Date: Thu, 1 Dec 2005 22:13:09 -0800 (PST)
From: Robin Eagleson <robineagleson@yahoo.com>
Subject: Luckiest Summer Part 10

The Luckiest Summer
Robin Eagleson
robineagleson@yahoo.com

Part Ten

A week later Mom had found a realtor, and a week after that there was a
sign sticking out of the ground in our front yard.  I was surprisingly
indifferent about it, mostly because nothing had happened yet.  There were
three more weeks of summer left, and I knew that it was highly unlikely
we'd sell the house before school started.  Despite what Mom had said, I
wanted to at least start the year out at the school I had been going to the
past few years.  When the time came, I would deal with having to change
schools.

It took a few days, but the calls came flooding in as soon as my friends
all heard I might be moving.  I'd never felt more popular, even though I
hadn't even seen most of the people that called all summer.  Nadia had told
me it didn't matter if I was moving, and that she wouldn't let it stop her
from marrying me someday.  Then she'd kissed my cheek and I'd blushed for
the next hour.  She hadn't been acting any different since we'd started
going out, really.  The only difference was that we held hands more often
now, which was okay.  I hadn't kissed her since the time in the pool.

Brad was never home.  I'd get bored and lonely sometimes and wander over to
see if he was home, but he never was, so I'd hang around for a few hours
and play video games with Tyler and then leave.  I hadn't spent the night
once since Tyler had come back from camp, but as far as I could tell it
didn't have anything to do with his return, and I didn't hold it against
him.

As for Tyler, he was alright, I supposed.  I had learned to put up with
him, and he really was a little easier to get along with since he'd come
back.  Dad and I had made another trip to Best Buy recently and I'd gotten
the Ben Folds CD with the song on it I liked so much.  I'd taken to sitting
in my room and listening to it whenever there was nothing else to do, and I
discovered that Brad was right; The Luckiest was only one of many good
songs on the album.

It was a boring afternoon in the middle of the week when I woke up and
decided I wanted to go see Brad.  Mom had left me a note saying the realtor
was going to come by and show a younger couple our house at around one, and
since I didn't want to be around when they came, I got dressed and crossed
the yard to ring the doorbell.  No one answered, not even Tyler.  So I
turned and walked down the driveway and headed for his work.

I saw his car in its usual spot right in front of the door; the sight of it
put me at ease.  I peered in through the glass of the store to see if he
was visible, but the employee area appeared to be empty.  I stood outside
uncertainly for a few seconds and then opened the door, listening to the
beeping of the bell.  I stood patiently at the door until I heard footsteps
coming from the back, where all the lights were out.

"Were you planning on waiting by the door all day?" he asked when he saw it
was me.  "You could have saved me the trouble of getting up if you had just
walked up to the counter.  I would have seen it was you from the back
without having to move."

"Sorry," I said softly.  "I was bored."

"Come on back," he offered, motioning for me to follow him with a broad
sweep of his arm.

"Where have you been?" I asked, scooting into the booth he was sitting at
across from him.

"Here," he said, looking at me as if I had asked a dumb question.  "I've
been kind of busy."

"Doing what?"

"Working and stuff.  You know, just busy."

"I've been bored," I repeated.  "My mom put the house up for sale."

"I saw that," he replied, scratching his cheek thoughtfully.  "Are you
pretty pissed about that?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I was," I admitted.  "But there's nothing I can do about it, is there?"

"You can rip the sign out of the yard and hide it, for a start.  You
shouldn't go down without a fight."  He was trying to get me to laugh, but
I didn't.

"Can I have a drink?" I asked, still sweating slightly from the walk over.

"We're out of Root Beer," he responded automatically.  "We're still trying
to recover from the time you drank it all."  I knew that couldn't be true,
and I didn't even have to ask him if he was being serious.  I had started
getting his sense of humor a little more now.

I scampered up to the front, grabbed a cup from the pile of them resting on
the counter, and filled it with Dr. Pepper, the second best option, after
hitting the button on the Root Beer just to make sure it really was out.  I
saw the buffet was sitting unattended, so I grabbed a few old slices and
went back to where Brad was.

"That pizza has been sitting out since noon," he told me in a distant tone
when I sat down across from him.  "We're slow as hell today.  Not that I
mind."

"I don't care," I muttered as I tore into a piece.  It tasted like barbeque
beef.

"Are you coming with me on Saturday?" he asked mysteriously, his eyes
focused on the TV.  I was starting to wonder if he had some kind of
attention disorder, and that as long as there was a TV around he wasn't
capable of looking away from it.

"Where?" I asked, feeling a tinge of excitement for the first time in two
weeks.  It wasn't that I'd been unhappy, but I'd definitely been bored.

"Houston," he said.  "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of a
last resort.  My plans fell through."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, crinkling up my face and looking at
him in confusion.

"It's Sara's birthday this Saturday.  I thought, you know, we could have an
outing in Houston.  We were going to see an Astros game and do some
sightseeing.  I had the tickets and everything, and now she can't go."

"I'll go!" I said instantly, not at all offended about being the last
resort option as he put it.

"Do you think your mom will let you go?" he asked, finally making eye
contact with me.

"I'm not sure," I admitted.  "But she can't stop me.  I haven't gone
anywhere all summer.  The game is this Saturday?"

"This Saturday at seven."

"That's like, three days away," I said, doing some quick math.  "Why didn't
you tell me before now?"

"She just backed out yesterday.  I'm not very good at predicting the
future."  I chewed on my lukewarm pizza and pondered.  He was going home in
a few weeks, and I might be moving at any given time.  We'd never get this
kind of opportunity again.

"I'm going," I told him forcefully.  "I'll just lie and tell my mom I'm
spending the night with a friend if I have to."

"You can't do that," he shook his head.  "I'm not getting arrested for
kidnapping you.  If you don't promise to ask, I'll have to talk to her and
make sure it's really okay with her," he threatened, holding our eye
contact.  "Ask her, and if says okay, we'll go.  Otherwise, I'll make Tyler
go or something."

"So if my mom says yes," I began carefully, "I can go?"

"Yeah," he assured me.  "It's not complicated.  I've got tickets and even a
hotel booked, so I'm screwed if I can't get someone."

"You guys had a hotel room?" I asked, staring at him with an amused grin on
my face.

"Yes," he admitted, answering me directly as usual.  "Not that it concerns
you. We're both consenting adults according to the law.  Actually she's
turning nineteen this weekend."

"Is that why you haven't been around as much lately?  Because you've been
with her?" I asked cautiously.

"Sort of," he answered, his eyes back on the TV now.  Then he looked at me
again.  "You're the nosiest kid I've ever met.  Even Tyler doesn't ask me
so many questions."  I finished my drink and didn't say anything else.  The
bell rang again and Brad had to go the front to ring up a customer for the
buffet.  I left my dishes at the table and walked out while he was giving
the customer his tray, waving to him on the way out.

There were no unwanted visitors in the house when I returned, so I hoped
I'd missed them.  I went out to the pool for a few hours just in case,
because that way at least I wouldn't have to interact with anyone if they
did come in.  I came in when the sun started shining down at an angle that
told me it was now closer to the evening than it was the afternoon.

Mom had started cooking again recently.  She wasn't totally back to normal,
and she was still smoking pretty regularly, but not being responsible for
Jesse's whereabouts had taken a lot of the strain out of her life, and she
seemed hopeful about putting the house on the market.  I knew she had only
waited this long for my sake because she didn't want to put me through
moving, but knowing she might soon be getting a more affordable place had
eased her mindset a bunch, too.  She had been especially nice to me lately.

"Mom?" I began, deciding to put her niceness to the test now and see how
well it held up.  She was making spaghetti tonight, hovering over the stove
in an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  She looked so much more relaxed now
it was almost stunning.  I came and stood next to her in the kitchen,
leaning over the stove to watch her cook.  The indistinguishable scent of
oregano overpowered my nostrils.  She had been humming while she cooked,
something I remembered her doing occasionally when our family was whole.

"It's almost ready, honey," she said, pushing me gently out of the way so
she could rifle through the cabinet I was standing in front of.  I thought
she smelled nice tonight.  Normally when I got close to her it smelled like
cigarette smoke, but tonight I could only detect the perfume she'd been
wearing as long as I could remember.

"Can I go to Houston with Brad?" I asked nervously, immediately wishing I
had worded it a different way.  I shouldn't have gotten to the real
question so quickly.  I could have spent some time chatting her up first,
testing out her mood and trying to earn favorable points with her first.  I
knew she trusted Brad a lot more than she used to, but maybe not this much.
I tensed up and waited for her to reply.

"What for?" she asked, keeping her tone pleasant, but definitely sounding
interested.

"To see a baseball game."

"You don't like baseball," she told me while she stirred the sauce for the
spaghetti.

"I like it a little," I lied.  "Anyway, I haven't gotten to go anywhere all
summer, and Brad's going back to Dallas soon."  She needed to know what she
was denying me of if she said no.

"When?" she asked.  This was progress.  There were a few signs that Mom was
about to give me her consent, like when she answered "We'll see" if I asked
for a favor, or if she began to focus more on the time something would be
taking place instead of what would be taking place.

"This Saturday," I said, starting to feel hopeful.

"Your dad gets you on Saturdays," she responded immediately.  "You only see
him twice a week."

"I can go over there on Sunday instead," I suggested.

"We were also going to go out to lunch," she continued, sounding less and
less approving by the second.  "The three of us, I mean.  You, me, and your
sister."

"We can do that on Sunday," I tried again.

"Honey, can you go sit down or something?" she interrupted me.  "You're
really getting in my way here."  I quickly scampered to the table and sat
down, not wanting to do anything that might hurt my chances of getting a
yes.  I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my hands as I
watched her cook.

"So can I go?" I asked after I'd waited in silence for a few minutes.  I
was nearly bursting with a desperate need to know the final answer.

"I suppose," she sighed, and I smiled broadly and jumped out of my seat to
wrap my arms around her waist.  "I'll need to discuss this with Brad, too,"
she added to sober up my mood.  "I'm going to need a way to get hold of
him, and he needs our number in case anything happens."  I barely heard
her.  I was going to Houston with Brad.


By two on Saturday afternoon we were speeding down Interstate 10-East in
Brad's rusty Accord, driving nearly a hundred miles an hour.  His air
conditioner wasn't working today, so we had the windows down and I couldn't
hear anything but the wind whipping past us.  We listened to Ben Folds for
a while until he said he needed a mood change and put in something hard and
fast.

"You don't have any idea how lucky you are," Brad had to yell at me so I
could hear him over the wind.  "You get to see Roger Clemens pitch in your
first ever baseball game.  I don't want you to ever forget that.  You're
seeing a living legend in your first game."

"Why is he a legend?" I yelled back.  He just looked like a regular guy to
me.

"He's got the most career wins of any active pitcher, and he's won seven Cy
Young Awards.  He's one of the greatest pitchers in the history of
baseball."

"What's a Cy Young?" I yawned.

"Never mind."

"It'll be cool to see him in person after seeing him on TV," I admitted.

"It'd be even cooler if you got his autograph," Brad said, nudging me.
"Professional athletes have a soft spot for little kids, you know."

"Where are we sitting?" I asked, hoping he didn't really use me as a means
to get autographs.

"Not close," he said.  He reached over me and opened the glove compartment
to pull out a ticket.  "Section 417.  It's in upper deck.  It's going to be
packed tonight so there wasn't a lot left.  But at least we'll have a
really good aerial view.  We're almost right behind home plate."  I grunted
something noncommittal and leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.  I
hadn't slept well the night before because I'd been too excited.  I didn't
really care where we sat, because I wasn't planning on paying that much
attention to the game anyway.  I could hear him still talking but I was
drifting off.

"How much longer?" I asked sleepily.

"A while.  We'll be on I-10 for another couple of hours.  Maybe less if we
don't get pulled over for speeding or die in a fiery car crash."  My eyes
quickly came open and I watched the road wearily for a few minutes, my hand
feeling around my chest to make sure I had buckled my seat belt.  As usual,
he was completely oblivious to my fear of his driving, and he continued to
stay in the 95 mile-per-hour range while I sat stiffly in the passenger
seat, occasionally leaning in over his shoulder to see if he had topped
100.  Despite his speed, I still found myself dozing off in small
intervals.  At around half past three he woke me up from a light slumber
and pulled into a Jack in the Box.

"Are we in Houston?" I asked, rubbing my eyes to clear them.

"No," he laughed.  "This is Columbus.  We have a little way to go still.
I'm not driving that fast, for Christ's sake."  He turned off the engine
and stepped out of the car, stretching his long legs with a quick walk
around the front of the car.  I followed him inside, my stomach grumbling.
Mom had tried to get me to eat breakfast earlier in the morning, but I
wasn't hungry then.  Now I wanted to eat until I couldn't move.

The place was almost empty.  There was no line at all, and I went up and
ordered two breakfast burritos and a hash brown while Brad used the
bathroom.  I had brought my wallet with me this time, and I fished it out
and pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill.  I still hadn't paid Brad
back for anything, and I felt a tinge of guilt for taking so long to clear
my tab.

"Can I get one of those little heads?" I asked the lady at the counter,
pointing to the packages I saw in front of me on the counter.  I knew
people put them on their car, and I thought it would be a nice gesture to
get one for Brad.

"You mean an antenna ball?"  She looked young, and she was smiling at me
like she thought it was funny how I had referred to them.  I nodded,
slightly embarrassed, hastily slipping her an extra dollar and filling my
drink while I waited for my order to appear on the tray.  They were fast,
and I had my food in a booth before Brad had even come out of the bathroom.
He hadn't been joking when he had said he had to piss.

I took nibbles out of my hash brown even though I was starving while I
waited, slurping liberally on my orange juice.  Finally he appeared and
went up to the counter, perusing the menu carefully and predictably
spending a few extra minutes charming the girl taking the order.  I
wondered if he was trying to start a collection of fast food girlfriends.
By the time he sat down across from me with his food I was already almost
done with my first breakfast burrito.

Watching Brad eat was always fun.  He was a big guy, and he ate like one.
Today he had a Jumbo Jack and a Sourdough Jack with an order of fries, and
he quickly devoured his Sourdough burger in about a minute.  I chewed on my
hash brown and grinned as he loaded up his fries with a half a dozen
packets of ketchup, fingering the antenna ball I had bought for him in my
pocket.  I wanted to give it to him outside.  I kicked him under the table
and giggled as I ate.  He kicked me back pretty hard so I took one of his
fries and threw it at him.

"What time do we leave tomorrow?" I asked him, even though he'd told me
before.

"We check out at eleven," he said patiently, as if we hadn't already gone
over it.  He'd talked to Mom about it extensively and programmed our number
into his cell phone.  I knew all the plans, but it was fun to go over them
with him again just to assure myself that it really was happening.  I was
excited about getting to stay in the hotel room with him.

"You didn't leave a whole lot of time for sightseeing," I grumbled,
partially disappointed that the bulk of the trip was going to revolve
around the Astros.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, taking a drink, "Sara and I were going to
leave a little earlier than you and I did.  Once she couldn't go I figured
it'd be better just to sleep in.  It's just you; I don't have to impress
you because you're not my date."

"But we are sharing a hotel room," I giggled softly, kicking him again.

"Don't remind me," he grunted.  "That was supposed to be the best part of
the trip."  I wanted to tell him it still could be, if he was willing.  It
would definitely be the best part of the trip for me.

"Aren't you glad I could come, at least?" I asked, pretending to be hurt.
He swallowed half of his Jumbo Jack and looked deliberately away, messing
up his face to make it look like inviting me had been a huge mistake.  I
kicked him again, harder this time, and he groaned into his burger.

"I'd be a lot more glad I brought you if you weren't kicking the hell out
of my shin," he mumbled when his mouth was empty.

"Aren't you glad I came?" I repeated.

"Yes," he finally said, rolling his eyes.  "You know I like hanging out
with you.  Even if you are kind of weird."  He had eaten the rest of his
burger while I dreamily soaked up his compliment, and I had to hurry to
catch up to him.  The second breakfast burrito was harder to eat than the
first, but I got it down without too much trouble and then went to use the
bathroom before we left.  I caught up to him at the door and fished around
in my pocket as we came back out to the parking lot.

"Here," I said awkwardly.  "I got you this."  I presented the antenna ball
with little fanfare, holding the strange looking little ornament out to him
inside the wrapping.  He looked down into my hand and smiled, reaching out
and taking it from me.

"Thanks, buddy," he said, freeing it from the plastic and jamming it
roughly at the end of his antenna.  He studied it for a second.  "That's
got to be the stupidest fucking piece of merchandise I've ever seen," he
laughed, shaking his head.  "But I like it, since it's from you," he added,
clapping me firmly on the back before ducking into the driver's seat.

"It was only a dollar," I confessed when I was safely buckled into the
passenger side.

"A dollar?  For that priceless piece of art?  What a bargain!"

"You could be a little more grateful," I smiled.

"Oh, I'm grateful," he assured me.  "It's just that if it cost anything
over a dollar I'd storm back inside and start breaking things just to make
sure they didn't gain anything financially."  He put the car in drive and
coasted slowly out of the parking lot.

"It was actually a dollar and six cents with tax," I said invitingly.

"That's it, I'm never eating here again," he announced firmly.  "As a
protest, I'll never again eat another item from a Jack in the Box menu.
Until we drive back tomorrow.  I'm gonna need another Sourdough Jack for
the trip home."


Then we were there, inside Minute Maid Park, the two of us, ascending
gradually to the upper deck, winding around the stadium as we walked.  The
game wouldn't be starting for another hour, but Brad had insisted we get to
our seats now, which meant waiting outside in a long line in front of the
gates.  Brad was beside himself with excitement.  Every time I looked over
at him I noticed a gaping grin on his face.  He stopped and bought me an
Astros jersey from a small kiosk outside the stadium, insisting I
demonstrate my loyalty to the organization.  My jersey had Ensberg on the
back of it.  His, a much older jersey with a different style logo on it,
had Biggio on the back.  He said he got it from his uncle.

So we made our way through the crowds side by side, just a pair of Astros
fans out to see an evening game of baseball together.  I stayed close to
him as we walked, and whenever my attention wandered and I veered away
slightly he would reach over and pull me back over to him.  At first I
would do this accidentally, but I liked having him touch me, so I started
intentionally wandering off until he finally grabbed my hand and squeezed
it really hard.  I gave him a long, helplessly goofy grin as we continued
to climb while he shook his head at my absent-mindedness.  He thought
holding my hand would demean me into behaving, but it was exactly what I
wanted.  His hand was rougher than Nadia's, and a lot bigger.  I liked
holding his better, even if he didn't mean it in the way she did.

Every time we passed anyone wearing Astros' gear, Brad either gave them a
simple nod or sometimes even a high-five as he passed.  I watched him
interact with amusement.  Sometimes it seemed to me like he was friends
with the entire world.  Whenever anyone made eye contact with Brad, they
seemed to immediately like him.  Except for the people that that had almost
run me over in the neighborhood that one day; they hadn't seemed to like
him very much.

"Since this might be the only game you ever see in your life," Brad
informed me as he continued to grip my hand forcefully, "I'm making you try
something from every single vendor that walks by.  That means peanuts,
cotton candy, maybe some ice cream.  And definitely a hot dog," he added as
an afterthought.  "I want you to get the full ballpark experience.  Maybe
this will be the thing that finally turns you into a bona fide baseball
fan."

I said nothing, staring dreamily into the distance and soaking up this
perfect evening.  There was something special about the setting, but I
didn't attribute it to the supposed magic of baseball.  The buzzing of the
people walking by, all the orange camaraderie, and the late summer feel in
the air all filled me with something, but I highly doubted it would change
my opinion that baseball was easily the most boring sport ever invented.

"Are the Pirates good?" I asked just for the sake of making conversation.
We were catching glimpses of the playing field while we walked around the
stadium, and I could see that they were out there on the field getting
ready, taking turns hitting and tossing the ball to each other like it was
leisurely game of catch.

"No," Brad smirked.  "They're terrible, and they're boring.  I wanted to
see a better team, but it's Sara's birthday, and there were tickets left,
so that's just how it worked out."

"Why couldn't she go?" I asked as we finally reached our section and walked
through the tunnel.  He had let go of my hand now, but it was still warm
from being held so firmly.  I let it fall limply to my side, finding that
it felt much cozier to walk hand in hand.

"Something about family plans," he mumbled, clearly not wanting to get into
it.  Then he looked over at me with a little grin.  "There you go again."

"What?"

"Your game of twenty questions.  You should consider being an investigative
reporter when you grow up."

"I'm going to be a professional tennis player," I said with a sly smile as
I followed Brad up a short flight of steps and watched him glance at the
number on the end of the rows and compare it with our tickets.

"Me, too," he laughed.  He found our row and stepped into it, settling into
a seat and patting the one next to him to indicate it was mine.  "Maybe
we'll play each other in the US Open or something."

"You won't be making any comebacks from 5-0 if we do," I taunted him.

"You'd better call your Mom and let her know we're here," he interrupted
me, reaching into his pocket and holding his cell phone out to me.  "It's a
good thing one of us is responsible enough to remember important things."

I kicked his leg and dialed my number, where I promptly found myself in a
conversation with Mom that I couldn't get out of.  I knew she wasn't trying
to be bothersome, but it was clear she was very worried about me being
three hours away under the supervision of someone who wasn't that much
older than me.  I finally got her to let me hang up by telling her we were
costing Brad a fortune.

"I get free long distance, you know," he said.  "And I don't pay for
roaming, so actually you didn't cost me a dime."

"She wouldn't stop talking," I sighed, giving him an exasperated look.
"She kept reminding me not to leave your side and not to run wild in the
city and not to do anything that might involve getting kidnapped."

"Yeah," he said blankly, his eyes getting that far away look that he got
when the games were on TV.  He had spotted a few Astros on the field
stretching near the home dugout, and he was trying to figure out who they
might be.  "Moms are like that.  I'm eighteen and my mom still tries to run
my life."

"How could she?" I asked him skeptically.  "You're not even living with her
now."

"Yeah, and it's been really nice," he laughed.  "She's not that bad, but
she does nag a lot."

"You could stay here," I suggested softly, not even daring to make eye
contact with him when I said it.  I chose to watch the tiny figures of the
Astros stretching on the field instead, pretending to be just as transfixed
as he was by the sight of two dots that only vaguely resembled people.

"What, and finish my last year of high school with a bunch of strangers?
No way.  I intend to have the best senior year ever, and I need, you know,
friends to accomplish that."

"You make new friends in three seconds!" I argued.

"Yeah, but I'd miss all my old ones.  Plus, Mom's gone a lot more than Dad.
Dad's a homebody.  I get the house to myself a lot more with Mom, and that
means parties.  Besides, I'm a Dallas kid," he concluded.

"What about after high school?" I asked hopefully.  "You can come back here
for college, can't you?"

"I wasn't really planning on going to college near San Antonio," he said
carefully.  "I wasn't really planning on staying in Texas at all, actually.
To tell you the truth I'm thinking east coast.  That's where all the
respectable colleges are.  But I must say, it's long been a dream of mine
to live in southern California.  There's just something cool about that
place.  At least from what I hear.  I've never actually been out of Texas,"
he admitted sheepishly.  That made two of us.

East coast or southern California, it didn't matter either way.  Both
locations were nowhere near here, and what that meant was that I really
would never see him again, and he wasn't even interested in giving me the
faintest rays of hope otherwise.  I couldn't help but be disappointed he
didn't realize how important that was to me, but I didn't want to get in a
bad mood now, not when we still had so much of the night left together.

He flagged the first peanut vendor he saw, quickly acquiring a bag and
ripping it open.  He held it out to me and made me take one even though I
didn't like peanuts.  I sat and shifted in my seat, looking around
interestedly as the stadium slowly started filling up.  It was looking like
a lot of people had made it down to the park tonight, probably to see the
living legend Brad spoke so fondly of.  I fidgeted and waited impatiently
for the game to start, wishing we had brought a pair of binoculars so I had
a better idea of what was happening on the field.  The players were off and
the grounds crew was watering down the dirt now.  I was so antsy that I
actually found myself growing eager to watch the baseball that would be
following shortly.  I entertained myself by occasionally wrestling with
Brad, although he seemed far more interested in watching the grounds crew
apply the foul lines than he was in fending off my attacks.

And then the game started, and I got sad.  I was sad because I loved Brad,
and he didn't have a clue.  I was pretty sure I had never loved anyone
before, not like this, not in any way other than family love.  That love
was more the obligatory kind that you grow up having inside you, the kind
you take for granted because it's never been any other way, like not having
to go to school on a Saturday.  That kind of love was routine and lazy; you
were glad to have it, but it wasn't very intense most of the time.
Whatever I felt for Brad was way different, and I didn't know when I'd ever
meet anyone that I liked so much again.

But I didn't matter to him, at least not in that way.  Brad was about
baseball, and meeting new friends, and dating girls, and eating sunflower
seeds on the couch.  I was only a distant glint in his life, one that he
would hardly remember in a year's time.  He would return to his life back
in Dallas in a few weeks, and he would forget all about me.  I wasn't
important enough to him, and I didn't think it was possible to change that.
The only way I could change it is if he loved me back, the way I loved him.

I looked over at him distractedly and watched him clap along with the
crowd.  The top of the first was over.  Clemens had taken care of the
Pirates quickly, and the crowd was appreciative.  Brad looked over at me
and ruffled what little hair could still be ruffled on my head and gave me
a fond grin.  When he looked at me I was happy because I could sense he was
happy, even though I wasn't the person he had wanted to come to this game
with.  I knew Brad liked me, at least as a friend, but what if I could get
him to like me more than that?  What if he wasn't the helplessly straight
eighteen-year-old in a constant battle to meet girls that he seemed?  There
was only one way for me to find out, and I didn't have long to do it.  My
heart started racing as the Pirates took the field and the first batter for
the Astros stepped in.  I looked over at Brad again, but he didn't notice.
He was totally absorbed in the game now that the action had started back up
again.  Maybe it was better that way for now, because I was sure my anxiety
could be read on my face currently.

I zoned in and out of the game in the bottom half of the inning, trying to
get involved along with the crowd but failing every time I started thinking
about my plan.  I wasn't stupid enough to think it would work, but I wasn't
stupid enough to think it couldn't work, either.  As easy as it was to find
gay porn, I figured quite a few people in the world had to be gay, and I
wasn't that much younger than Brad.  My heart went fast, and the Astros
followed suit, sending just four batters to the plate before they were done
with their half of the first, too.

"God damn Ensberg," Brad grunted, irritated that he had struck out to end
the inning.  "It's your fault, Zach," he teased me.  "You jinxed him by
getting his jersey."

"You said he was good," I responded defensively.

"He has been this year so far," Brad said.  "But now that you got his
jersey he'll probably suck."  He touched me again, a light nudge in the
ribs to let me know he was just giving me a hard time, and then he was gone
again.  It was becoming clear to me most of our interactions would be
coming during the time that the commercials were on when you watched on TV.
I thought it was weird being able to see the players on the field in
between innings.  It felt like witnessing something private, that only the
select elite spectators in the stadium would ever get to see.  I had almost
expected them to drop an enormous screen around the field and project
commercials to the audience instead.

The pace continued to move rapidly, much more rapidly than on TV, and what
felt like just a few minutes later, the fourth inning was starting.
Neither team had come close to scoring, and even though I was bored, at
least the game was moving fast.  I had expected a crawl, but this was more
like a spirited jog.  Brad stopped a cotton candy vendor and got me a
stick, which I happily started working on, the sugar sticking to my fingers
and lips and melting down my throat while I continued to plot against his
sexuality.

By the sixth inning Brad was sitting bolt upright, very tense.  I could
tell he was thrilled with the scoreless duel, but also very fearful things
would go bad for his beloved team before they got anything going
offensively.  He had stopped making chit-chat between innings, although
occasionally he looked over just to make sure I hadn't vanished.  Most of
the time he looked I had already been staring at him in the first place,
and eventually I stopped trying to pretend otherwise when he caught me.  He
only shook his head and grinned, not knowing what I was up to and probably
not caring.  He had bigger concerns.

I stood up and stretched my legs with the rest of the audience after the
top of the seventh, a soda clutched in my sticky hand now that I slurped
greedily.  Neither team had scored yet, and there was an air of restless
energy in the crowd.  I could sense, even having never been in this
situation before, that if the Astros did manage to score first, it would be
a very loud moment indeed.  Maybe there was something special about a
baseball game, because the enthusiasm and tension was kind of contagious.

In the eighth most of the vendors had stopped coming around, and I had to
get up to pee.  Mom would have freaked out knowing Brad hadn't come with
me, but I think he would have been willing to sacrifice me to a kidnapper
just to make sure he didn't miss a single pitch, and I didn't even consider
asking him to come supervise.  He handed me a ten dollar bill and told me
to stop and get us both something ice cream in it at one of the food
stands.  So I went to the bathroom first and then paid for the ice cream,
not realizing that I had forgotten to wash my hands until I had sat down
next to him and handed him his ice cream sandwich.  At least it had been
wrapped when I gave it to him.

The ninth inning was not yet underway as I tore into my quickly melting ice
cream sandwich, the chocolate staining the pads of my fingers.  I gulped it
down quickly and watched as Brad carefully unwrapped his, clearly more
concerned about making a mess than I had been.  I boldly leaned over and
rested my head on his shoulder.  If I was really brave, I would be taking a
much bigger risk soon.

"Don't get tired now," he said when he felt my head on his shoulder.  "This
game might go on forever if no one can score.  And look who's in the game
now," he said, indicating to the new pitcher the Astros brought in.

"Why'd they take out Clemens?" I yawned.  "Didn't he do a good job?"

"He fucking kicked ass," Brad said, and he had to talk into my ear so I
could hear him over the buzzing of the crowd.  "But this guy is their best
relief pitcher.  His name is Brad Lidge.  I'm proud to share my first name
with him.  No one ever touches this guy.  That's why I'm telling you, we
may be here a while."

No sooner had he spoken than Brad Lidge threw a pitch that the Pirate at
the plate swung at and hit with a resounding crack that filled the suddenly
quiet stadium.  The ball sailed upwards into the night sky, and I quickly
pulled my head off Brad's shoulder just to follow it.  The ball continued
to sail over the wall in left field.  It was a home run.  Despite the
overwhelmingly negative crowd reaction, I couldn't help but be excited as I
watched the player circle the bases.  I had hoped I would get to see a home
run in person.  It was about the only thing that could be considered
exciting.  I suppressed a smile and dropped my head back on Brad's
shoulder.

"Don't say a word," he threatened, catching the amused look on my face, and
I started giggling because I had wanted so badly to tease him for being
wrong about the pitcher's invincibility.  The crowd was deflated.  Even
though the Pirates didn't score another run in the inning, I could sense
the game might as well have already been over when the bottom of the ninth
rolled around and the first Houston batter came up.

Brad tried his best to will his team to score.  He clapped and yelled so
violently I had no choice but to remove my head from his shoulder; his
flailing limbs were making him an uncomfortable headrest.  He groaned
loudly with the crowd as the first two batters struck out, but continued to
hoot as the third batter, none other than Craig Biggio, the likeness on the
back of his ancient jersey, stepped in.  I thought it would only be fitting
if Biggio hit a home run and tied the game.  Maybe it would be a sign of
some sort.  A sign of what, I wasn't sure, but it didn't matter anyway,
because he grounded out to the short stop and ended the game.

"Come on," Brad said disgustedly, standing up quickly and pulling me along
the row behind him.  "We've got forty-thousand other people to beat
outside."  I didn't like our odds, but I let him drag me without protest.
I yawned sleepily, again wishing I hadn't been too excited to sleep last
night so I would be more awake now.  We quickly descended down the steps
and made our way out the tunnel we came in, streams of people on all sides
of us.  Brad gripped my hand even more firmly than he had earlier, except
this time I could tell he wasn't doing it to make me feel stupid, but
because he really thought it was necessary.  Every time we hit a stopping
point and the crowd was pressed together, he would reach out and take a
hold of my Astros jersey and crush me against him, so that nothing short of
a natural disaster could possibly separate us from each other.  Then the
pace picked up again and I found his hand, wishing we had to navigate our
way through suffocating mobs of people more often.

We were finally freed from the chaos and out on the street before he let go
of my hand, but I continued to grab a hold of the back of his jersey and
let him lead me around like I was a blind person.  I couldn't tell if he
noticed or not, because he didn't acknowledge it one way or the other.
When we came to an intersection and had to cross the street, he would dart
across and drag me behind him.  I was merely a very willing rag doll.

It was deathly quiet when we finally got inside his car.  For the last
several hours there had been a constant murmur, an ongoing background
humming that my ears had adjusted to.  Now, inside Brad's worn down Accord,
the world was shut out, and once again it was just the two of us.  I leaned
back in my seat and closed my eyes, resisting the urge to reach over and
close my hand around his again.  It was definitely something I could get
used to.

"That was an awesome game," he said, and his voice sounded strangely loud
now that he wasn't competing with thousands of others to be heard.  "Don't
get me wrong, I'm pissed.  I can't believe they got shut out again with
Clemens out there pitching his ass off, and I can't believe Lidge blew it,
but that was still a great game.  Did you have a good time?" he asked,
starting up the car and reversing out of our parking spot.

"Uh huh," I nodded, feeling incredibly sleepy now.  He was still talking,
rambling on about something or other because he always talked, and he was
good at it and I loved him for it, but I wasn't hearing him anymore.  I was
so thoroughly exhausted that I couldn't keep my eyes open, and I continued
to doze off while he went on.

"For Christ's sake, Zach," I heard him say.  "Didn't you get any sleep at
all last night?  It's barely even ten!"

But I was tired, too tired to care that this was our night together and I
was wasting it.  I woke up occasionally as we made our way through the
roads, but nothing fully registered until I realized we were parked in
front of a hotel.  I knew that meant I had to get out, but I didn't feel up
to the task.  I heard the car ding when Brad opened his door, and then the
clink of his keys as he pulled them out of the engine.  Then there was the
sound of his door slamming shut, and a few seconds later, the sound of my
door being opened.

"You're not sleeping out here in the car," Brad said, sounding amused at my
unexpected bout with narcolepsy.  "Come on, all we have to do is walk to
the lobby and then go to our room.  Maybe ride an elevator, you know, the
usual.  You can make it."

"Tired," I groaned grumpily, rolling out of the seat and standing
uncertainly on my feet, the world appearing hazy and unfamiliar.  I managed
to push my door closed, but that was all the energy I could muster.  Brad
drew me up alongside him, threw his arm around my neck, and pushed me
towards the front door, although I slowed us down considerably by dragging
my feet.

Inside, I heard Brad give the man at the counter his name, but very little
else registered with me as I leaned sleepily against him and waited for him
to move and signal that we had our key.  Instead I almost toppled over when
he did move, and I heard him sigh and reach back to pull me behind him.
When we were inside the elevator he hit the button for the third floor,
sighed again, and lifted me off the ground altogether, hoisting me up
against his shoulder as the elevator hummed.  I didn't fight his decision
to carry me, even though I didn't remember being carried anywhere within
the last five years.  Instead I hooked my arms around the back of his neck
and nearly fell asleep before the doors opened and we had reached our
floor.

Then we were in the hall, and he was lugging me down the corridor.  I
watched the carpet from my aerial view hanging on Brad's neck as he walked
slowly along the hallway, the simple pattern repeating itself over and over
again until we were finally at our door.  He slid the key in the lock,
pushed the door open with the side of his body I wasn't hanging off, and
then approached the bed and lowered me onto it.

"Yeah, there's only one bed," he said darkly, although I wasn't about to
comment on that, or anything else.  "And I don't want to get your usual
dizzying array of questions about why I got a one bed hotel room for me and
Sara."

"I don't think I'd need to ask," I mumbled quietly, my eyes already closed.

"Good," he said, but he sounded surprised that I didn't make a bigger deal
out of it.  "Are you going to sleep with your shoes on?" he asked after
standing over me for another couple of seconds.  If I hadn't already
started to fall into a deep sleep as he asked that question, my answer
would have been yes.


When I woke up in what I figured to be just a few hours later, I wasn't
wearing my shoes anymore, and I was nestled in safely underneath the
sheets.  To my left was a big lump under the covers, and I could hear a
steady breathing that told me Brad was every bit as out as I had been the
last few hours.

I could feel that my socks were still on, so I brought my feet out from
under the covers and tugged them off, balling them up and throwing them in
a corner of the room.  Naturally, Brad had not removed any articles of
clothing for me before tucking me in, so I quickly did away with my shorts
and threw them in the area I figured my balled up socks were.  I got up,
then, and felt my way around looking for the bathroom.  I stumbled towards
where I thought the door was until I found it, and then I disappeared
inside and flipped on the light switch.

My sleepy reflection greeted me as soon as my eyes adjusted to the sudden
brightness.  I adjusted the strands of hair that were sticking up on end,
rubbed my eyes a little, and then emptied my bladder again.  I was all set
to return to the comfortable bed next to Brad and sleep until morning when
I remembered my plan from earlier.  My heart automatically started
pounding, and a fresh tingle coursed through my body.  Without meaning to,
I had just woken myself up nearly all the way by the time I slid back under
the sheets.

Thoughts raced through me as I calculated my odds of success, my heart
beating all the while.  I stared up at the ceiling and pondered my
situation.  I knew that some people liked me; I mean, at least a couple of
girls found me attractive.  There was Nadia, and even Nadia's friend
Stacey.  I guessed I wasn't a bad looking kid, so that wasn't the issue.  I
began to pop my fingers while I deliberated, my heart rattling faster in my
chest with each passing second.  I really didn't think Brad was gay, and
that was probably what was scaring me the most about this plan I had
hatched.  No matter how good looking I might have been, I wasn't going to
succeed if Brad wasn't gay.  Add to that unlikely possibility the fact that
I was just thirteen, and what I was about to do was maybe the longest shot
of my life.  Why would Brad want me?

I was just a stupid little kid.  I was only an eighth grader to be.  I
hadn't even kissed anyone until a month ago, and even then I didn't really
kiss back.  I jacked off in my boxers and sometimes wore them afterwards
until Mom did the laundry.  I forgot to wash my hands after I took a piss
sometimes.  I hated taking showers and would probably only take one a week
if it were up to me.  I fell asleep in cars and had to be carried around
and tucked in bed, my lips were still sticky from cotton candy, and my
fingers had dried chocolate on them.

So why would Brad want me?  Why would anyone want me?  Maybe no one would.
Maybe even Nadia and Stacey thought I was cute, but if they knew everything
about me they'd be horrified.  Maybe if anyone ever did get exposed to all
my quirks and odd habits and shy smiles and continual blushing, they would
run and never look back.  Maybe not knowing when someone was joking would
haunt me for the rest of my life.  Was I always going to be like this?  Was
it always going to be so hard to feel comfortable with myself?  The only
person I felt really comfortable around was Brad.  I didn't think there was
much Brad didn't know about me, and he hadn't pushed me away.  If there was
one person in the world who would accept me for who I was, it was Brad.  I
looked over at his sleeping body in the dark, took a deep breath, and
snuggled up close to him.  It was time to put the knowledge gained through
my research to the test.  It was time to put my plan into action.