I’ve threatened it in the past, but I swear, this time I mean it. I’m going to kill you. Slowly. Watch you suffer……You knew he was standing there, didn’t you? Why in the fuck did you do that?!!” My voice raised an octave.
Grant continued grinning. “Just moving along the inevitable, my dear….You’ll both thank me later.”
“I hate you,” I muttered.
***************
On Thursdays that summer, all of us liked to go to the stadium to watch the local AAA baseball team play. It was always ‘Thirsty Thursdays’, meaning beer only cost $1.00. That was good for a grad student’s budget. I’ve always loved baseball. Baseball has the same basic rules as fast-pitch softball. Of course, girls’ asses don’t look nearly as cute in the pants (well, at least not to me). During one of the previous games, Thad found out that I was a college softball player who loved baseball. He’d grinned at me like the old days – and people were even around us at the time. It seemed he couldn’t help it.
You know that part in a romance movie where the hero does something to make you swoon? Some selfless act that demonstrates how amazing he is? Well, Thad’s moment came at one of those Thirsty Thursday games that summer.
When we’d first walked into the stadium that day, Grant had made a comment because I was wearing a baseball cap with my hair hanging out the back in a ponytail. I’d laughed and told the others about Grant’s strange hatred for baseball caps. Thad had shaken his head, saying to Grant, “I like them, dude.” Then, when he thought no one was looking, he’d whispered something in Grant’s ear that made Grant’s eyebrows go up. Grant made quick eye contact with me and grinned before looking away. I’d noticed. I’d seen it all. What the hell? I vowed that Grant would tell me what Thad had said later, or else I’d threaten to use the key he gave me to his apartment and get rid of his Versace cologne. He would die.
The game began and the beer was flowing. After a particularly bad error by our team’s first baseman, though, I heard a familiar voice behind us heckling: “Go back to little league. You suck!”
I knew that voice. Mama’s Boy. He was obviously drunk. I shrank in my seat and glanced over at Grant, who was sitting on the other side of Thad. Grant’s look told me he’d recognized the voice, too. Grant mouthed what looked like “fucker” and I tried to attempt a smile. I thought Thad was still caught up in the game, but he turned his head and caught Grant’s look of disgust pointed my way. Thad turned and looked at me, then back at Grant. He pointed his question at Grant: “What? That guy bothering you? Just ignore him. He’s wasted.”
Grant was never good at hiding his emotions – the whole drama thing fit him too well. He looked down and mumbled, “He’s always bothered me, but not because he’s wasted – because he’s a cheating asshole.” Bitter and cryptic.
Shit. I tensed up completely and looked down at my lap. I began to fidget with my hands. Thad noticed my body language and it hit him.
“Is that Mama’s Boy behind us, Shay?”
I didn’t answer.
He whispered, softer this time, “Is it, Shay?”
I finally nodded, continuing to look down at my lap. Thad moved his hand on top of mine and squeezed softly. Upon his touch, my skin came to life again – tingling, burning, feeling. Ms. L., who I think had actually been in a coma for a while, was alert, awake, and cussing me out again. Great. When he removed his hand after a brief moment, I felt cold. Lifeless.
But then I heard his whisper in my ear, “It’s okay, Smiles. He can’t hurt you anymore.” My lips turned upward and my heart skipped. I tried to pay attention to the rest of the game, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t even thinking about Mama’s Boy anymore. I was thinking about Thad’s
Grant continued grinning. “Just moving along the inevitable, my dear….You’ll both thank me later.”
“I hate you,” I muttered.
***************
On Thursdays that summer, all of us liked to go to the stadium to watch the local AAA baseball team play. It was always ‘Thirsty Thursdays’, meaning beer only cost $1.00. That was good for a grad student’s budget. I’ve always loved baseball. Baseball has the same basic rules as fast-pitch softball. Of course, girls’ asses don’t look nearly as cute in the pants (well, at least not to me). During one of the previous games, Thad found out that I was a college softball player who loved baseball. He’d grinned at me like the old days – and people were even around us at the time. It seemed he couldn’t help it.
You know that part in a romance movie where the hero does something to make you swoon? Some selfless act that demonstrates how amazing he is? Well, Thad’s moment came at one of those Thirsty Thursday games that summer.
When we’d first walked into the stadium that day, Grant had made a comment because I was wearing a baseball cap with my hair hanging out the back in a ponytail. I’d laughed and told the others about Grant’s strange hatred for baseball caps. Thad had shaken his head, saying to Grant, “I like them, dude.” Then, when he thought no one was looking, he’d whispered something in Grant’s ear that made Grant’s eyebrows go up. Grant made quick eye contact with me and grinned before looking away. I’d noticed. I’d seen it all. What the hell? I vowed that Grant would tell me what Thad had said later, or else I’d threaten to use the key he gave me to his apartment and get rid of his Versace cologne. He would die.
The game began and the beer was flowing. After a particularly bad error by our team’s first baseman, though, I heard a familiar voice behind us heckling: “Go back to little league. You suck!”
I knew that voice. Mama’s Boy. He was obviously drunk. I shrank in my seat and glanced over at Grant, who was sitting on the other side of Thad. Grant’s look told me he’d recognized the voice, too. Grant mouthed what looked like “fucker” and I tried to attempt a smile. I thought Thad was still caught up in the game, but he turned his head and caught Grant’s look of disgust pointed my way. Thad turned and looked at me, then back at Grant. He pointed his question at Grant: “What? That guy bothering you? Just ignore him. He’s wasted.”
Grant was never good at hiding his emotions – the whole drama thing fit him too well. He looked down and mumbled, “He’s always bothered me, but not because he’s wasted – because he’s a cheating asshole.” Bitter and cryptic.
Shit. I tensed up completely and looked down at my lap. I began to fidget with my hands. Thad noticed my body language and it hit him.
“Is that Mama’s Boy behind us, Shay?”
I didn’t answer.
He whispered, softer this time, “Is it, Shay?”
I finally nodded, continuing to look down at my lap. Thad moved his hand on top of mine and squeezed softly. Upon his touch, my skin came to life again – tingling, burning, feeling. Ms. L., who I think had actually been in a coma for a while, was alert, awake, and cussing me out again. Great. When he removed his hand after a brief moment, I felt cold. Lifeless.
But then I heard his whisper in my ear, “It’s okay, Smiles. He can’t hurt you anymore.” My lips turned upward and my heart skipped. I tried to pay attention to the rest of the game, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t even thinking about Mama’s Boy anymore. I was thinking about Thad’s
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