I laughed.
“I wasn’t terrible.”
“What position did you play?”
Never in my life had a woman asked what position I played. They usually just nodded and changed the subject; no doubt worried I would start boring them with baseball stories, trying to relive my glory years.
“I played third base mostly.”
“The hot corner. Very nice.”
I wanted to leap across the table and make out with this woman. Fact. Gianna probably wouldn’t approve. Nor would she approve of what I’d do to April after we made out for a while.
I’d start with lowering the straps on her...
Focus on baseball, Luke, I reminded myself. I had no use for a dinner erection.
“Yeah.”
“How long did you play?” she asked. “I mean, when did you start?”
Gianna was leading a couple to an empty table near us, and she seemed to lean forward a bit, reminding me that she had breasts, as if I had forgotten. The look in her eyes said, “She doesn’t have what I have,” and I felt like yelling out, “No, she doesn’t have herpes!” Thank God for restraint.
“I started playing in like third grade, I think. A friend of mine played, and his dad was the coach. The dad asked me to sign up every time I saw him, but I had never even picked up a glove I don’t think. I really had no desire to play.”
“So, what made you change your mind?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just got tired of him asking. He told me to just come to one practice and if I hated it, he would never bother me again.”
“You clearly didn’t hate it.”
“No. At first I remember thinking I wanted to leave. The other kids seemed like they knew what they were doing and I didn’t have the first clue. But, then he told me to grab a bat and hit. I missed the first couple pitches, but then I hit the ball over all the kids camped out in the outfield. He just kind of stood there in disbelief and my friend was jumping up and down like it was Christmas. And that’s when I decided I loved baseball.”
“So, you kept playing, I take it?”
“Yeah, I played until my junior year in college. I was in every league I could get into, and since I was here in Florida I was playing year round.”
“Why did you stop?”
The inevitable question. She had her hands folded in front of her, and her look stayed inquisitive the whole time. I didn’t feel like she was asking to be polite. Her face told me that she seemed to legitimately want to know.
The truth was I stopped playing for Carrie. We got married when I was a sophomore, and baseball practices and training and games took up much more of our time together than she was willing to give. She knew I loved the game, had gone to just about all of them since we had started dating. But she reminded me over and over again that we were married, and working on building a good marriage was more important that perfecting my swing against left-handed pitchers. I needed to focus on finishing school, becoming a teacher, and providing for my family. Baseball wasn’t going to do that in, in her opinion. Yet, here I was sitting across from a woman who was provided for quite nicely by baseball, and whose husband made more in a week than I probably made in three years.
Occasionally I felt a surge of anger toward Carrie, even now, and it was usually always in relation to baseball. She continued to advise me, and then strongly suggest, that I quit baseball after my sophomore year. But, I wasn’t going to. We had gotten into a pretty severe fight the night before the first game of my junior year. I was accused of loving baseball more than I loved her, etc., etc. But, I went out and played the next night. And in the fourth inning I hit a line drive down the right field line. I drove in a run and was racing to second base when my knee blew out. Torn ACL. Season over. Happy (but wouldn’t admit it) wife. It took a year to heal, and when I finally neared playing shape again, Carrie got cancer. Obviously, taking care of my wife became a priority. I never played on a field competitively again after tearing my knee. Now, it was playing on the occasional softball team in some random city leagues. And, when people see me play, they inevitably say, “You are really good. Did you ever play baseball? What happened?” Motherfuckers should just mind their own business. Sometimes I feel like playing on a team and purposely being terrible, like most of the rest of them, just to avoid the questions or the “Hey, weren’t you the guy...?” But, I am too competitive for that.
April could apparently sense my hesitation to answer the question.
“You know, it’s really not any of my business. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head.
“No, you’re fine. I blew my knee out. At the end of my junior year. It wasn’t fully healed until the end of my senior year, so I didn’t get to play.”