Page 53 of Bourbon Truths
I was a dead man walking the streets of New Orleans, a lifeless soul with no future, a fragmented and beaten down human with a passion to live a miserable life, serving a lifetime of repentance.
The crack of a ball against an aluminum bat shifted my thoughts to the tee-ball game. There was no baseball field, just a grass lot mapped with cones and bases, and lined with chairs of parents, cheering on their children. There were at least four fields in the park with the same setup, maximizing the park’s space for the growing little league the city offered the community.
A snack table flanked one side of the fields, where a group of moms took money in exchange for sports drinks and sunflower seeds.
Children’s laughter echoed through the park, owners walked their dogs, and parents tried to confine their littles ones who were supposed to be watching their older siblings play the simple game of baseball.
The park reeked of family, making me itch all over.
This was welcome torture.
The masochistic pain buried itself deep into my bones and radiated through my veins, reminding me once again that I was alive to feel such pain.
“Got you!” a little boy screamed in front of me, tagging his friend.
“No you didn’t. You got my shirt. That doesn’t count,” his friend replied.
“Your shirt is on you, so I got you.”
“Doesn’t count,” the boy who was not making a valid statement said.
“Does too,” the tagger fought.
“No it doesn’t,” the cheater replied.
“Fine,” the little boy said, stepping forward and punching his friend in the arm. “Got you now!”
Hell, a small smirk crossed my face from the genius move.
The other boy fell backward for a second and then regained his balance while holding on to his arm. His face raged and in an instant, they both took off running, yelling at each other the whole time.
The interaction made me think of all the times Jett and I had chased each other around during recess. We’d been from different classes in society, but that hadn’t stopped Jett from meeting me out on the playground and forming a bond that could never be broken.
We’d been through everything together, and even though we’d had our fights, our disagreements, there was always an underlining understanding that whatever happened, we would always have each other’s backs.
That pact had been prevalent in the last year. Jett had never left my side at the beginning of my boxing career. He’d been the driving force behind me, making sure I stayed true to myself. When I’d lost everything, been stripped of my career, he’d stood by me, believed in my innocence. When I had taken the life of another man, he’d covered up my guilt. He’d taken me in and provided shelter, a refuge for my contrition.
He stood by my side on days like today, when the urge to persecute myself weighed heavy on my shoulders.
“Do you know which field it’s on?” Jett asked, pulling up next to me and putting on his sunglasses.
“No,” I replied, looking around.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jett asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“I have to. This isn’t an option.”
“Why are you torturing yourself?”
I spoke as softly as I could over the uproarious cheers of the parents edging the fields’ sidelines.
“You can either walk with me to the field and stand with me, or you can leave. Questions are not welcome. I fucking do this because I want to. Deal with it.”
Without a word, Jett gave me a curt nod and followed me as I took off toward the fields, looking for the woman ingrained in my brain.
She had long brown hair that floated around her shoulders. Her skinny frame was not hard to see since she was tall for a woman. Her pointed shoulders and knobby knees were also easy to find, but it was the dark circles under her eyes I could never forget.
Linda Duncan, mother of one, wife of none.
