"Come again?" the woman sitting behind the desk asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
"You asked me to list my strengths, and I'm really good at drinking," John Reynolds said, "I can hold my liquor like it's nobody's business. I mean, until the police get involved, then it's their business I guess." "That's...excessively honest of you, Mr. Reynolds," the woman said, leaning back in her chair, her eyebrows arched in surprise; she cupped her hands on the desk and chuckled, seeming almost thrown off by his response before stating, "Have...have you ever done anything like this before?" "What, you mean coaching? No," Reynolds said, "I mean, sort of. When I hosted the show, it was sort of like coaching cause you have to get all these impossibly frustrating little egomaniacs to cooperate with one another somehow, so yeah I guess." "...you...you think children are impossibly frustrating little egomaniacs?" "I didn't say that. I said that about celebrities, but not kids," Reynolds said. "Are you drunk right now?" she asked. "Am I ever not drunk?" he replied. "It's not very professional to come to an interview drunk, Mr. Reynolds," the woman said, pushing her curly bangs from her face, clearly beginning to grow flustered with this situation. Reynolds leaned back and crossed his legs, exhaling as he put his arms behind him. "I mean, what exactly passes for professionalism these days anyway? Are the cops professional? No. So why the hell am I, someone who isn't even performing a civic duty and supposedly protecting the public, expected to be professional when they can just openly shoot black people on the street for no reason whatsoever? You want professionalism? Hire a non jaded kid fresh out of college who still wears his letterman jacket and believes sports aren't rigged. You want someone to babysit a bunch of middle schoolers? I'm your guy." "Yeah, you're drunk," she said, finally sounding completely exasperated and shutting the file on her desk, "...you're not driving, are you?" "I hope not. We appear to be in a building," Reynolds remarked, grinning, winning back her smile. "Alright, here's what I'm gonna do," she said, adjusting her oval glasses and trying not to laugh, "I'm going to give you a chance, if only because I can't imagine you being remotely qualified for anything else and I feel bad for you-" "That's how I've gotten this far in life, basically." "-but no drinking during school hours, and no coming to work drunk, and obviously, and I shouldn't even have to say this, but...please don't give alcohol to minors," she said. "Jesus, what kind of loser do you take me for?" he asked, reaching across the desk and shaking her hand, "You got yourself a deal, Miss..." "Victoria. Principal Victoria," Victoria said, smiling as Reynolds stood up, stretched his back and headed for the door. He stopped as he opened it and turned around again, facing her. She looked back up from her desk and waited to see what he would do. "You did mean kids, right? Not like actual people in mines? I mean both are bad, but they do say you shouldn't operate heavy equipment while intoxicated and I don't want to do the wrong thing either way, so." "Please get out of my office." *** "Alright, listen up," Reynolds said, standing on the field in the sun, the kids lined up before him in front of the bleachers, his hands on his hips, "Hey, I said listen up, you! With the hat!" "He's deaf," one of the kids said. A moment passed, and Reynolds chewed his lip. "Alright, well now I feel bad," he said quietly, "Can, uh, can somebody sign for whathisname here? That'd be much appreciated. So my name is John Reynolds, you may recognize me from your television screens. I was the host of a reality show called Go For Broke, and now I'm broke, so I guess I became the star. Um, I'm your new coach, okay? Now listen, I'm gonna be totally honest with you...I don't know shit about sports, and frankly I'm too lazy to learn, so that could pose an issue. But so long as you don't argue with me, you kids can do whatever the hell you want during this time period, alright? Just make it look like we're practicing, because I can't afford to lose this job." The kids all nodded in agreement, some high fiving, clearly enjoying this arrangement. As they dispersed around the bleachers, some playing catch and others genuinely practicing, Reynolds sat himself down on the bench in front of the bleachers and stretched his legs out. He glanced to his right and saw a kid with long blonde hair sitting on the grass, picking away at the treads of their sneakers. Reynolds pulled a cigarette pack from his sports coat inner pocket and lit one up, then exhaled the smoke after a few puffs. "You don't like exercise?" he asked. "What?" the kid asked, looking up at him. They had piercing green eyes and a very feminine face, not surprising for 7th grade boys who hadn't exactly hit puberty yet. "You don't wanna, ya know, run around like a dingus and wear yourself out?" Reynolds asked, waving his arm at the other kids. "Not really, no," the kid said. "...you like books?" "I...I don't know." "Do you know what you like?" Reynolds asked, "You gotta like something. I mean, I guess you don't HAVE to like something, but that'd just make you in an insufferable asshole and those go far in life, sure, but nobody really appreciates them." "I don't know," the kid replied, sounding quieter. "Sit up here, sit by me, I can barely hear you," Reynolds said, patting the bench with his hand. The kid stood up and scooted themselves onto the bench beside him; he asked, "What's your name?" "Elliot," they said, "Elliot Hawley." "Hawley, okay." "You can't hear me from down there?" "Bad accident during shoot," Reynolds replied, "Stood too close to a speaker, blew my left ear out." "Wow, do you have a hearing aide?" Hawley asked, and Reynolds nodded. "Yeah, actually, but they're so advanced these days you can't even see the damn thing," "...why'd you wind up being the coach?" Hawley asked, kicking their feet as they sat on the bench. Reynolds sighed and shook his head, taking a long drag off his cigarette before exhaling and looking at the kid. "Because I did something really stupid, and I lost my job, and now I have this job. Plus you guys needed a coach and I'm just desperate enough to take a job I know absolutely nothing about to support my life," Reynolds said, "That's how life works, Hawley, you know? You...you grow up thinking you have plans, realize your plans are either never going to happen or you do achieve them and ruin them anyway, and then you have to remember how ordinary people live." "I am not ordinary," Hawley mumbled. "Well, you know what I mean," Reynolds said, smirking, "People who wash dishes, people who pour coffee, people who answer phones. Hell, even the people in the more mechanical sector of the country making engines and growing corn. All necessities, all important - well, maybe not corn, corn's kind of garbage - but for some reason we as a society have decided instead to lift up the celebrities as the examples of people children and childlike minded adults should strive to be like, and it's thrown the whole thing off balance. Now we have kids being fashion stars on TikTok at 14 and grown ass adults unable to work even their own basic e-mail service. I'm not...I'm not saying the kids are too plugged in, either, I'm just saying that what was once told was important is kind of no longer being told it's important, and so instead people are looking for other avenues of employment. Some get lucky, they get to be lawyers, doctors, help people. Sure they work hard to get there, but still. And then some are like me. Some are disinterested little league coaches." The two sat in the silence, listening to the early spring wind blowing in, and watching the other team members play. Hawley thought to themself for a moment, then pushed their hair back behind their ear, cleared their throat and looked back at Reynolds. "I don't have to shower with the other kids, do I?" they asked. "I....I don't...care," Reynolds said, "Did your last coach make you do that?" "We never had a last coach, this team was just formed a few months ago, but, like, in PE they make us shower after we exercise, and I just don't like doing it. That's something that should only be done in the privacy of one's own..." "...privacy?" "Sure, let's go with that," Hawley said, "So, you're not gonna make me do it?" "Kid, I'm not gonna make you do anything," Reynolds replied, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes and relaxing in the warmth of the day. This was the first time in Hawley's life that an adult hadn't tried to utilize their power over them, and it felt...good. *** Reynolds got home that night, made himself some dinner; easy pasta and some cold beer, which he ate while sitting in front of the television and watching the new host of the show he himself once hosted make a mockery of his old job. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He couldn't even be angry. What he'd done was inexcusable, and he regretted his decisions that led him there immensely, but they hired this goon? You've gotta be kidding, he thought. Reynolds eventually fell asleep in his armchair, watching the home shopping network, phone on his lap, drunk dialing to buy things he never would need in the first place. A typical night in his apartment these days. Hawley, on the other hand, went home to the usual...a father on the warpath. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice them, and was instead angry about work and other things, so Hawley locked their bedroom door and sat on the floor, doing homework. After finishing their homework they went into their closet and dug out a box in which they kept a handful of old clothes their mother left behind when she left. They held the clothes close to them, taking in her scent, and then found their favorite piece - a form fitting blue dress, plain and simple - and changed into it. Standing there now, looking at themselves in the mirror, pulling their long blonde hair behind their ears, they smiled. The day wasn't so bad once they were able to come home and feel more like themselves, even if only for a few brief hours before having to go to bed and go back to school tomorrow. *** "So, how're you feeling?" Victoria asked as she stepped up alongside Reynolds in the lunch line, spooking him and making him jump a bit. "Good god that's terrifying don't do that," he mumbled, picking up some food and putting it on his tray as he added, "Uh, I guess things are alright. The kids all seem pretty cool, nobody had any qualms with me coming in to be the coach, so. Yeah." "That's great," Victoria said, "Would you like to sit with me and the other teachers?" "Am I...am I considered a teacher? I'm more of a glorified niche gym instructor," Reynolds said, making her chuckle as they started to walk towards a table together; he continued, "So let me ask you something. One of the kids yesterday said the team was only formed a few months ago...what...what's the deal with that? I thought every school had a sports team." "Well," Victoria said, "We wanted to form one, uh, but we simply lacked the money to do so. Despite being one of the nicer schools in the district, we're constantly at odds with our budget, and even though there was interest, we simply couldn't afford it. Then a lady came around and donated a large sum of money to us to get the schools team going, allowed us to buy equipment and whatnot, and here we are." "Wow, some nice lady just out of the blue came and gave you lots of money?" Reynolds asked, then lowered his voice and leaned in a bit, asking, "...so how do I get a hold of her and where is this lady now?" Victoria laughed some more as they finally reached the table and sat down. Victoria cleared her throat and looked around the table. "Everyone, this is John Reynolds," she said, "he's the new little league coach. Reynolds, this is Kashim, our 8th grade history teacher, and this is Gordon, our 7th grade science teacher, and-" but Reynolds interrupted her suddenly. "If I may, Victoria, uh, just let me say this. I don't know any of you, and I probably never will. I'm sure you're all nice people, but I'm not even a teacher, and so our paths will likely never cross," Reynolds said, "That being said, I'm tremendously respectful of what you do, especially for such little return in payment, and I hope that we can see past our glaring indifference towards the school system and instead just live together as one community under the same roof without talking or really liking one another, ya know, kinda like a family." He then excused himself, took his lunch, and headed out the backdoors. Reynolds kept going until he found a blue metal picnic table and seated himself at it, starting to eat. He looked up after a moment and saw Hawley sitting alone on a large stone square, their legs crossed, as they were doing homework and eating a sandwich. Reynolds stood back up and headed over there, seating himself beside them. "Watcha doin'?" he asked. "Science homework," Hawley replied, still chewing. "I used to like science," Reynolds said, "Used to be my best subject actually." "Excuse me," a voice said in front of them, as they both looked up to see a young woman with mousy brown hair and large thick rimmed glasses standing in a janitors jumpsuit looking down at them; she shook her hair from her eyes and asked, "can I sweep under your legs?" motioning at Reynolds with her broom. He pulled his legs up onto the stone slab and the woman went to sweeping. Reynolds watched her, but didn't say anything. After a moment, he turned back to Hawley. "Surprising to see a smart kid like you, interested in a subject like science, be on the baseball team," Reynolds said, and Hawley scoffed. "I'm only on the baseball team because my dad makes me do it," they replied, "He says extracurriculars are good for you and that interacting with others is a necessary life skill." "Other people are overrated," the janitor said, surprising them both with her sudden self imposed inclusion in the conversation, adding, "You can live a life completely devoid of other people so long as you're good at what you do and don't need anyones help. It's why I learned how to fix all my major appliances." "Well," Reynolds said, scooting forward a smidge, squinting just to read her nametag, "Gorey, that may be true as an adult, but you still need to learn as a kid how to interact with others. You still need to talk to interact with others when you go to the store-" "I do online shopping." "-or interact with family-" "Don't have any." "and you're making this very difficult," Reynolds said, grimacing, before realizing Hawley was chuckling; he turned back to them and asked, "What? You think it's fun and normal to be that much of a loner?" "Aren't you?" Hawley asked, "I mean, you were rejected from your high paying job and had to leave town to come coach a little league team. I don't think you have any real right to question the validity of someone elses life." "...fair enough," Reynolds said, shutting up and starting to eat his lunch off the tray as the janitor sat down beside him. "Life's easier when you have nobody's expectations to live up to," she said, "then the only person you have to disappoint is yourself, and your own expectations are so low to begin with that that's hard to do. A life where your happiness depends on others opinions of you isn't a life worth striving for, I think." "You're a terrible role model," Reynolds said quietly, making Hawley laugh out loud as he turned back to face them and said, "don't listen to her, Hawley, she's just mad she's able to relate to garbage more than people." "Like there's a difference," Gorey said under her breath, making Hawley crack up, and even Reynolds smirked. Maybe this job wouldn't be that bad after all, he started to think. *** Hawley was lying in bed that night, thinking about the recent changes at school. They could hear their dad snoring on the couch in the living room, plus their bedroom door was locked, so there wasn't any sort of worry about having to face him tonight it seemed. This relaxed Hawley a bit more, and they rolled onto their side and looked at the photo of themself and their mother that sat on the bedside table. Hawley missed their mother so badly, and just wanted her to come home, but they were beginning to worry that perhaps she left because of them. Not the both of them, Hawley and their father, no...just Hawley themselves. Maybe their mother could tell they weren't 'normal', whatever that meant, and wanted to be something they supposedly weren't, and maybe that made her embarrassed and she just left instead of staying and dealing with the shame. Hawley started to cry, staring at the photo, and then rolled onto their side and pulled the blue dress on the bed close to them, breathing into it. After a few moments, they got up, changed into it and climbed out their bedroom window, heading to the school. Reynolds himself, couldn't sleep. He had tried, but he just kept tossing and turning. Eventually he gave up, had a piece of pie and then went for a walk. Headphones on, world shut out around him, he didn't even know where he was going. He just knew that anywhere but home was better right now. It wasn't until they were passing by the school that they noticed someone sitting on the bleachers. They pulled their headphones down a bit and walked up to the bleachers, realizing upon reaching it that it was Hawley sitting there. "Hey," he said, surprising them. "Oh, hi," they replied. "What're you doing out here?" Reynolds asked, climbing onto the bleachers and sitting beside them. "...I don't know," Hawley said, "sitting." "It's certainly a good night for sitting," Reynolds said, "...you know, sometimes, at night and under all the lights, a baseball field is a really beautiful thing. I don't even like sports that much, but there's just something oddly comforting about the sight. Almost like...like it's an untouchable space where miraculous things can happen." "I agree," Hawley said, "that maybe, with teamwork, you can, like, actually achieve something. The problem is you only have teammates when you're on a team. Otherwise you're all alone. I'm all alone." "You have a teammate, you got me!" Reynolds said, smirking and patting them on the back as he pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one, taking a few puffs and exhaling before adding, "I like your dress." "...thanks," Hawley said, hiding their smile. It wasn't until that moment that Reynolds realized he was no longer thinking about his last job, his old career, his previous life and instead was simply happy to be right here, right now, with this kid, comforting them. Sure, he might not be a coach, but he was able to coach them in things other than sports, it seemed. Reynolds knew what it was like to grow up feeling lost and confused, and he was happy to make sure another kid didn't feel that way if he could. Maybe going for broke wasn't so bad after all.
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GRAVE INNINGS is about A funeral home that has sponsored a local little league, the coach who is a disgraced reality show host, a young transgirl and the odd family they create for one another. Archives
May 2024
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