It was late, after 2 a.m. My roommate, Andy Fitzgerald, pitched the first complete game of his minor league career earlier in the evening, and we were ambling back to our room after celebrating a little too hard with our teammates. The drinks were stiff and we had a few too many. I was still doling out the compliments. “You fucking nailed it, Andy! AAA by the end of the season and the majors for sure next year!”
He was always kind of quiet and unassuming, but he stuck close by my side. I was always the first guy asked a question, whether it was about the best cheap restaurant splurge in town or how to deal with the anxiety we all faced, or whether our baseball careers would end right here in the minors.
I pushed open the door to our room and charged inside. I was looking forward to a quick, hot shower before bed and then power sleeping until the alarm rang at seven. As the door swung shut, Andy grabbed my shoulder before I could make it to the bathroom.
I turned to face him, and he earnestly said, “A complete game, Blake. I really did it.” In that instant, with the huge smile that spread across his face, Andy looked like a little boy excited by his first victory in a little league game. There was sweetness and innocence flooding his face for a moment. Then the goofy smile softened into a grin that brought back the adult Andy. He was my best friend at a time in my life that I really didn’t pay much attention to friends. I was too focused on baseball to develop deep relationships.
I said, “It’s damn impressive. My only worry is that I’ll lose my roomie when you get kicked up the ladder.”
“Maybe you’ll come, too,” said Andy. Then he opened his arms wide for a hug. Andy was the hugging type. I figured he grew up with parents that were always giving him big, squeezing hugs and waves of physical affection. In their absence, he looked for others to give him his share.
I hugged him tight and stared deep into his eyes. I didn’t expect what happened next. Andy Fitzgerald kissed me. I could see it coming, and I did nothing to stop it. He closed his eyes first, then pursed his lips, and I didn’t move.
Andy kissed me, and it wasn’t just a little peck. Our lips pressed together, and then he parted his slightly. I thought I felt tongue, and then my reflexes took over, and I pulled back. I stumbled over my next words, “I…I’ve gotta take a shower Andy. It’s late. We’ve gotta get up just a few hours from now.”
I thought I saw a momentary frown, but then he released me from the hug and turned toward his bed. In a dull monotone, he said, “Thanks for a great evening, Blake. I’m going to sleep now.”
Pulling the bathroom door shut tight, I began to strip out of my clothes. Thoughts assaulted me from all directions. Did he really kiss me? Does Andy want to be more than friends? Was that his tongue? What the hell was he doing? Did I like it? I tried to shake it all out of my mind as the hot, steamy water began to cascade down over my body.
I’m not being conceited when I say that I was good-looking. I was blessed by inheriting great genes. My parents were prom king and queen at their high school. I was six feet two, and it was easy for me to put muscle on my frame with the bare minimum of exertion in the gym. Playing the game of baseball was a lot of work for me, but looking good while doing it never was.
That’s why almost everyone would be shocked at my relative inexperience in the romance department. I had a few dates with girls and women here and there, but nothing I would assign the lofty label relationship. I looked at men from time to time, too. It seemed like a normal thing. I grew up with a couple of high school friends who proudly labeled themselves bisexual, but I didn’t think anything would come of my occasional lingering glances at handsome guys. Baseball was my life. Relationships had to wait. Eventually I would find a woman to marry and consider creating a family.
Then Andy kissed me. As I worked the shampoo through my hair, I suddenly remembered a comment tossed out by a teammate named Carson shortly after Andy arrived. He said, “He’s kinda sweet on you, Powell. You better keep an eye on him.”
I just gave Carson a good-natured shove and then trotted out to the field for batting practice. I wondered how many of my fellow teammates picked up on Andy’s attraction. Do they think I’m into Andy, too? I rinsed the shampoo from my hair and thought about the kiss. His lips were firm, and the something moist, it had to be his tongue. That felt good. I had to admit it. It was really good. It sent a little jolt of electricity through my body, and, fuck, I was hard just thinking about it.
Climbing out of the shower and toweling myself off, I tried to kick thoughts about Andy out of my mind. Tomorrow was an afternoon game, and batting practice started early. I was in a bit of a hitting slump. The coaches suggested that I adopt a slightly different stance, and I was eager to try it out in practice. I pulled on my boxer briefs and stepped into the darkness of our shared room.
I could hear Andy’s slow, steady breathing. He was already fast asleep. I climbed into my bed and rolled over to the side facing away. Fortunately, the alcohol in my bloodstream helped sleep come quickly.
In the morning, Andy was his normal self. He acted as if nothing unusual happened the night before. Maybe it wasn’t as unusual for him. I wondered if he was drunk enough that he really didn’t remember what happened, but I was certain I saw him down his last beer more than an hour before we left the celebration in Landers’ room. He didn’t bob or weave on our way back to our room. He only trudged like someone exhausted, and he had every reason to feel exhausted.
We ate breakfast together with three other guys, and when we reached the stadium, Andy just jogged off to center field to stretch and toss the ball around like usual on his non-pitching days. I was the one completely wrapped up in the aftermath of the kiss, and I had a hard time shaking it from my thoughts.
The change in batting stance seemed to help. I didn’t normally hit with a lot of home run power, but I managed to launch three balls over the outfield fence in practice. It was enough to finally kick the fixation on Andy from my mind and get my head back into the game. By the time we took the field and I jogged out to third base, I was ready to kick everything about my performance up a notch.
My first time at bat, I launched a double into the corner in right field. I had a big grin on my face as I slid into second well ahead of the tag and then stood up brushing the dirt off my knees. When Landers came to the plate two batters later and brought me in to score, Andy was the first to greet me on the steps of the dugout. Suddenly, the thoughts about the kiss were back, and I pulled away slightly from his hug.
When I batted in the fourth inning, it already looked like we might have the game in the bag. I felt good, and I felt relaxed. At first, I thought about swinging for the fences, but I knew that I would do better just trying to plunk a single into short right. With a count of two and two, I connected with the ball. Instead of the hole in short right, I got around on the ball too quickly, and it carried to just to the left of the third baseman. I knew there was a chance the fielder could reach the ball to make a reasonable throw, so I dug in for a race to first base.
Halfway there, Andy suddenly flashed into my mind. I was staring into his eyes and parted my own lips for a kiss. It was just enough distraction to throw my base running off. I tried to block Andy from my mind as I dug for first, but, at the last second, I realized my timing was off. My right foot landed at an angle on the outside edge of first base. Then I heard the ball land “thwack” in the glove. It was followed by a much more sickening sound.
I heard the snap and then pain suddenly shot up to my hip. Tumbling to the ground, I knew instantly that my leg was broken. There was no mistaking the sound. The only question was how badly. I tried to stand, and the pain was so intense I nearly blacked out. Instead of putting any weight on it, I lay on the ground howling and grabbing for my calf.
The next thing I remember, the trainer, first base coach, and manager were all gathered around me. I heard other players mumbling. The words, “I knew it as soon as that foot came down,” were distinct enough to make out.
Bennett, our trainer, said, “Don’t try and stand up, Blake. We’ll call out a stretcher. If you try and stand, you’ll only make it worse.”
I laid my head back in the dirt and stared up at the sky. I remembered thinking it was wrong that it was such a beautiful day with white puffy clouds in the sky. If I was breaking my leg, it should be in the middle of a thunderstorm with lightning flashing all around. At least there should be a sudden cold breeze. I closed my eyes, and then I felt at least six hands lifting me and placing my body on the stretcher.
Most of the time it’s a great thing to hear applause from the stands. The one time you don’t want to hear it is when you are being carried from the field on a stretcher. I wondered if I should open my eyes and smile courageously to the crowd. Instead, I just kept my eyes closed and worried that my career was over. I was worried that a kiss killed my career.
Later that night as the doctor was explaining the surgery they needed to perform, Bennett looked on shaking his head. The doctor explained that they needed to install a plate and screws to make sure the bone would hold together when it healed. He said that I might be in the hospital for up to three days, but he expected everything to heal up well. Finally, he said the words I dreaded to hear. He said, “It will never be the same again, but you should be able to walk normally, run, jump, and do most things that you want to do.” Never the same echoed through my skull. That meant I couldn’t ever be the athlete I was before I kissed Andy.
After the doctor left the room, Bennett gave me the more serious news. He said, “Blake, I have to be honest with you.”
“It’s bad?” I asked.
He nodded. “For a minor leaguer yeah. If you were in the majors, the team already has so much invested, this might just be a bump in the road, but the chances of coming back from this when you’re in the minors…not good.”
I said, “I can work my ass off. I’ll work double-time with physical therapy…”
Bennett rested his hand on my shoulder. He said, “Blake, if you’ve got a plan B, I would start thinking about it really hard. It’s late summer now. The chances of you being back in good enough condition for spring training next year are really slim. This kind of injury usually takes at least nine months to be back on top of your game. Sometimes it’s a year or more. The game isn’t going to wait for you.”
I slammed a hand down on the bed and bit my tongue to stop from shouting in Bennett’s face. Instead, I clenched my teeth and whispered, “Just leave me alone now.”
He pulled his hand back and said, “I’m really sorry, Blake. All I can say is this really sucks, but there’s a lot more to life than just being a baseball player. Seriously, there is.”
I growled, “I don’t need to hear that right now.” Then I shouted, “Get out! Just get out now!”
He headed for the door just as a nurse was entering. I heard her ask if anything was wrong, and Bennett said, “He’ll be okay. It’s all just starting to sink in.”
A Second Glance #2
1
Connor
The rigging holding me dangling far above the stage lurched unexpectedly causing me to drop the wrench I held in my right hand and reach reflexively for the support rope instead. Richard’s voice was breathless in my headphones shouting, “Ooops, damn, sorry Connor!”
The wrench clanged loudly on the floor below as I barked, “What the fuck, Dick? I don’t want to go to an early grave, thank you.”
“Sorry, man, there was a little slack there that I didn’t intend.”
I growled, “And a lot of fucking slack between your ears!”
It wasn’t the first time that a vision of falling from a rig more than seventy feet in the air flashed through my mind. In my early days working lights, it was at least a weekly occurrence, but I admit that I felt an invigorating rush up my spine every time it happened.
It’s like the rush I felt the first time I climbed the old oak tree in the empty lot next door entirely solo. I was eight years old, and I crept out so far on a limb that it actually bent downward a good two or three feet. I wanted to scream for help, but that prickly feeling in the small of my back felt so good. It felt really good.
My older sister Alana caught me up there. I was on my way to scooting back toward the trunk and shinnying to the ground when she called up at me, “What are you doing, Connor? Mom and Dad aren’t home, and I’m supposed to watch you. Get down here right now. I’m not taking the blame when you end up in the hospital! Why can’t you be more like Patrick?”
Patrick was my little brother, and we were nothing alike. He was shy and quiet, and he cried if he got anywhere near a drop of more than three feet. I grinned down at her and said, “Come up here with me, Alana. It’s great. You can see Grandma Murphy’s house from here.”
I was right. Grandma Murphy lived three blocks over, but the old oak tree was tall enough that you could see over the rooftops and I was looking right at her prized rose bush in full bloom just to the right of the front door of the little shotgun house.
Alana wasn’t convinced, and a few minutes later I was sliding my way down the trunk aiming for solid ground. I grinned sheepishly up at my big sister. I was short for my age, my growth spurt was still to come, and, at thirteen, she was one of the tallest girls in her class at school. She boxed my ears one time when I said, “You better learn to duck for low-flying planes.”
I shook my head to clear the memories and focus again on my current job. Once I was back on solid ground after hanging the last set of lights for the night’s concert, Richard apologized again. He said, “Something like that doesn’t happen often, Connor, and you weren’t really in danger.”
I stepped up close so that he could feel my breath and looked down with the three-inch clearance I had over the top of his head and said, “It only takes once, Dick. It only takes once.”
When he stopped shaking, I backed up three steps and laughed. He whimpered in response saying, “Man, I said I was sorry. And the name’s Richard…”
There was only a year’s experience separating Richard and me, and I knew that he was going to challenge me one day for the title of best in the business locally. That’s why I needed to keep him on his toes. I stepped forward again, and then I threw an arm around his shoulders and smiled. “Yeah, no harm done, and let’s finish up the job. Then we can go have a beer together.”
Just before we walked off the stage, Richard set off one of the flash pots. He asked, “Have you seen this Connor? These guys really put on a hot show.” He laughed at his ridiculous pun.
I rolled my eyes and grumbled, “Just leave that to the pyro guys. The way you were fumbling with the ropes earlier, you’re likely to set the whole place on fire if you start mucking about with the pyro effects, and then we’ll have a Great White incident again.” I turned serious for a moment. I said, “You know I don’t give compliments often, so listen up. You are damn good at what you do, Richard, so just quit screwing around. You’re gonna be better than me someday.”
I watched his swagger melt into a shy grin. “Fuck, Connor, you’ve never said anything like that before.”
I threw my arm back around his shoulder and said, “And I’m not likely to ever say it again. Let’s go get that beer.”
My favorite downtown bar, Lir, an attempt at recreating an Irish pub, was just three blocks from the concert arena. The bar had a patio that overlooked the Milwaukee River, and it was a great place to sit, nurse a beer, and contemplate the world. Late in the evening it was a fine place to get roaring drunk with a group of old buddies, too.
As I passed a few bills across the counter to the bartender, Richard asked, “Have you ever been in a bad accident at work, Connor?”
I waved away change from the bartender and said, “Fortunately, no. I watched a guy tumble off a twenty-foot-high speaker stack one time and end up with a bone sticking out of his leg, but no, I’ve come away with nothing more than bumps and bruises.” I said, “Let’s take the beers out on the patio.”
Richard followed at my shoulder as we found a small table at the rail along the river boardwalk. He was a good-looking guy with the eager stare of a puppy waiting for you to toss the ball, but he was straight. Richard claimed a girlfriend of more than six months, but I never saw her. He said she was nervous about the work he did. She was convinced she would get an emergency call someday and end up seeing him clinging to life in a hospital bed after an accident at work.
Richard asked, “Did you say you’re going out on tour again soon?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I got a call from a friend that a lighting tech he knows who was working for a touring Broadway show begged off for two months while his wife has a baby. I’m going to fill-in.”
Sipping at his beer, Richard said, “Road tour. Exciting.”
“I don’t know about that.” I gave him a shrug. “I guess my main goal is to get something permanent here in town with one of the concert venues or the performing arts center. I hit thirty soon, and I’m already kind of burned out on the touring. How does your girlfriend handle that?”
He frowned and curled over his pint of beer. “I haven’t had to leave town yet since we started dating, but I’m trying to get a concert tour in the new year.”
“Does she work?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, Shelly works the front desk at a hospital. It’s a really normal forty-hour-a-week job. She’s not a big fan of my late nights, but she said she does love it when I slip into bed beside her in the wee hours of the morning.”
I waved a hand. “Please, spare me the details.”
Richard laughed and asked, “Found any good guys lately?”
I sighed. “No, I’ve had a dry spell. You know that’s unusual for me, but I just decided that it will happen when it happens. I’m not really looking. I’m just keeping my head down and doing my work. Prince Charming will have to find me, because I’m not turning over rocks to try and uncover him.”
Richard glanced toward the door as it opened and a well-dressed man stepped inside. “Speaking of rocks, it looks like Max crawled out from under one again.”
Max Greeley was a local concert promoter, and he was the son of millionaire parents. He was great to work with if you were on his good side, but that usually meant bending and scraping in humiliating ways. He also had an issue with the IATSE union and would bend rules to pay lower wages or let in non-union employees when possible. I let out a low hiss under my breath.
Richard leaned across the table speaking in a low voice. “You know that he’s involved in the new permanent concert stage they’re building on the lake front, don’t you?”
I sighed. “Seriously? Does that mean it will be a non-union shop? Someone needs to knock a little sense into his pointy little head.”
Richard laughed as I took another long look at Mr. Greeley. I acknowledged to myself an appreciation for his taste in clothing. His suits were perfectly tailored, and he was slim with broad shoulders. Max had a neatly trimmed goatee and rumors persisted that he might be gay.
Richard said, “Maybe you should date him instead, Connor. You could talk some sense into him while you’re both in the afterglow.”
I scratched my head. “You know, he’s not ugly, and he ’s worth a gazillion dollars, but sleeping with slime just for money? What kind of man do you think I am, Richard?”
Richard shrugged and offered, “I might do it…if I was into guys.”
Max slowly sipped at a rocks glass filled with bourbon and chatted with the bartender. He did pique my curiosity, but, even with all my rough edges, I was still hoping for a real Prince Charming, and Max was anything but charming. I asked Richard, “Do you think Shelly is the one? I mean, are you looking yet for something permanent?”
Richard sipped at his beer. “I doubt it. We have fun and all, but I just don’t see it. I’m expecting that if I get another out-of-town tour, we’ll break up. I’m not sure she will be sad to see me go.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “That bad, huh?”
“No, just a lot of other things going on in life, you know? If I committed to more, next thing you know she wants to get married, and then she wants kids. I guess you guys have to deal with all of that now, too.”
“Us guys?” I asked.
“Gay guys,” said Richard. “You can do it all now. When you’re sitting home on a Friday night with a baby ready to spit up on your shoulder while another keeps making noise distracting you while you’re trying to watch your favorite show, then it won’t all seem so great anymore.”
I laughed and said, “That doesn’t sound nearly so bad as it did five years ago. Maybe I’m just getting old, but a couple of kids?” I shrugged. “There are worse things in life.”
