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Audible Audio
First published April 11, 2023
"Why?"
"Why what?" Jonah asked. "Why do I love you?"
"Well. Yes."
Jonah gave him a look of some confusion, more amusement. "But why would I not? Of course I love you." He spoke as though it were axiomatic. I am Jonah, therefore I love Ben. And the converse would be true, Ben recalled from distant memories of arithmetical logic. I am Ben, therefore I love Jonah.
Jake takes out his journal, inscribes a horizontal line under his earlier entry for the day. Hotel room is great: good view, good bed. Nervous about my start. Better now that . . . Be honest. Erase nothing . . . now that Alex held my hand. A strangely vulnerable thing to write, even in a book full of his deepest anxieties. That he was calmed by the simple contact of their palms and Alex’s slight smile as he pointed something out on screen and his unwavering assurance that they could actually do this. Jake feels coated in that assurance now, like a thin but unmistakable armor against the world that he can’t quite bring himself to name.
“Not a big deal.”
“It kind of is.”
“Anyone would have done it.”
“No, they wouldn’t.” Jake lets out an audible breath. “This is how it’s gonna be for the rest of my life. That’s the hardest part – that it might not get fixed.”
A strand of Jake’s hair has spilled onto his forehead. Lines of tension radiate around his eyes, like he’s bracing for Alex to kiss him on the cheek, to tell him that this isn’t going to work, to leave.
Alex brushes his hair away, kisses the skin at his temple. Doesn’t move. “Okay.”
Jake’s lips curve slightly. “Okay?”
Alex tries to think of what to say, though it’s hard to articulate. That Jake is how he is. That Alex has loved him for so long that he’s forgotten what not loving him is like.
At his apartment, he grabs his journal when he’s in bed and flips to a blank page. Didn’t give up any runs today. A technical truth. The photo thing with Alex was funny. Especially to the bullpen, though guys who sit around for all but one inning of a game tend to be easy to amuse.
Alex loves me, and I love him.
There is it, in plain letters, ones he can’t – won’t – erase, the simple fact of his adult life condensed to two phrases.
“I guess at some point in my career, stuff started to feel finite. The number of late-night flights I want to take, the number of times I can get hit in the balls and still field the next inning. The number of games I have left in me to play.
“I think, if you love something, you learn to set all that stuff aside. That’s the thing I didn’t know the last time. How to love something like that. How much work that kind of love takes. What you’ll do to keep it.”
Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best intentions do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.
He's heard stories about the Elephants Coliseum that are apparently true - its peeling paint, its smell like the alley behind a bar. Kind of punk rock.
He's handsome for a straight guy and about as threatening as a glas of skim milk.
"This is exciting." He seems sincere. It makes Alex wonder if he ever got stuffed in a locker, though, given his size, his status as an ace-in-the-making, probably not. People probably find his enthusiasm endearing. Then again people find golden retrievers endearing.
He knows Jake told him things, but mostly Alex remembers that wide-open feeling of how much they wanted. How sincerely they believed that the game was unkind, sure, but that unkindness would never come for them.
His suitcase is already sitting by the door, packed. In his carry-on, he stashes his necklace, his headphones, his sense of uncertainty and his greater one of hope - that for once, things might work out. He's not sure which is heavier as he hauls his luggage to his truck, scanning himself for any twinge in his elbow.
What else is there to say? That they're linked, inextricably, and have been for the better part of their adult lives.
Alex tries to think of what to say, though it's hard to articulate. That Jake is how he is. That Alex has loved him for so long that he's forgotten what not loving him is like.
A calm comes over him, an assurance like the tap of Alex's knuckles against his, like he could be in a ballfield like in any other city, with a half-cracked home plate and memories worn into the base paths. Like he's fully housed within his body, himself to the tips of his fingers and ends of his hair.
He's here, so he's here, in a continuous humming present, the game slowing until in matches the steady beat of his heart. Alex set up sixty feet away, like his shoulders could carry the world.