you could brand your business when you go solo,” I said. “I was thinking you could have a mascot, like the minor leagues have, you know, to distinguish yourself.”
“A mascot?” repeated Bonnie, skeptically.
“Yeah, something special and unique, like the kids you work with.”
“And what would this mascot be?”
“Well, I was thinking it could be the combination of two animals to make one special one, that could be a symbol of specialness, you know?”
“And this special animal would be called ... ?”
“A Garfoose,” I said. “You know, half giraffe and half moose? It could have purple spots and big moosey antlers. He would love children and breathe fire when you tickle him, and—”
“You want me to brand my business based on a fire-breathing giraffe with antlers,” Bonnie rephrased.
“When you tickle him, yes,” I said.
“Hmmm, well, as good as that idea is”—she took a thoughtful pause—“I’m not sure it’s best that I brand myself with something so, uh, flammable.”
“Think about it for me, okay? Who knows, the Garfoose might grow on you.”
“Who knows,” she repeated, smiling as sincerely as she could muster before
I loved her; I loved her world. There was no trash talking here. No competitive anteing. No crushing the other person so you could stand out as the best. This was a place where everyone had a chance to shine. Bonnie was selfless and caring and openhearted. Her tenderness drew me to her. She afforded me an opportunity to drop the guard that living in a world of testosterone stats, broken family relationships, and long-shot odds forced me to construct. Being around her reminded me of the Dirk I was before professional baseball caught me between its hammer and anvil, and before alcoholism and anger left its scars in my personal life. She made me feel creative and capable. She made me feel safe, and keeping that feeling was easily worth ten thousand dollars of lost wages. In fact, as I watched her onstage, I believed it was worth whatever price, even if I moved baseball permanently out of my number-one priority spot.
After dinner, we sat in Bonnie’s car, a beautiful new Audi, parked next to my car, a crappy, rusted-out Corolla, in the parking lot of the value-based Italian restaurant where I had taken her to dinner. Bonnie was curled up with my arm around her, both of us gazing at the winter sky through the unfrosted portions of the windshield. The radio was on some oldies station playing music you could still make out the lyrics to. This was our only alone time now. Privacy was at a premium for us; our dates consisted of fleeting hours meeting after work, staying at coffee shops or bookstores or restaurants until they closed, and then lingering in their parking lots.
Though I was in Bonnie’s neck of the woods tonight, she wasn’t comfortable with me hanging out at her house too late. Bonnie still lived at home with her parents, and Bonnie’s mom had a tendency to “sleepwalk” if she suspected a boy was in the house doing anything more than G-rated behavior with her daughter—though her daughter was twenty-eight. Unlike my family, Bonnie’s had good relationships, good jobs, and a nice house. Bonnie’s folks loved having their daughter around and even encouraged it, as they considered it good Christian parenting to keep an eye on her until a suitable gentleman came calling. This conservative, chaste imprinting was also one of the reasons Bonnie and I had only shared kisses and snuggles and not much else. That and we both drove compacts.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about ways you could brand your business when you go solo,” I said. “I was thinking you could have a mascot, like the minor leagues have, you know, to distinguish yourself.”
“A mascot?” repeated Bonnie, skeptically.
“Yeah, something special and unique, like the kids you work with.”
“And what would this mascot be?”
“Well, I was thinking it could be the combination of two animals to make one special one, that could be a symbol of specialness, you know?”
“And this special animal would be called ... ?”
“A Garfoose,” I said. “You know, half giraffe and half moose? It could have purple spots and big moosey antlers. He would love children and breathe fire when you tickle him, and—”
“You want me to brand my business based on a fire-breathing giraffe with antlers,” Bonnie rephrased.
“When you tickle him, yes,” I said.
“Hmmm, well, as good as that idea is”—she took a thoughtful pause—“I’m not sure it’s best that I brand myself with something so, uh, flammable.”
“Think about it for me, okay? Who knows, the Garfoose might grow on you.”
“Who knows,” she repeated, smiling as sincerely as she could muster before
Similar Books
