View from the Bleachers
an excerpt

It was still warm outside, the humidity sticking to my clothes, a light wind running through and making the bars on the balcony whistle and hiss. It was almost nothing but pitch back outside, the faintest glow of streetlights the only thing guiding the people walking around in the parking lot to the side of the hotel. It was a good alternative to the back porch at home just for thinking, and as I leaned over that white painted railing and looked down at a couple of guys by the parking lot sitting by their car, the radio booming just loud enough to make a faint soundtrack where I was standing, I had to think about home again.

We would be going back soon for a series against Mobile, and even though it wasn't the first trip back since the morning Nate had thrown together my bag for me and told me to come back a ballplayer, not a family man (“you're twenty-four, Ty; come back and act like it,” were his words, purposely cruel to keep me upset and awake), I still wasn't sure what to expect. There was a small bit of nervousness in the back of my stomach that I tried to ignore, but uncertainties, even after all the ones I've gone through as a player, aren't something I'm good with.

You've been playing you whole career out, college and up, worrying about someone else. How are you supposed to know how to stop doing that?, I thought, watching idly as the guys by the blaring car opened the their trunk and started sorting through it, the details of what they were looking at too far away to be noticed. There was something about that opportunity, though, that I didn't want to give up on. You've had three weeks to get a feel for living just for yourself, and you liked it. ...But, and it was the first time I allowed myself to think this, up there overlooking Birmingham, is Nathan someone you can trust enough to be Reina's guardian? To put aside their differences and help Derek out? Do you trust your relationship with him enough to give him that kind of power?

Are you questioning the longest running, deepest relationship you've ever had? Really?

///

I looked forward and stared at a building in the distance, barely lit with the edges blurring in my vision, those questions shifting around in my mind. For a short while I just stayed against the railing, giving in to thoughts I hadn't wanted to before, when I heard a soft, “hey, man, you alright out here?”

I didn't have to turn and look to know it was Eric. He was probably one of the only guys on the team that would search me out. I just moved my arm and crooked my fingers to motion for him to stop hanging by the sliding door and come out onto the concrete balcony too.

We stayed silent for a moment, him a foot away, leaning on the railing like I was. Then he finally settled on, “what's on your mind? 'Gotta be something important not to be in there with Hunter and Snyder and Green, getting a little drunk for our last night here, 'specially with no game tomorrow.”

“You sound like you've had a few.”

“Can't fault me for that.”

“We're going home tomorrow,” I finally conceded, tearing myself away from the image of the building to look at Eric, who looked as ragged as I felt, baseball cap barely clinging onto his shaved head and threatening to fall down a floor if the wind hit it right. He just shrugged in encouragement, as to say, “yeah, so?”

“I'm not sure what to expect, and no, I'm not going to go solve this by going home drunk,” I added, knowing Eric would bring up the story of when one of the guys from last year who didn't come back, Andrew Harris, came back from a road trip completely hammered just because he was worried his wife would be pissed at him – ironically, about his drinking problem. Eric just shot me a look and didn't reply.

“How's it going to be any different from when we were at home against Birmingham a week later?”

“It was awkward then.”

Eric finally sighed and sat down on the concrete flooring, adjusting himself so his legs went under the rails and down the edge. I sat down with him and laid my head down with one of my arms, staring up for the first time at the sky itself and the small reflections of the stars, what could be seen from the city lights. I wasn't usually the kind of person that got all their answers to life from nature, but after trying it by myself, it probably couldn't have hurt.

“Why can't you go back to being how you were in college? I mean, I only saw you around here and there, but you were a real asshole, Davis, going out to parties and fucking around and only thinking about getting out of there. Even with Reina, you only thought about yourself, man – your pleasure, your body, your career. That was only two and a half years ago.”

“Yeah, I know. I just don't think that's me anymore, man. I'm all settled down with a family and shit, and – it's not like that, I love my little sister and I live with my best friend and a guy who's put up with my bullshit for four years.”

“So you just don't trust Nathan to take their problems on his back for you. Guy lets you go out and catch up on the shit you've been missing out on, wants you to make baseball your life for a while, and you can't say yes. It's like a gift, especially after the shit you were playing before that. Families do that shit all the time, anyway – wife takes time off for the baby, husband gets a babysitter so the wife can start her career back up, all that.”

I didn't want to look at Eric for a moment, feeling a little vulnerable from the conversation, completely uncomfortable for even bringing it up, and as I kept looking up at the faintest traces of stars, somewhere deep in my chest I grunted for a reply and finally said, “I'm not the only guy on this team that needs therapy; you gotta have something bothering you too, and even if you don't, man, make something up – I need it after the Dr. Phil moment we just had.”

Eric snorted and scooted back so he could lean against the brick of the building. He was quiet for a moment, then looked up at the stars I was still staring at. It was a little while before he finally spoke up, startling me from almost falling asleep on the uncomfortable, gritty floor.

“My game's getting shitty out there, and I don't have the excuse you have. Nothing wrong with the family, nothin'. I don't know if it's just a funk, but my average is going down... real slow, but it is. And you can't tell me you haven't been on base and saw me come up and thought not to steal 'cause I was just going to get out anyway. Come on.”

“I haven't,” I admitted honestly, “with all my crap, I hadn't noticed.”

“Yeah, yeah. But if you check the games – it's all strikeouts or ground outs or unlucky fucking broken bats. I'm starting to wonder if someone's cracking my bats on purpose now, I really am.”

“Maybe,” I vaguely entertained him.

“But you know how you felt when everyone was calling you out, right? At least they could tell you were stinking it up out there. No one's said anything, even after I leave guys on base and blow an inning. Not even our manager has said anything, Ty. So while you don't know about your home life, at least you're stable on your career. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going paranoid, since I'm the only one noticing this stuff. Self doubt is terrible for hitting; home runs and base runs are all mental, anyway.”

“--Explains why clubs hire sports psychologists.”

“Yeah. But man, next game, against Mobile. Just watch me at bat and see if it happens again, so I'll know I'm not losing my mind.”

“Alright.”

“Shit, I don't know why I'm even bringing it up.”

“'Cause you think you're not good enough for AAA, or fuck, the Dodgers even. There isn't another guy on this whole team who doesn't think that, Bynum. Hell, Mike's been saying forever that he isn't good enough for the big leagues, but did you see that look on his face when he fell earlier? Even if he had his doubts, he still thought he might be able to get there – until he got injured, anyway.”

“Christ,” was all Eric replied, sitting up then standing up, looking down at me and taking up the parts of my vision that were still looking at the sky. People look different upside down... besides being able to look up their nose, I mean. It's actually kind of calming, feeling a lot smaller than something else. Finally he finished, “I'm going to bed. We have a long ride back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure. I'll probably crash too in a few.”

Then he slid open the glass door, allowing for the faintest sound of booming music to come back after relative silence when the radio in the car by the parking lot shut off a while ago. It closed again with a loud thump, silencing the balcony. For a while longer I just laid there and stared at the sky, not really thinking anymore – too exhausted to form coherent thought – but just winding down.

When I finally went in to go to sleep, I passed by Brady, out cold in the other bed, Dani's bags no longer on the floor like they were when I had left. I didn't spare him much of a glance before I face planted right into my pillow and gave in.