Reynolds opened the door to the apartment and stumbled inside. After his talk with Gorey in the parking lot of the school earlier that evening, he was so distraught he'd gone to a bar and broken his sobriety (which had barely been sobriety as it was but still, the effort was what mattered) until he could barely see. From the bar he then took a taxi back to the complex. He was an ass, but he wasn't a drunk driver. He didn't mind hurting himself, but he drew the line at endangering others.
As he entered, all the lights were off, and as he got futher into the apartment he spotted the clock on the stove, which read 2:45 am. He groaned and headed down the hall. Reynolds opened the bedroom door to Hawley's room and peeked inside, spotting her asleep on the floor, her magazine cutouts scattered around her. He nodded, then went to check on Clarissa. Clarissa was asleep in her bed, but just on top of it, with her headphones on. Reynolds smiled, happy his girls were safe, before heading back into the living room. He flopped down into his recliner and ran his hands up his face through his hair, shaking his head. And while he was disappointed at Gorey's decision to leave town, he was happy these girls were safe, especially Hawley. He'd already failed to protect another girl that mattered to him, and he wouldn't make that mistake again. *** Reynolds came back out with the gauze and approached the curb where his sister, Claire, was sitting down, her knee scraped and bloodied, but she just grinned upon his approach. She showed no fear, and gave into no pain. Claire had always been the toughest person Reynolds had ever known, even growing up. Reynolds knelt down and handed her the gauze, which she took from him and began applying around her leg. "That was a pretty nasty spill," John said, "are you okay?" "You act as if that was the worst thing to happen to me," Claire said, "I've gotten hurt way worse playing this game. This is nothing." John smiled as he watched his sister finish wrapping herself in gauze as he looked away and into the road where their equipment still lay. In this particular suburb, high up in the LA hills, there was relatively little traffic, so he knew they didn't have to worry about their stuff getting run over. He looked back at Claire, and her long string black hair. John could remember when they were little, and people often mistook them for one another, and now she looked so feminine. He kind of missed that bond, but he knew she was more comfortable this way. Claire set the gauze down on the curb and, slapping her hands on her knees, smiled at him. "Alright, let's go, I still need to finish kicking your ass," she said, and with that they both hopped up and went back to their street hockey game. The street hockey had been a compromise of sorts. Claire had wanted to join the local female hockey team, but they wouldn't take her. She fought tooth and nail, proving she was an expert player, but to no avail. So, instead, John suggested that they just play street hockey together, as a way to not only hone her skills so she could prove herself to a professional league down the line, but also just for fun, and thankfully, Claire loved the idea. John did whatever he could to keep his sister happy, because the world so often did the opposite. It worked so hard to tear her down, and all because she loved herself enough to be herself. After the game, and a few more bruises on the both of them, John and Claire headed back inside, into the kitchen. John sat at the table while Claire dug around in the fridge for something to drink before grabbing them each root beers. Claire then seated herself and they opened their cans together, drinking, laughing. Truth be told, John looked up to his sister. He did the big brother thing and looked out for her too, of course, but he also looked up to her. She was much braver than he could ever hope to be, and that was inspiring. "So," Claire said, "we know I'm the best." "Nobody better." "And we know they won't let me in," Claire said, "so what do I do from here? Do I just wait until I'm old enough to apply for actual leagues? Because that's so long and I wanna do hockey now, not when I'm older." "We'll just play it as it comes and if need be we'll kick some asses if it comes down to it," John said, "never underestimate the surprisingly effective abilities to convey your feelings through violence." Claire and John laughed, clinking their cans together and continuing to drink. And, as it turned out, Claire would eventually get accepted into the local girls hockey league after a change in leadership, and from there she would go on to play for a college and then become a professional. The funny thing is that now John, as an adult, was somewhat following in her footsteps, now working in a sport adjacent field himself. And, once again, going above and beyond the call of duty for girls who didn't fit in. Old habits die hard. *** The crowd at the ball park was absurdly large, even for LA. As John and Claire fought their way through the sea of bodies, heading towards the concession stand, neither one could believe they'd gotten their father to agree to come. He hated crowds. This fact that this introversion was completely at odds with his decision to live in LA, however, was something he refused to ever acknowledge. Finally John and Claire got to the line that would lead them to the concession stand, and waited patiently. Claire looked at her brother. "Did you get dads wallet?" she asked, as John pulled it from his jacket pocket and wiggled it in his hand. "Indeed I did," he said, "I didn't just steal it, I mean, I asked, but I do have it." "Does he want anything?" "Yeah, to go home," John replied, the both of them snickering. Their fathers seeming hatred of any and everything social was something the two had always joked about and bonded over, because they were both so much the opposite in many ways. While John was definitely the most outgoing of them all, Claire being far more reserved, they both still found solace in making light fun of their father, if only because he never gave them any reason not to. Besides, they still loved him, regardless of their soft jabs to his character. They still weren't sure what it was they wanted, but the options were seemingly endless; pretzels, popcorn, and the ever classic staple of the ballpark cuisine, hot dogs, not that either of them ever liked those. To be frank, Claire and John could care less about the game. They just liked the experience. They didn't follow baseball teams, they didn't get excited over scored runs and they sure as shit didn't even sit in the stands most of the time, instead opting to wander around the stadium, taking in all the energy from everyone else and making fun of people to make themselves feel better. After each getting a drink for themselves and a giant pretzel to split, John and Claire found a small area in one of the lesser occupied areas of the stands near the top and watched from afar as they ate and chatted. Claire had even gotten a churro which she and John split. "I think dad likes us, he just doesn't like doing things," John said, "he prefers to sit home and watch game shows all day after work, and, ya know, I kinda get that. He comes home, he's tired, like...I wouldn't wanna do anything either. I'm glad he does make time to take us to stuff though." "Maybe you should get a job as a game show host, and then he'd finally acknowledge you," Claire said, half laughing. And it was an offhanded comment, but one that would inevitably turn out to be something John Reynolds would carry with him for the rest of his life, especially during his tenure as a game show host. It was funny, honestly, how much stuff between him and his sister would haunt the remainder of their adulthood. Little things like her game show comment made in jest or his refusal to let anyone question her identity. Yes. All these things would wind up coming back full circle in ways they never could've imagined. And ways he was always grateful for. *** Claire shut the door softly, but not softly enough, because John heard it click closed and immediately pulled himself out of bed. As quietly as one can run down a hallway, he did, and immediately burst into her bedroom before she'd even turned the light on. It was almost 4 am, and she was just sitting on the bed, in the dark, sniffling. John approached her. "Dad is gonna be SO mad if he finds out you were out this late," John whispered, sitting down on the bed next to Claire, who just looked away. John touched her shoulder, and she reached out, turning on the bedside lamp and softly illuminating a little area around them, then turned to face her brother, making him gasp. Her face was bruised, but not in the way she might get bruised from street hockey. No. This was violent; John reached out and gently touched her, but she recoiled in pain as he asked, "who...who did this to you?" "Don't know," she whispered, "just some boys in a truck downtown. I went to get tacos with Allison and Maya, and when they went to order, I was sitting outside at the tables and..." She stopped. She clearly didn't want to discuss it any further, and John acknowledged this hesitation and switched gears instead. "Was this because-" "Don't talk about me," Claire said, her voice cracking, her eyes squinting to hold back tears. "You don't have to be ashamed." "I'm not," she said sternly, "...I just wish others weren't either." John nodded. He helped Claire get cleaned up, and then said goodnight. Afterwards, lying in his bed, listening to classical music on his radio and looking up at the ceiling where he'd stuck pin up girl posters he'd stolen from his fathers magazines, John couldn't help but feel so disheartened. All he wanted to do was protect his little sister. It wasn't like it was a secret. Their entire area, peer wise especially, knew. After all they'd grown up around all the same kids, gone to schools with them for years, had been known as the Reynolds brothers, so Claire coming out and transitioning publicly, even in a place as supposedly open minded and progressive as LA, still meant people were out to harm her in more ways than one. John refused to let that happen. He rolled onto his side and clenched his fist, biting his lip. He swore up and down that night that, if ever given another opportunity, he would never let another young transgirl be harmed. No matter what it meant to his life. *** Hawley couldn't fall back asleep. She'd tried. She'd lied there in bed for a bit, licking her dry lips, before finally climbing out and heading down the hallway in her black and pink pajama set. But when she got into the kitchen, she was surprised to find Reynolds sitting on the kitchen table - not at it, on it - and eating a sandwich he'd sloppily made still half drunk earlier. Hawley eyeballed him curiously, before entering the kitchen proper and getting a plastic cup with Daffy Duck on it out from the cabinet, then filling it with water from the container left on the counter. After a moment, she looked over at Reynolds, who patted the table in front of him, indicating she should sit with him. Hawley finished her water, then walked over to the table and climbed aboard. "Why are you up?" he asked. "Why are you?" she replied, making him chuckle. "I had a...a not so great evening," Reynolds said, "...I'm sorry about not being at the games, you're right. I'm gonna do better from now on. You know I have a sister, right?" Hawley nodded. "Right, I thought I'd told you that," he continued, "anyway, my sister Claire, she's a professional hockey player now. She's amazing. She was always amazing but she's...she's spectacular now. I've always been kind of envious of her, getting all the actual sporting ability in the family. It's funny cause you and I, we're more just sport adjacent, right? We just happen to be in the presence of sports." "Are you drunk?" Hawley asked, chuckling and Reynolds smirked. "Just a smidge, it's mostly worn off," he said, "but she's an honest to god athlete. She's my hero, Ellie. But for all the differences between her and I, and between you and her, there's one thing that makes you two extremely similar. She's just like you. She did exactly what you're doing, but, ya know, 20 years ago. That night in the parking lot, during the concert...when I saw you getting attacked, it just brought back all these awful memories of her dealing with the same thing. I don't want that to happen to you ever again." Hawley almost couldn't believe her ears, but this really made sense of everything that had happened between them. She'd never really understood why he'd become so protective of her, and just had chalked it up to Reynolds being a good man, but no, he wasn't just a good man, he was a truly ally. She crawled forward and climbed into his lap, making him laugh as he wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss atop her head. "You're safe with me," he whispered, "you'll always be safe with me. I promise. You never have to see him again if you don't want, and I'll always treat you the way you should be. You are who you say you are, no more, no less, and I'll fight tooth and fucking nail for your existence." And that was it, she was crying against his shirt while he stroked her hair. Hawley could never have envisioned that, just almost a year prior, she'd be in a loving home with a loving parental figure who was letting her be her honest self. She'd lived so long in fear, in shame and denial...and now she would never have to go back to that. Freeing. So very freeing. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and didn't even feel bad about it. "I'm a girl," she whispered, and he nodded, smiling. "Goddamn fucking right you are, sweetheart," he replied softly, continuing to pet her, "you're my little girl." *** Reynolds was packing his car outside of the motel he'd been staying at, ready to leave the city. It was early, 9am, and his eyes were still barely adjusted to the blazing sunlight. He groaned and shut the trunk, shaking his head. His whole life. His whole fucking life. Blown up in an instant, and for what? For nothing. For nothing that meant anything. For one quick grasp at youth again. His public persona he'd spent years polishing now lay in tatters at the feet of an ever clamboring public who yearned for the latest in celebrity or even pseudo celebrity gossip. He'd be a magazine spread story, and not even good magazines either but the B quality ones they sell in the checkout aisles of grocery stores with names like The Fame Inquiry, for a few months at best and a few weeks at worst, until the next story came along. John sighed, twirled his keys around his finger and walked to the drivers side of his car, tugging the door open when he heard a car horn honk. He stopped and turned, looking up and smiling as Claire's beat up Bronco pulled into the lot and stopped near his car, the window rolling down, her tattooed sleeve hanging out now. "Heya stranger," she said, "heard you got yourself in some trouble." "What're you, the Lone Ranger?" John asked, the both of them laughing. Claire parked, and together they went back into the motel for its extremely poor excuse for a continental breakfast which mostly consisted of soggy eggs and day old bagels. Sitting at the table, trying to stomach this questionably edible food, John couldn't help but feel like he was being silently judged by every single person in the room. He could hear hushed whispers pointed in his direction, but he tried to do his best to ignore it. Apparently, however, Claire noticed it too. "You gotta tune it out," she said suddenly, causing him to jolt back to her presence. "Huh?" he asked as she finished buttering one half of a bagel and poured herself some more coffee. "You gotta tune it out," she repeated, "remember what you told me? Back when I was a teenager? How I just had to learn to tune it out, like a snowy TV station that you don't care about? That's what you gotta do. Now we're both in the public eye in negative ways. Well, more you than me at least. I'm somewhat respected now cause of my career on the team, but you get the idea." "How are you simultaneously being empathetic AND insulting?" John asked, grinning. "It's a gift," she said, shoving the bagel in her mouth and chomping down as she shrugged, "but it's good advice, and it got me through a lot of tough times. Now just apply it to yourself and you'll be golden. You even know what you're gonna do when you get out there?" "Clarissa helped me pick out some things," John said, "I'm thinking little league baseball coach." "That's not bad, you're just enough of a drunk to make that work," Claire said, the both of them chuckling now. He hadn't seen his sister in months, definitely before the scandal, but sitting with her now...he was glad she would be his last memory of the city. After a few moments, she noticed him staring at her, smiling warmly as she shoved the remainder of her bagel in her mouth and cocked her eyebrow at him. "What?" she asked while chewing. "You're just very pretty," John said, "nice to look at." "John, ew, I'm your sister," Claire whispered, making him howl with laughter. "You know what I mean. If you'd told me when we were kids that one day you'd be...just...this pretty, I wouldn't have believed you. But I guess that's not true, cause you DID tell me you would be, and now here we are," he replied, sipping his coffee. "You know you're my biggest cheerleader right?" she asked, smiling sweetly. "Always sports adjacent," he remarked, sighing dejectedly, making her laugh. "We'll always be the Reynolds," she said, putting her elbow on the table, her pinky out. He grinned, leaned in and gave her a pinky promise as he added, "always be the Reynolds." There wasn't much in this world John Reynolds could count on... ...but the women in his life were definitely one of them who never let him down, and he intended to do all he could to return the favor.
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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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