Hawley was sitting on the bleachers, next to Reynolds, while the other kids practiced. Reynolds was pulling pixie sticks out of the small package beside him, ripping them open and downing them with a speed that no adult should have. After a moment, he paused and pointed at one of the kids.
"See, to me, sports aren't about teamwork, it's about competition against your teammates, proving you're the best," Reynolds said, "None of these kids are gonna go on to become professional players, because that's just such a tough field to survive in and it takes a level of both skill and effort most folks simply aren't wiling to put in. People want things easy." "Then why play?" "Because their parents force them to, and because colleges look at things like extracurriculars. They wanna see you can get along with others, though for the life of me I can't imagine why. Your grades should be all that really matter to them," Reynolds said, "when I was a kid, my sister was on a hockey team, and she was a great hockey player. She loved hockey. I just never understood how playing a game, like she did, could nab her a scholarship." "She got a scholarship for playing hockey?" "Yeah, and she can't do math for shit, but boy can she hit a puck," Reynolds replied, shrugging and handing Hawley a pixie stick, adding, "the world's a weird, stupid place that very rarely makes sense, so you may as well make the best of it with what you can, being who you are. She found a way to be successful and happy. Can't fault her for that." Hawley smiled and ate their pixie stick, just as a ball rolled up to the bleachers. Reynolds and Hawley looked down at the ball, as a kid shouted for them to toss it back. Hawley climbed down from the bleachers, grabbed the ball from the ground with their mitt and tossed it, making a handful of the kids laugh. "You throw like a girl, Hawley!" one boy shouted, as they climbed back up on the bleachers. "You wanna insult the girls I know in the military? Cause I'll have 'em come down here to meet ya! Get back to practice!" Reynolds shouted back, before glancing at Hawley, "pay no attention to that. Kids are needlessly cruel and-" "I don't mind, they're right," Hawley said, "I do throw like a girl." "And that doesn't bother you?" Reynolds asked. "Why should it," Hawley said, "it's all I wanna be." Reynolds raised an eyebrow and shrugged, and the two of them sat there until practice ended and the kids went back to class. After practice, Reynolds found himself entering the teachers lounge, just to get a mug of coffee to get him through the day. He pulled his mug from his coat pocket and filled it with coffee from the pot, then pulled out a small airline alcohol bottle from his other coat pocket and poured a little in it. He leaned against the counter and sighed, just as the door opened again and Victoria came in. "Oh! John!" she said, "I'm just showing our new hire around. Mr. Reynolds, this is Rebecca Little, our new librarian. Miss Little, this is John Reynolds, our little league coach," Victoria said, as a very beautiful young woman came around her and waved shyly at Reynolds, who was caught off guard by how pretty he found her. "Nice to meet you," she said, "I didn't know coaches were allowed to use the teachers lounge." "I didn't know librarians were either," Reynolds said. "Well, here I like to foster diversity, which means letting every faculty member who works for the school gets access to the teachers lounge," Victoria said. As she finished her sentence, she and Rebecca were pushed to the side a little as Gorey pushed her way past them with her mop and bucket. She walked by Reynolds, who high fived her, and then started to get her own mug of coffee. After pouring it, she leaned against the counter beside him, sipping it. "Janice, this is Rebecca Little, our new librarian," Victoria said, "Miss Little this is Janice Gorey, our custodian." "I'm trained in the custodial arts," Gorey said, "With a minor degree in the field of trashology." Reynolds chuckled into his mug, which made Gorey smirk. "It was very nice meeting you both," Rebecca said, "I'll be sure to say hello again if we meet in here." With that, Victoria and Rebecca left the room, leaving Gorey and Reynolds to their own devices. They sat down at the little table and Reynolds pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket, starting to deal between them. "I didn't know the school didn't have a librarian," Reynolds said. "School didn't have a coach til you," Gorey said, "Why's that so surprising?" "I...I don't know, I guess I just expect schools to have their full staff," Reynolds said as he shuffled his hand and started playing, "...hey, can I ask you a question? Today at practice a kid told Hawley they threw like a girl, and when I asked why it didn't bother them, they just said they didn't care cause that's all they wanna be anyway. How do you respond to that?" "Why you gotta respond at all?" Gorey asked, shrugging, "It's not unusual." "I just...I don't wanna see them get hurt or something," Reynolds said, "Kids their age can be uber cruel." "I don't deal with kids, I don't know what to tell you, now deal," Gorey said. "You're of so little help it's impressive," Reynolds muttered. "That's how I roll." *** After 2nd practice, at the end of the day, Hawley offered to help gather up the equipment and put it all away in the field shed, while the other kids went and showered, changing back into their day clothes, preparing to head home. Reynolds watched Hawley put things away for a bit from the bleachers, til they finished their cigarette, smashed it under their shoe then walked across the field to help them. Reynolds picked up a handful of bats and carried them into the shed, where they found Hawley stuffing a group of mitts into a plastic barrel. "Thanks for helping," Reynolds said. "Anything to get out of showering," Hawley said. "Self conscious?" Reynolds asked. "More like I don't belong there," Hawley said, "I get enough crap from everyone without inviting more." "Well said," Reynolds said, "so...about that kid earlier...I don't even really know how to broach this as a topic of conversation, but, uh...you wanna maybe talk about that a little?" "What's there to talk about?" Hawley asked, stopping what they were doing and turning to face Reynolds, "I mean, really, it's pretty self explanatory I feel. Straight forward, really. You heard what they said, you heard my response, and if you can't pull a realization from that alone, then-" "Hey, whoa, whoa, I'm not trying to make you question yourself or anything, I just..." Reynolds said, before stopping and scratching the back of his head, groaning, "Ugh...I don't even know how to put this. Look...um...when I was your age, kids didn't talk to the adults about themselves. We all just kept our shit to ourselves, and as a result, a lot of those kids grew up to be super unhappy adults, and I don't want you kids to do that. I want you to know that you can talk to me, at least. I won't judge you or anything. I just...I don't want you to have to keep this to yourself." Hawley stared Reynolds down, then sighed and sat down on a crate, swinging their legs, their long shiny blonde hair in their face. "...my dad would kill me," Hawley said, "Not actually, but you know what I mean. The thing is...being in that dress...it's all that really brings me any kind of comfort. All my clothes are really neutral, because I can't have girls clothes, even though they're all that I want. Sometimes I'm afraid my mom knew and that's why she left, because she was embarrassed or something..." Reynolds turned over a bucket and sat on it, making them eye level with Hawley, just listening. "...I'm so scared of my dad," Hawley said, "all I wanna do is be myself, but I'm so scared of him." "I didn't have a great dad," Reynolds said, "I mean, he wasn't like yours, but he wasn't great either. You think he'd actually do something to you if he-" "He already tells me he'd hurt me if he ever found out," Hawley said, "Right now he has suspicions, hints, but nothing concrete, and he, thankfully, is the kind of guy who won't act on anything until he has the facts. Still, the facts are freeing for me, and ammo for him." "...I think you should be yourself," Reynolds said, "Kid, I came here from LA, and LA is the land of people who are all pretending to be someone else. Everyone running around like they're in a statewide beauty pageant, all putting on a character. Nobody was themselves. Even the people who thought they were being themselves weren't, they were just being the person the media made them out to be, buying into the public persona. Everyone was too scared to be themselves. And it isn't like LA is the only place where that's the way it is, it's that way everywhere, but it's on a grand scale there." Hawley looked up at Reynolds, pushing bangs from their eyes. "...but I was myself, to a fault, and that was partially what ruined and created my career. They liked me because I wasn't a fraud, but when they saw who I was, they started seeing aspects they didn't like, and wanted me to ignore those parts and instead be only the parts they liked, and I refused to do that. It's a two way street, but I feel like it's worth it." "Yeah but you were yourself and now look where you are." "Exactly, here, with you guys," Reynolds said, "Name somewhere better to be, honestly." Hawley smiled a little, looking at their cleats and sighing. "Hawley-" Reynolds started when they interrupted him. "Ellie," they said, making him pause and then nod accordingly. "Ellie," he said, "I was around all kinds of people. People of every ethnicity, every sexuality, every gender, and trust me when I say that, even if they were fraudulent in many ways, they certainly weren't fraudulent in that way. They knew who they were, and they were themselves unapologetically, and it was so good to see. I'm sick of people pleasing, and I'm sick of watching others please people. You should be you, and damn the consequences." "You can't say 'damn the consequences' when you're not the one facing them," Ellie said. "...fair," Reynolds said, "but I've got your back, alright? Whatever happens, I'll be there to defend you." "You can't be at my home all the time," Ellie said. "Then be yourself everywhere but there for the time being. You gotta start somewhere," Reynolds said, "I'll call you Ellie, if you want, and I'll make sure the other kids do too, if that'd help, but you gotta start somewhere or you'll never start, and nothing hurts more in the long run than regret from fear of others. Don't let people in the present dictate your entire future." Hawley nodded, chewing on her lip. "I guess you're right," Hawley said, "...thanks coach." "It's my pleasure," Reynolds said, holding his fist out until she fist bumped him; he looked around, clapped his hands on his knees and said, "Welp, let's finish putting this crap away. I wanna get home and watch TV." *** Sitting at home that evening, waiting for his dinner to microwave and tapping his nails on the counter as he watched the TV from the kitchen, Reynolds couldn't help but feel weird about his day. Not about helping Hawley, but about not having his own daughter around. God he wanted to talk to her, he missed her so bad, and sure it was nice to have a sort of substitute daughter in Hawley, but he missed his own... The microwave beeped, and Reynolds pulled his dinner out. He seated himself, watched a few procedural episodes while he ate, and drank his root beer. After he was done, he glanced at the phone on the table near him, and he reached out, picking it up. He dialed a number and waited, barely breathing he was so nervous. After a few minutes, a voice answered. "Hello?" she asked. "Hi, Laurie, it's John," Reynolds said, "Um...can...can I talk to Clarissa?" "...she's not here right now John," Laurie said, "But I could ask her to call you back, if you'd like." "You don't mind?" he asked. "At this point, why care, she wants to talk to you and I'm sick of being the bad guy for refusing to let a girl talk to her father," Laurie said, "Just give me your number." Reynolds left his number with his wife, and then hung up. He smiled as he adjusted himself in his recliner and watched the screen. Maybe getting out of LA really would be the best thing for him in the long run. As he'd told Hawley, ya gotta start somewhere. *** "Listen up!" Reynolds shouted at the team as they stood in front of him at the start of practice, "from this moment on, everyone calls Hawley by their first name, Ellie, you got that? You refer to them as she and her, and if anyone doesn't, if anyone hurts them in any way, you're off the goddamned team. I will NOT put up with any kind of abuse towards one another. You're supposed to be a team, and that means supporting one another, in the sport and outside of it, alright?" The kids all nodded, and Reynolds clapped his hands together. "Alright then, get goin', get on the field," he said, waving them away. The kids all broke for the field, including Ellie, who quickly heard someone coming up beside her. As she glanced to her side, she saw it was the kid who'd told her she threw like a girl. "Hey," he said. "Hello." "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't...I didn't mean to make you feel bad. It's something my dad used to tell me, so I'd start to pitch better. I just thought that maybe it'd...I don't know...I don't know, I'm just sorry is all. Ellie? I'm Tyler." "It's okay," Hawley said, smiling at him, "thanks. It's nice to know your name." "Well, we're gonna be on the same team, we may as well know one anothers names." Meanwhile, at the bleachers, Reynolds leaned back and lit a cigarette just as Gorey sat down beside him. He handed his cigarette to her and she took it, taking a long drag before handing it back, then exhaling the smoke into the air in front of them and waving at it, coughing a little, making him chuckle. "Don't smoke a lot?" he asked. "Not really," she said. "Watcha doin' out here?" Reynolds asked. "Well, yesterday you asked me about Hawley, and I realized I wasn't very helpful, but, well, I have an idea. Remember how you got me my own jersey to help out on the team?" Gorey asked, and Reynolds nodded. "I know exactly what you're thinking, and it's a great idea," Reynolds said; he sighed, scratched his forehead and added, "ya know, these kids may never learn to be a great baseball team, but they'll at least learn to be themselves, and that's more than most kids get out of a sports team." "They say it takes a village to raise a child," Gorey said. "Naw," Reynolds said, "All it takes is one good coach, and his assistant."
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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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