"You ever get the feeling that sometimes you just kind of exist, and everything you do is just meant to fill up the time until you die?" Jeff asked, as he and Delilah sat on the hood of his car, looking down at the small town, all lit up in the night.
"Do you know who you're talking to?" Delilah replied, the both of them laughing as she continued, "I mean, yes, absolutely. Everything is random and the chances of even being born are so slim that you essentially have to acknowledge how bizarre existence itself is. That nothing means anything, that all these things we've assigned value to - things like money especially - are, in fact, fake and mean nothing. They only mean something because we've assigned value to them, but to the universe? Meaningless. So yeah, I think everything we do is just filling the otherwise empty vacuum called time." Jeff sipped on the straw plugged into the lid of his fast food drink and then exhaled, looking over at her. "What?" she asked, smiling. "It's just nice meet someone so down to earth," Jeff said, shrugging, smiling back, "Sometimes I forgot what you do for a living, and then you say something like that and it reminds me of how cool you are." "Nah," Delilah said, waving her hand, tossing her hair back, "I'm not that cool." "I'll be the judge of coolness, I am from LA after all," Jeff said, leaning forward and kissing Delilah, which she didn't mind one bit. Over the last few weeks, things had been very good between them. Their dates had become less planned and they'd fallen into just a routine of being together while doing things. For one "date", Jeff had even just gone with her to a laundromat so she could wash her bedding since it was much too large for her machines at home, and that wound up being one of the more memorable. But that's how it is, Delilah thought as he kissed her, the mundane and domestic...those are the moments you remember. As someone who worked with death, the greatest thing life can give you is memories. And she was happy to finally be making some new ones. *** Hawley was sitting on the bleachers, watching everyone else on the team finish up practice, chewing anxiously on her thumbnail. As she sat there, Misty seated herself on the bench, looking forelorn, her hair messy and unkempt. Hawley glanced over at her and furrowed her brow. "Are you okay?" she asked, and Misty shrugged. Just then, Reynolds walked up to the bench and seated himself as well. He pulled out a bottle of fruit juice from the paper bag in his hand and unscrewed the cap, taking a long sip until he noticed Hawley looking at him strangely as well. After a minute or so, Reynolds noticed her staring at his drink of choice and he recapped it, put it on the ground by his feet and shrugged. "It's what Rebecca wants me to think, she thinks I drink too much," he said, "And she's not exactly wrong. I've been trying to cut back for a while. Helps when you have someone willing to help you manage it." "Sounds like what she doesn't like is 'fun'," Hawley mumbled, making him laugh. "You can't even drink, so you don't even know what you're saying," he replied, "but yes, she is indeed a fun hater. Well, in the sense of what most people would consider fun. She has her own hobbies, and I like doing those with her. She's not totally devoid of the capability to enjoy things. So...how's the team?" Hawley shrugged, pulled off her hat and tossed her hair a bit before putting it back on her head. "Why don't you ask your assistant coach? He's the one who's here paying attention, he could tell you," Hawley said, causing Reynolds to turn and look at her, a look of concern on his face. "Hey, Surly, what's going on with you?" he asked, and she surprised him by turning to face him as well, clearly no longer afraid of confrontation, or at the very least not afraid of it with him. "What's going on is you're never here anymore!" she said sternly, "you go days with missing practice, and it's starting to feel like you're the assistant coach, not Drew! It's one thing to be gone when you're at home, cause you have Mrs. Little and your own life, but you're straight up missing work! We need you!" "You kids don't even care about the game!" Reynolds said back loudly, half laughing as he waved his arms at the field, "you're all just here cause your folks don't have anywhere else for you to go! I mean, let's face it, Ell, you're the last person to give two craps and a half about this game? You literally stayed after school so you didn't have to go home, remember?" Hawley wiped her arms on her sleeve, and Reynolds suddenly felt like he'd gone too far. He sighed and reached out, and put his hand on her knee. Hawley looked down and smiled weakly. She'd never have been able to fight with her father like this, because she knew he'd hurt her if she had, but she knew Reynolds would never do that sort of thing, and thusly, it gave her the bravado to stand up for what she felt was important. It gave her confidence, something she'd never had before. "I'm not mad at you," she whispered, "I'm just mad. You know that, right?" "I know, kiddo," Reynolds said, glancing away and out towards the kids on the field, "and you're right. I should be here more. My job should take precedance over my personal life. Not my health, but certainly things like relationships. And not every job should be that way, mind you, but because of what I do, working with you, with kids, I should be better balanced than I am right now." Suddenly they heard Misty yelp slightly, and cover her face with her hands, clearly trying not to cry. She looked at them, then stood up and ran off towards the equipment shed. Reynolds and Hawley exchanged a look, and Hawley shrugged. "She's been acting real weird the last few weeks," Hawley said. "She's a teenage girl, they act weird," Reynolds replied. "How do you know?" Hawley asked. "Well, I live with two of them, and also I am a teenage girl, so," Reynolds remarked, making her smile. If there was one thing Hawley liked better than being able to stand her ground, it was the ability to look past those moments and still just joke with one another. That, she thought, is what a dad should really be. *** Janice Gorey couldn't believe the spread Laura had made for their workday. Laura had really gone all out, making finger sandwiches, baked cookies, made multiple pitchers of drink (mostly varied juces, but a few other alternatives existed as well) and even had bowls of different kinds of chips. She figured, as she told Gorey when they arrived at the theatre that morning, that if workmen were going to be coming in and out of the building and doing all the heavy lifting, then the least they could do was provide them with sustenance. Standing at the table, looking at all the available treats, Gorey felt like she was overwhelmed by options, and they hadn't even started work yet. She was just overwhelmed by lunch options. "Do you still make sets?" Laura asked, putting her hand on Janice's shoulder, surprising her and making her jump a bit; Laura giggled and said, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you!" "It's...it's okay," Gorey replied, putting her hand to her chest and taking a few deep breaths, "I'll be fine, hah. Yeah, I've been known to still throw a hammer around, sure." "Please don't throw hammers," Laura said softly, the both of them chuckling; Laura cleared her throat and continued, "that's good, though, because I really need a set person." Gorey picked up a finger sandwich and put the whole thing in her mouth before turning and following Laura to the stage. Laura was holding a clipboard in her hands, jotting things down with a thick drafting pencil often used by architects. "I've calculated the perimeters of the stage, the height and width, how much space we'll have, and so I can give you those numbers to work by as a guide," Laura said, "but...I also don't want you to overwork yourself, especially since what happened and-" "I'm not handicapped in any kind of way that would keep me from doing my job," Gorey said, sounding annoyed, as she took the paper Laura was handing her and looking at it. Laura Lee sighed and leaned against the stage, setting the clipboard down on it and crossing her arms, watching Gorey. After a few minutes of examining the math on the paper, Gorey finally looked back at Laura, puzzled. "What?" she asked. "...you do know I came right?" Laura said, and Gorey lowered her voice, leaning in a bit. "You sure you wanna openly state that in front of all these men? That's a little personal," she said, making Laura laugh loudly. "No, no! God, jeez Janice. No, I came to the hospital," Laura said, and this got Gorey's full attention. "...what?" she whispered. "Mhm," Laura said, nodding, "after the accident, I came to the hospital a few times, while you were still unconscious. I just was so concerned and wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, because what happened was so horrible, and...and I just felt so bad Your mother never told you that? That I came by?" Gorey slowly shook her head, this admittance sinking in, changing her entire perception of the moment in question. No. Her mother had never told her anyone had stopped by. In fact, she'd told her quite the opposite, that nobody had ever come by, except for her, and now Gorey was wondering why that was the case. She knew she'd have to confront her mother over it, but she was terrified to do so. "No, she...she never did," Gorey finally answered, her voice barely audible even in this wide open empty space. "Well," Laura said, shrugging, "you should know that someone did at least. I always liked you. You were always so dedicated to what you did, and it was admirable. So to watch something so horrible befall someone I respected so much, I guess...I guess I felt like the only thing I could do was come by and show my support, even if you weren't capable of realizing I was there." Gorey took a moment, then walked forward and hugged Laura, before turning on her heel and exiting the auditorium briskly. She needed to have a talk with her mom, and it couldn't wait. She'd already waited so long. *** Hawley was sitting in her bedroom on the floor, looking through a fashion magazine and clipping things out, making a posterboard of sorts to help figure out what would look good together. Ever since starting transitioning socially, she took her wardrobe extremely seriously, and this was something she loved to do in her time off, to lose herself in the clothes and the fabrics and the colors. She heard a knock on her door and whistled, letting the knocker know they could enter. Clarissa opened the door, eating a candy bar, looking into the room at Hawley who turned and smiled over her shoulder. "Watcha doin'?" Clarissa asked. "Making a fashionboard," Hawley replied, "It's kind of like a visionboard but for outfits you think you might like, not ridiculously vague goals you'll never get around to." Clarissa laughed as she came in and sat down next to Hawley, pushing her hair back behind her ear and taking another bite of her Snickers as she did so. "Well, maybe this weekend dad will give us some money and we can go get some new clothes for you," Clarissa said. "Doubt that, he won't be around as usual," Hawley said coldly, and Clarissa sighed. "...yeah. Yeah he's kind of bad about that. In many ways, he's excellent, but...even when we lived in LA, he wasn't great at being around when it mattered. It often fell to me to make those pockets of time we could have together, because he was so busy or intoxicated with fame, always flirting with fame. You know it's not personal right?" Clarissa asked, putting her hand on Hawley's shoulder. Hawley nodded. "Yeah, yeah I know that," she replied, "still, it's hard not to take it personally. More than that, I'm upset that he's delegating his coaching duties to smeone else. I thought that the team mattered to him, or at the very least the time he spent with us mattered to him, if not the team proper. Like, none of us really care about the game, but...but we care about being with him. He's a fun coach." Clarissa nodded, sadly knowing all too well the things Hawley was feeling because she herself had felt them throughout her early childhood. She didn't really know what other sort of opinion or insight she could offer beyond what she'd already said, but she knew that Hawley was already aware of what a good man Reynolds was and that she shouldn't hate him for it. Clarissa sighed and stood back up, finishing her candy bar and tossing the wrapper in a nearby small garbage can. "Well," Clarissa said, "put together that fashonboard and we'll see if we can go get some new clothes. And try not to let dad get to you too much." With that, Clarissa exited the room. In the hallway now, looking at the photos Reynolds had hung up on the wall, she couldn't help but feel like he was starting to make the same mistakes he'd made previously that had sent him into exile, and she sighed, shaking her head. She was strong enough to handle his shit if he were to fuck up again, but she didn't think Hawley was, and the last thing she deserved to lose was her one sense of stability. Clarissa promised herself she wouldn't let that happen, no matter what it cost. *** Sometimes, later in the evenings, Reynolds came back to the school to do some paperwork. On this particular night, he'd just had a date with Rebecca and was now heading through the parking lot, going to his office to do exactly that, when he heard the flickering of a lighter. He glanced around, confused by the noise, when he spotted Gorey sitting on a short brick wall that surrounded some shrubbery. He grinned and turned on his heel, heading towards her and plopping himself down beside her, pulling a lighter out of his coat pocket and lighting it for her. Gorey blushed and leaned in, lighting her cigarette, their eyes never parting. "What are you doing here?" they asked in unison, then laughing. "Um," Gorey said, tossing her curly bangs from her face, "I...I was doing theatre prep work with Laura and...and she told me that she came to the hospital when I was unconscious after the accident. I went home, kind of furious, and demanded my mother tell me the truth because I was always told nobody ever came to see me, and she admitted it." "Yikes," Reynolds said, pulling his own box of cigarettes from his coat pocket, taking one out. "Yeah, yikes indeed. Anyway we got into somewhat of a screaming match, and I told her I might move out, and she swore she only did what she did because she didn't want to risk me trusting others and getting hurt more, and I told her that I was the reason for my accident and not trusting someone else and...yeah. It got ugly. Anyway now I'm here." Reynolds leaned forward, and Gorey let him light his cigarette off her, their eyes again locking. "What?" Gorey asked, blinking, her eyelashes catching the overhead lights in the parking lot, causing Reynolds to freeze. "N...nothing," he whispered, "Um, so are you gonna be okay? Or do I have to kick your moms ass? Cause I'll do it." "No," Gorey said, laughing, "No, god. You don't have to do anything like that. It'll be fine. But...I do think I'm gonna move out. I went and talked to Laura afterwards and she said if this theatre thing doesn't pan out, she's going to try and move back to the city, and she wanted me to come with her so we could be business partners and...I think I'm gonna take that offer. I need to get out of here. Away from everything." Reynolds nodded, taking a long drag, then looking at the cigarette in his fingers and exhaling. "I know it's selfish to ask you to stay," Reynolds said quietly, "but I want to ask anyway." "It's too painful," Gorey replied softly, "being here, but not being...here." "Yeah, I know," Reynolds said, scratching his nose, "uh...I'm sorry that-" "Don't apologize," Gorey said, sniffling, "If you apologize, it acknowledges it and-" "Maybe it needs to be acknowledged," Reynolds said, looking at her again, their eyes locking once more. Each knew what the other wanted, hell they wanted the same thing, but...Reynolds couldn't bring himself to risk it. She was too good a friend, and he didn't want to hurt her the way he eventually hurt everyone he was with romantically. And besides, Rebecca offered him stability, domesticity, and that was far too enticing to throw away for a woman who still lived with her mother. But sometimes, in moments like these, when neither had the words to speak and instead just stared at eachother...those quiet moments of silently shared adoration...those were the moments he had to wonder. He allowed himself to imagine. The way the light played off her eyes, the way her front teeth stuck out a little more than the others, the way her freckles covered her face all the way down her neck. He didn't want to find these things in someone else. He liked them on her. "...I'm gonna leave," Gorey said, "I'm gonna go with her. I need a change." She started to stand up but Reynolds quickly grabbed her wrist and she looked back at him. After a moment, his lips opened, but no words came out. He sighed and shook his head, letting go of her again. Gorey smiled weakly, finishing her cigarette and stomping it out on the ground. "Goodnight John," Gorey said, before turning and walking off. As soon as she was out of sight, Reynolds finally let himself crack and start to cry. He had everything he wanted. He had a little family, he had a job he enjoyed, he was even regaining respect back in LA for the work he was doing out here. He even had a stable relationship based on mutual trust and respect, with a woman who didn't even ask much of him. But all he wanted was Janice, even if it lost him everything else. *** Lying on the hood of the car, Delilah sighed as Jeff handed her his drink and she took it, taking a sip. "You know," she said afterwards, "I'm currently working with this couple who's burying their little sister. She took a shotgun to the face. I've been thinking about that a lot lately while I've been doing embalming and preparing the burial rights and stuff. How much pain one has to be in to take such a wildly violent approach to putting a stop to it. I don't blame her by any means, but...it makes me think about the pain I was in, and how low I felt after my son died." Jeff nodded, listening, not interrupting. "...and it made me realize that while that was the low point, there's yet to be a high point. Don't get me wrong, getting married and having a child was a high point, but it felt more like a high point expected to be one that one that I genuinely saw as a high point, if that makes sense? These little moments that people tell you are important in life, not the ones you choose are important. We determine a moments value and worth, you know? Individually. That's what I've come to learn overall." "Is this a high point?" Jeff asked, rolling on his side, posting his elbow on the hood and resting his head on his fist. "Yes," Delilah said, giggling, "Yes it is. Thank you for reminding me of that." She did the same and, together leaning in, they kissed. As their lips connected, Delilah never would've guessed how happy she could be, meeting another man, nor would she have guessed how awful she would feel in just a few weeks time when she discovered he that was engaged.
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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
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