"Three balls," Reynolds said, holding up a baseball as he and Gorey sat at the little table in the teachers lounge, "Three balls, and only one has to get hit. Not even a home run, just hit enough to warrant being considered a hit. That sound fair?"
"And if I don't hit one?" Gorey asked as she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "Then I don't come over to your mothers for dinner, simple as that," Reynolds said, "Where you gonna find a fairer deal than that, right? You got three chances, and you only gotta hit one." "You sound like a carny," Gorey muttered. "I'll take that as a compliment. Those people are the backbone of our nation," Reynolds replied, making her laugh a little. The door to the lounge opened and the recently hired school librarian, Rebecca Little, entered, heading directly for the coffee machine. She started pouring herself a mug while watching them at the table. "What are you doing?" Little asked. "I asked if he'd come to dinner at my moms place, ya know, as a friendly gesture, and he's making me make a bet," Gorey said, "Because he's a lunatic." "Please, I prefer the word 'enthusiast'," Reynolds remarked, making Little snort into her coffee mug, which in turn made him grin. "Alright, fine," Gorey finally said, snatching the ball from his grip, "but you know I can't hit for shit. How am I gonna get a decent hit if I'm not capable of hitting a ball?" Reynolds shrugged as he leaned back and offered Little a cookie from the package sitting in front of him, which she graciously accepted. "Guess you could always call in a ringer," he said, half joking. This half joke, however, gave Gorey an idea. *** Hawley was excited to get out of school today. Normally she couldn't care less about the weekend, but this time she was going to spend her weekend with her new friend Tyler, and she was actually genuinely happy about doing something with a peer. As the bell rang and all the students headed for the door, Hawley scooted her belongings into her backpack and then headed for the door, only to find, after exiting it and ending up in the hall, Gorey waiting for her on a bench across from the room. "Hiya," Hawley said as Gorey stood up and joined her, the two walking together now. "I need a favor," Gorey said, "it's nothing super big or anything, but I'd be really grateful if you could do it for me." "I guess, but it does kinda depend on what it is," Hawley replied, tugging at her backpack strap and pulling it higher on her shoulder. "Great. I need you to hit a baseball," Gorey said, making Hawley stop in her tracks. "...what?" *** "She's your ringer?" Reynolds asked in the equipment shed, trying not to laugh, then adding while stifling, "I'm...I'm sorry Hawls, I just...she doesn't even play in the games normally. What makes you think she can hit a ball?" "Wow, so you have that little confidence in my abilities? Good to know," Hawley said. "You're the one who constantly says you don't enjoy playing!" Reynolds replied. "Yeah, but I never said I couldn't! I'm capable," Hawley said, glancing at Gorey, "especially when it's something for a friend. I'm gonna hit this ball for her." Reynolds paced back and forth, scratching the back of his head until he finally stopped, turned and looked at the two girls, exhaling deeply. "She explain the rules to you?" he asked. "Three balls, one hit," Hawley said, "doesn't even have to be a good hit. Just has to connect. A bunt alone would do the job." "...alright, if this is how you guys want this to go down, let's do it," Reynolds said. Reynolds gathered three balls, a bat, and a mitt and headed outside, while Hawley and Gorey prepared by the bleachers. As he stood at the pitchers mound, chewing gum and watching, he couldn't help but grin. He was going to have a good time with this. Hawley put her hair up in a ponytail as Gorey handed her the bat, and then looked at Gorey. "Why's he making this so difficult? Why won't he just have dinner with you and your mom?" Hawley asked. "Because he is difficult," Gorey replied, "...I think he's scared to get close to anyone his own age. Notice how we're his only friends, and even I'm a few years younger than him. Notice how he took a job that relies solely of interacting with children instead of his own age group. He's frightened." "I'm gonna do this for you, but I have to be done within the hour," Hawley said, "I'm meeting a friend for weekend plans." Hawley, bat in hand, then walked towards the batting cage and took her place. She looked up towards Reynolds, who just shrugged and squeezed the first baseball in his hands. He then put one hand on his hip and the other cupped around his mouth so he could shout towards her. "Alright, you know the rules! Three balls, one mediocre hit, and getting hit by a pitch doesn't count!" he yelled, "You ready?" "Ready as I'll be," Hawley said, and he nodded, then assumed a pitching position and narrowed his eyes. *** A year before, right after losing his job in LA, Reynolds and his daughter Clarissa went to a nearby high school with a baseball field. She'd brought with her a small bag with three baseballs in it, a catchers mitt and a baseball bat. Reynolds parked in the faculty parking lot, and together he and Clarissa got out of the car and started walking towards the field. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he said. "We need to find something for you to do, preferably somewhere else, because you're a pariah here now and you need some time to cool off," Clarissa remarked, handing him the baseball bat while she carried the balls and mitt. "I feel like shit," he said, his voice hoarse and his hair scruffy, his five o' clock shadow rougher than she'd ever seen it. She wouldn't say it, but he also looked like shit. Ever since he'd lost his job hosting the show, he hadn't been showering regularly, nor had he been eating well. He hadn't even been sleeping well, even though sleeping was the one thing he'd been doing the most lately. "I don't even wanna do any of the things I wrote down," he mumbled. "Then why'd you write them down?" she asked. "They were all I could think of," he said, shrugging as they arrived at the pitchers mound. "Alright, well, you know the rules. Three balls, one mediocre hit, and whichever ball you hit is the one you go with," Clarissa said, putting the mitt on, "now go get in the cage. I'll do my best not to hit you in the face if I can." Reynolds smirked, and then headed to the cage as he gripped the bat handle in his hand firmly and thought about how lucky he was to have his daughter here to help him. He'd lost his job, his marriage, but at least he still had his daughter. That had to count for something. *** "That's a strike!" Reynolds shouted, making Hawley hit the ground with her bat. "Alright, okay, that's just one though, I got two balls left!" she shouted back. Gorey, sitting on the bleachers and gnawing on her nails, was trying not to get nervous, but it was hard. Everything seemed to make her nervous, especially when they centered around her, as this did. She heard a pair of shoes walk up behind her and turned to see Rebecca Little standing there, briefcase in her hand, coat slung over her arm. "What's going on here?" she asked quizically, one eyebrow raised. "Uh, we have a bet. If our friend can hit one ball, then Reynolds will have dinner with my mom and me," Gorey said, as Little took a seat on the bleachers beside her. "...are you two an item?" she asked. "What? No! No, we're just friends," Gorey said, "I just...I don't have any other friends, and I wanted to have a friend come over for dinner for a change. But he's such a difficult asshole, he's gotta turn everything into a game." "You think the kid can do it?" Little asked. "...yeah, I really do." At least Gorey believed in her, which was good, because Hawley was having trouble believing in herself right now. "You ready for the second ball?" Reynolds asked, and Hawley pushed some errant hair from her eyes and nodded. Reynolds clutched the second ball in his hand and squinted. He grimaced, then wound up and took the pitch. *** "Well," Clarissa said after they finished, sitting on the pitchers mound together, "you hit the second ball, so I guess that means you're gonna be a little league coach. That sound good to you?" "Who cares," Reynolds said, shrugging. Clarissa sighed and rested her head on her dads shoulder. "I just figured this was the best way to make a decision," she said softly. "I don't wanna leave," he said, almost crying, "I...I don't mind losing my job, I deserve that actually, and your mother and I were having trouble long before this, but...I can't stand the idea of being away from you. To spend time with all these other kids...kids who aren't MY kid...that might actually kill me." "You never know, you might meet a kid you like almost as much as you like me," Clarissa said, chuckling. "I guess anything's possible," Reynolds said, "but no one's ever gonna be as cool as you." "Well that goes without saying," Clarissa replied, making him actually laugh. "Come on," he said, tugging at her wrist, "Let's go get something to eat." Clarissa, as it turns out, had been right. It had been the best way to make a decision, and the decision had wound up saving his life in the long run. She'd been right about it all. He'd even met a kid he liked almost as much as he liked his own kid. Nobody except him and Clarissa knew of this little endeavor, but he figured that from now on, anytime he had to make a decision to might affect his life, he would make it the same way she had. If nothing else, it at least made it feel like she was still with him. *** "Son of an absolute bitch!" Hawley shouted, slamming the bat against the ground, having missed the second ball now. Gorey, admittedly, was starting to lose hope and was getting nervous. She rubbed her face in her hands as Reynolds put another piece of gum in his mouth and started chewing, grabbing the third ball from the ground near his feet. "You ready for the last ball?" he asked. "Do I look like I'm goddamned ready!?" Hawley shouted. "Hey, language!" he shouted back. "Can I...can I ask...what is this relationship between the three of you, exactly?" Little asked, leaning towards Gorey on the bleachers. "Frustrating," Gorey mumbled into her hands, "I can't explain it, because it defies explanation. I just...I wanted to prove my mom wrong. I wanted to prove to her that I'm not a loser, and that people do like me and I do have friends...but maybe I can't prove that. Maybe I can't prove it because it's impossible to disprove, because I am a loser." "For what it's worth, I think you're a very nice, funny person," Little said, "I know we've only spoken a few times but still. If he won't have dinner with you and your mom, then I will. That sound nice?" Gorey wanted to die. This was all going wrong. But she couldn't deny Little was being incredibly kind and generous, so she thanked her for the offer anyway, despite not wanting it. Reynolds prepared for the final pitch, as Hawley dug her shoes into the dirt and sneered at him. He smirked at her face, almost recognizing his daughter in her, then pulled his leg up, preparing to throw. The ball left his hand and streaked through the sky, heading straight for Hawley, who furrowed her brow and took the swing. The sound of the connect surprised them all. Reynolds hadn't actually expected the ball to be hit, nor had Hawley considering how unathletic she considered herself. Gorey leapt to her feet, her mouth agape, Little holding her hand in a show of solidarity. The ball sailed back towards Reynolds, hitting him in the jaw and dropping him to the ground. "Yeah!" Hawley screamed pumping her fist and jumping around on the plate, "Yeah! Take that Reynolds! Coach...sir," she said, suddenly trying to sound kind again as she then rushed towards him on the mound. Reynolds lifted himself up a bit and pulled a tooth from his jaw, looking at it in his palm. "You knocked my tooth out," he said, slightly whistling, making her laugh. "I'm sorry!" she said, now doubling over in laughter. "That was a good hit, kid," Reynolds said, "I'm glad to know you got it in you." Suddenly Hawley felt Gorey squeezing her tightly, thanking her profusely as Little walked up to Reynolds and helped him up. "Come with me, we'll get you cleaned up," she said sweetly, making him blush. Reynolds followed Little to a nearby water fountain, where she got water on her hand and started wiping the blood from his mouth that had dribbled down his chin as he looked back at the girls, still celebrating; Little then said, "can I ask you a question, John?" "Y...yeah, uh, yeah, what's up?" he asked, looking back at her. "Janice couldn't answer me, but maybe you can. What is this relationship the three of you have? I've worked at a handful of schools but I've never seen anything like this," Little asked. "I can't really explain it. Janice thinks she's a loser, but I'm an actual loser, so I guess I like proving her wrong. Showing her that she's not alone, nor is she a loser because now she knows what a real loser is like. As for Ellie...she's..." He stumbled for words, his eyes tearing up slightly. "Uh...someone's gotta look out for her. Her dad's an asshole, her mom's AWOL, she's a special kid. I guess I'm sort of a surrogate dad in a way," he said, "I'm proud of her for hitting that, even if it hit ME. I wanted to have dinner with Gorey and her mom. I just...I can't make decisions on my own anymore." "Why not?" Little asked, finishing washing him up. "Cause the last time I made a decision, it ruined my life," he said. He didn't give context, and Little didn't ask for any. Meanwhile, back at the pitchers mound, Gorey and Hawley were still celebrating, with Gorey continually thanking and praising her, and Hawley even being proud of herself for her skill. Gorey eventually took the equipment back to the shed and, after giving Reynolds her moms address and phone number, left. Little also took her leave soon after, leaving just Reynolds and Hawley alone on the field. Hawley let her hair back down and sighed, running her hands through it as Reynolds straightened his tie and put the baseball in his pocket. "You need a ride home?" he asked. "Not goin' home," she said, "Goin' to Tylers." "Oh, alright, well have fun then and I'll see you Monday." Hawley smiled, turned and started to walk away, but Reynolds gnawed on his lip for a moment then called after her. "Ellie!" he said, making her turn back to him as he added, "I'm really proud of you. What you did was not only really nice, but...it's good to see you hit the ball. You're a better player than I'll ever be, hah. I just...I wanted you to know that." Hawley blushed and nodded. "Thanks coach," she said, before turning and continuing on her way. Reynolds sat down on the bleachers and pulled the ball back out from his pocket, turning it over and over in his hand. Clarissa had been right. This had been the best way. He had found a new pseudo family, and life was pretty good, considering. When he got home that evening, he called her up and told her all about it, and she loved that he'd done the same thing she'd done to him. Hawley, meanwhile, wound up at Tyler's, and the two rented movies and played video games and ate pizza late into the evening. Gorey, however, didn't like going home. As she parked in the in the driveway and walked inside the house, she could hear her mother cleaning up dinner. She stopped as Gorey entered the kitchen and the two locked eyes. "You missed dinner," her mother said. "Well, I was busy with some friends," Gorey said, "Um...I have a friend coming to dinner tomorrow night, if that's okay?" "That's perfectly fine, of course," her mother said. "I'm tired, I'm gonna lay down," Gorey said, heading on up to her bedroom. Once inside, she locked her bedroom door, turned on her CD player and sat on her bed. Her bedroom looked the exact same as it had when she was 17; the same band posters on the wall, the same books on the shelves, and, of course, the enormous collection of awards that littered an entire display case. She loved being in her bedroom, it was her safe space, but it also killed her, being reminded of who she used to be and comparing that to who she was now. She only hoped Reynolds wouldn't judge her on it too. As she laid down, Little's question raced through her head once again. "Are you two an item?" Gorey pulled her pillow over her head and cried. She'd given up on finding friends after the incident, and she'd given up on finding love as well, and now she wanted both. She felt sick. Then she remembered Hawley hitting the ball for her, and how that was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in so many years, and she felt a bit better. She had good friends. She was going to have a friend over for dinner. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. But she couldn't help but wonder what they'd both think of her if only they'd known her before. If only they'd known her when she was a genius.
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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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