Page 20 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“But you were playing on the TV. I was watching it. My handsome boy. You went three for three and picked two people off base. . .”

“Good night, Marty. Thanks for calling,” I say as we pass by him.

“And I was so proud of you I thought I’d go and celebrate and wait for you to join me . . . and here you are!” She throws her hands up, her happiness sincere, as I usher her inside the cab of my truck.

We drive the quarter mile to her trailer in silence, but her smile remains wide. There’s nothing else I can do other than squeeze the hand she’s placed in mine, so giddy that I came home to her.

“You were watching a replay of one of my games on the DVR again,” I tell her gently as I push open the unlocked door of her mobile home to find the TV on and the lights blazing.

“I was?” she asks, as if it’s complete news to her, and a small part of me wonders if it’s the alcohol making her forget, or if something is wrong with her mind. Both options scare the shit out of me.

“Yes, you were. I wish you’d let me move you out of here, Momma.” I look around the double-wide mobile home she refuses to leave. The furniture is threadbare, the new pieces I’ve bought her returned time and again, and the wall opposite of us is lined with stacks of boxes filled with brand new things I’ve given her she refused to open.

“I don’t need anything. I love it here,” she murmurs as she sits on the edge of her bed and I wonder if she really does or she just believes her own lies. It takes me only a minute to find the makeup wipes and remove the paint from her face.

“There’s my girl.” I smile when she looks up at me, face bare, lips still in a smile to match mine. “So much prettier without all that gunk.”

“A lady likes gunk, East.”

“I know. I know.” I take her shoes off, one by one. “I could move you near me. It would be so much nicer and safer for you, and I’d be able to keep an eye on you.”

“Not gonna happen. I’m not gonna leave here. He’ll come back for me some day, and I want to make sure he knows where I am when he does . . . much the same way you know where to find me each time.”

“Who, Momma? Who is going to come back for you?” I reiterate the same question I’ve asked countless times over the years.

“The love of my life.” Her voice is dreamy when she says it, and the sound tugs on my heart. What is it like to hold out hope for someone for this many years?

“And who’s that?” I ask again, knowing she won’t tell me, just as she never has in the past.

“Some things children aren’t supposed to know,” she says with a laugh. Her eyes are tired, but her smile remains. “You are always so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re talking nonsense now. It’s time for you to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Are you gonna leave me?” she asks, voice wavering in panic.

“No. You know I’ll never leave you. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

I help to pull the covers over her, wipe her graying hair off her face, and stare at her for a few minutes as her smile slowly fades into sleep.

My sigh is heavy as I turn off the television, the lights, and then sink down on the lumpy couch she won’t let me replace. Pulling the blanket she made from all my various team jerseys up to my chin, I listen for the soft rattle of her breath and wonder how many more years I’m going to allow myself to continue to do this.

“Night, Momma,” I whisper like I used to when I was a little boy. And yet, this time I know no one is going to answer.

I’m the parent now.

Even when most days I still feel like the child.

“Faster. Faster,” I shout as I watch pure male perfection move across the field.

Honed muscles ripple with pristine performance. His grunt echoes off the empty plastic seats around us. His cleats hit the base with a thump of sound.

When I click the stopwatch, I’m more than impressed with his time. “Not bad,” I muse as I watch him from behind my mirrored lenses and wait for him to trot back over.

“Are you trying to kill me? What did I do to piss you off?” He pants the questions and then lifts a bottle and squeezes some water into his mouth.

“No and nothing,” I answer as I hold up the stopwatch so he can see the display. “That’s an impressive time.”

He grunts in response as he swallows more water. “Not bad. But not my best. Are you going to explain what running bases has to do with rehabbing my arm?”