A Life of Inches (7 page)

With a few hours left until I’m supposed to meet my two best friends at the park, I decide I need time to think things through. I forget entering the restaurant and head to the deli by myself.

Chapter Eleven

A Couple Hours Later

Hopping in the car, I flip on the radio to hear Tony Drizzle, the local radio sports-talk guru, getting Cleveland amped for the return of our beloved football team.

“College football success is measured in vastly different ways than it is in the NFL. If there are any suspicions of one’s character, any bad grades, unfulfilled promises in big games, or even the shadow of a doubt regarding an ability to handle the big time, then you are branded a failure.”

He fails to mention the effects of getting stabbed in the shoulder and being expelled from school, but I know all about that firsthand.

“Tonight, a new class of rookies will be making their NFL debuts as the Cleveland Browns play the first of four preseason games. We’ll be joined after the break with one of them, rookie left tackle Dennis ‘The Menace’ Kramer, to discuss his unique path from college into the NFL. You’re listening to Tony Drizzle right here on your home for sports talk, WCLE.”

The familiar smell of burgers on the grill welcomes me as I approach the park. Picnickers in Cleveland know how to enjoy the last few remaining warm days of fall. I head toward the basketball court with no idea what to admit to Woodie or Molly about my recently discovered secrets. I crave a simple game of HORSE with my friends. I just want to enjoy what this day could mean for Woodie. To be here, watching him get the call up to the Major Leagues, would mean a lot to all three of us.

I stretch out my arms and test my shoulder with a few sets of circles. Woodie fidgets with a radio on the far side of the court. As I step toward him, he lobs a basketball my way without even acknowledging my presence. The instant the ball touches my fingertips, I’m ready to play. I push up the court toward Woodie as he tunes the radio to WCLE’s game coverage. Just as I pass the half-court line, Woodie pivots. Without making eye contact, He sizes up my advance and assumes a defensive pose while I feel out his technique.

His strong build might intimidate strangers, but I know just how to handle Woodie on the court. The cold air chills the sweat escaping above my temples.

I juke left.

I cross the ball between my legs and then advance. Right now, I don’t need a new transmission in my car, my apartment isn’t dirty, and I haven’t gone four years without a date because on this court, nothing else matters. My breath remains steady, my eyes laser-focused, and the fear emanating off Woodie betrays his unease. Smart man, indeed, to be scared. At this moment, I can beat anyone. I spin, push forward near the foul line, and chuck up an ugly skyhook. Nervous to put extra strain on my shoulder, I don’t put my usual spin on the ball, but it falls through just the same.

Still no words are exchanged as Woodie takes the ball out beyond the arch and dribbles toward me. Though basketball was never his game, his hands are quick. He fakes an advance and I’m almost pulled free of my shoes.

As I beat myself up over the sloppy play, Woodie resets. I snatch at the ball knowing Woodie won’t bite at an amateur move like that. Before I regain my balance Woodie shifts his weight to the right. This time, once he bulldozes forward, he doesn’t stop.

The radio broadcast announces the opening kick-off as we continue sparring, oblivious to the world around us. Though we aren’t going 100 percent, neither of us is giving up any easy points either.

An hour passes. We don’t speak. We just play.

Winded, sore, thirsty, and feeling the best I’ve felt in a long time, I make eye contact with Woodie.

Breaking the purity of our game and the moment, he shatters our silence. “Let’s take a breather.”

He must know after all these years that there’s no way I’m even close to quitting. I raise a challenging eyebrow rather than answer aloud, a little more winded than I realized.

He waves me over to his radio. “Come on, I need to check my phone to see if my agent called and I want to talk to you anyway. Which drink you want, green apple or grape?”

Catching my breath, I grab the purple sports drink my friend offers. “All right, tough guy. Just remember that in the MLB the games continue for nine innings, whether you’re tired or not.”

Woodie snorts as he wraps his arm around me. It feels good to see him happy. For years his parents pulled at each other, with Woodie stuck in the middle. In school I was always impressed how he handled not only the regular everyday pressures of balancing school, baseball practice and homework, but also the added stress his parents brought to the table.

Woodie downs his whole bottle in one gulp. “Well, I want to be somewhere familiar and comfortable, surrounded by the two people I care about, if I’m called.”

His shoulder length hair, weighed down with sweat, doesn’t move an inch as he speaks. “Who knows if I’m headed to Oakland today, but if I am, I owe it to you more than anyone, Ryan.”

“I’m stoked to be here for you, Woodster.”

“I know that, trust me, I do. You’ve always been there for me. That’s sort of why I wanted to talk to you before Molly arrived, so I’ll make this quick.”

He points toward the parking lot as a car we both recognize pulls in. “I know how you feel about Molly. And I know that you know how I feel about her. What you don’t know is that she and I have gone on a few dates recently. Things are moving fast with all of this trade talk, so today I’m going to ask her to move in with me.”

I raise my hands to signal caution. “Maybe you should—”

Woodie cuts me off. “Listen, before you say anything. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I’m hoping for your support. You’re my best friend, man. I’m about to rush out onto a paper thin limb, and I’d be a lot more confident knowing you’re around in case it cracks.”

I’d love to crack the happiness from his face, but my jaw is clenched so tight now that I might crack my own.

Molly approaches from the far side of the court carrying more Gatorade. She’s still too far away to hear me whisper under the radio commentary, “Molly’s been seeing someone.”

Woodie’s cheeks blush. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry we kept it quiet so long.”

Confused, I mumble, “You know you’re crazy to try this without our good luck charm, right?”

A quick moment of panic flashes across Woodie’s face, but when he sees my wink, he grabs the golden catcher’s mitt. “You son of a—”

Before he finishes his insult, however, he turns to greet Molly. “Well, lookie what we have here.”

Molly passes by Woodie, squeezing his hand as she does so. She looks as gorgeous as ever, wearing a pair of worn out jogging shorts and a T-shirt from a charity event she helped organize. Between breast cancer, cystic fibrosis, and poverty around Cleveland, the three of us have wardrobes full of race T-shirts.

Molly giggles. “You boys sweating out those last few shots from Stubby’s?”

“Don’t remind me, please.” I stroke my forehead for humorous effect, although the alcohol was sweated out at the gym before the sun came up. During the season, neither Woodie nor I get much time to cut loose, but I think we caught up for years of missed opportunities last night.

Orange and red leaves stir around the park as a chilly wind picks up. Just like they always say, if you don’t like the weather in Cleveland, wait fifteen minutes.

Molly stretches her legs. “So besides waiting for the best b-ball player to show up, what have you guys been talking about?”

“Well, I was telling Ryan that whether I get called up or traded, I’m still in debt for what he did for me back in college.”

I shoot the ball. “Forget about it.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to forget about it? I flew off the handle, man, and if it wasn’t for your sacrifice…” He sighs. “Let’s face it, if you hadn’t stepped in and gotten hurt, someone would’ve taken you two years earlier in the draft. You’d have made a major league club, rather than needing to face me in the minors, and...” He trails off, lips trembling, as his emotions get the best of him.

Woodie has a way of telling it like it is. Hell, I’ve dreamed, each and every night, of things working out the way he described. Whatever paths we’ve taken to get here, the bottom line is that we both know he’s the better athlete and one lucky son of a bitch on top of that. No one knows for sure what else might’ve happened, even if the fight hadn’t turned out the way it did. I’ll admit that during the baseball draft that year, I spent the whole day alone, despondent.

I put my hand on my best friend’s shoulder. “I’ve had two chances thus far, and, yeah, you could say it all hasn’t panned out for me just yet, but it will. When my next opportunity comes I’ll grab it, no matter the cost, and I’ll never let it go.”

I keep my voice calm, but as I speak, the fragments of memory that weren’t beaten out of me that fateful night replay in my mind. While Woodie and Molly snuck out the back door, I got unceremoniously dumped off at the campus health center.

Molly speaks up, snapping me back to the present. “Anyway, while I have you two here, I wanted to tell you some news, face to face.”

Woodie takes a deferring bow. “Well, ladies first, but I have something I want to get off my chest as well.”

The duo look at me. “Hey, I’m just here for basketball. I have nothing to say except, get it over with so we can play.”

Molly giggles and Woodie grins, but I see his worry-lines haven’t disappeared completely.

Molly nods to Woodie. “You first.”

Woodie’s sweating worse now than during our basketball game. “Well, Molly, you and I have known each other a longtime now.”

I prepare my best faux surprised expression.

Woodie takes a step toward Molly and offers her his hand. “I bought a house out west, and whether or not I get traded today, I want you to come with me.”

Molly flicks her gaze my way, cheeks reddening, and for a quick moment, I hope she says yes, just so I don’t have to subdue an enraged Woodie again.

Molly’s eyes rise above me and search the trees. “Ryan, I want you to know that everything I’ve told you is true, but I need to do this move for me.”

My faux surprise is replaced by genuine shock.

Woodie looks between us, realizing he has missed a few of our private conversations. “Ryan, man, I just hope you don’t think I did this now to rub it in your face.”

Frozen in place, I stay quiet.

Woodie wraps his arm around Molly and pulls her close to him. “We’ve been arranging trips to see each other over the last year, and this is just the natural progression of things. If I get traded, I’ll be leaving as early as tonight, so I had to ask now.”

Molly seems to have just noticed something of immense importance on her shoes.

I ask, “Will Mitch be going with you guys?”

Her footwear forgotten, Molly regards me with confusion, anger, and betrayal.

My friend’s brow furrows. “Mitch who? The gym guy?

“Molly, do you want to tell him or should I?”

Her shoulders slump and she slinks out of Woodie’s embrace.

Woodie asks, “What is it you want to tell me, Molls?”

To her credit, she doesn’t hesitate or try to deny anything. “For the past few months, I’ve also been seeing Mitch.”

Woodie’s nostrils flare, his eyes dart back and forth, and his upper body shifts back and forth as if containing his anger causes discomfort.

Molly slows down her speech, an attempt to calm the situation down. “I did it to appease my mother.”

“You’ve been dating him for months?”

Molly nods.

Woodie snaps, “Call him right now and say it’s
over
.”

“It’s not that simple, Woodie. He contributes to several campaigns that mean a lot to me.”

Woodie jabs a finger into Molly’s collar as he speaks each word. “Don’t you dare.”

As usual, Molly isn’t willing to back down to anyone. “Woodie, listen, I don’t owe you anything. I won’t sit here and get talked to like a three-year-old by some aggressive, selfish jerk who can’t control himself when things don’t go his way. I like Mitch and you don’t own me.”

Without warning, he lunges toward her. His arms are out, but his palms are open, as if he’s trying to hold her, not hurt her. Molly uses her quickness to evade his advance. Woodie regains his balance, takes another step toward her, but again she retreats toward her car.

Breathing now, a good sign, Woodie slumps his shoulders and searches the trees for the right words. “Molly, don’t go. I’m sorry. I just want, I mean, today is supposed to be—”

Molly still has her guard up as she turns. “Woodie, I know what today means for you, and I’m so proud of you, but I can’t be here right now. Not like this.”

Keys in hand, she rushes toward the parking lot. I grab Woodie’s arm and apply enough pressure to let him know I’m serious, but enough restraint that he’ll know I’m also sorry at how things turned out.

Woodie relaxes, then raises his left hand, and thrusts his elbow down into my shoulder. The entire left side of my body screams in pain, goes numb, and then erupts in agony again, all within a few seconds. Woodie shakes free and darts after Molly.