Dirty Curve

“Oh, yeah.” She sighs. “He did.”

“Mrs. Cruz—”

Her sad smile comes up to mine. “Please, call me Olivia.”

Nodding, I continue, “Olivia, those are good things.”

“They are, but I never really stopped to wonder why he did it, and now I understand.” Her eyes mist over, but she looks back to Bay, seeking that warmth, and Bailey doesn’t disappoint.

Her little palms come up, gently tapping at Olivia’s face, pulling a tender laugh from the woman.

“Tobias was working for something he thought he’d find if he achieved what his brother had.” Her blue eyes curve my way. “Recognition.”

Unsure of what to say, I simply sit and listen for more.

“We’d have barbecues and neighbors, or my husband’s coworkers would come over, and we’d tell them how Talon’s English essay won an award, but we never thought to mention how that same month, Tobias tried out for the freshman baseball team, and how thirty minutes into the very first day of tryouts, the varsity coach came over to watch him, offering him a spot on his roster that very same day.”

A reminiscent smile covers her lips. “He was so excited, kept saying how he was the only freshman on the team and there hadn’t been anyone his age on the varsity team in years. He had the biggest smile, so excited to tell us all about it, and you know what I did?” Her nostrils flare as she fights her emotions, and I’m almost nervous for her to share.

She swallows, her gaze falling to her lap in shame. “I told him to keep his voice down, that Talon was busy writing his admissions essay in the other room and couldn’t be disturbed. I-I gave him a twenty-dollar bill and told him to go for Mangonada’s, but not to spoil his dinner.” Her tears come then, but she quickly looks to the sky to blink them away. “I didn’t even say, ‘here, go celebrate, I’m proud, son.’ I just pushed him out the door and went and peeked in on Talon.”

My chest aches for the boy she’s describing, not unlike the man I’ve come to know.

I judged him wrong at first. It’s not that he didn’t care about school, because he does. He just struggles no matter the approach he takes and it seems he’s tried many. When he felt as if he failed, he pushed his main focus into his passion, something he knew he was great at.

But does it really matter?

If he’s driven to do well in school in order to do what he loves on the field, is it even important to remember why he works hard to keep his grades up? He does keep them up and that’s what counts. He’s not failing. He’s not on the verge of dropping out.

He does what he has to do. Period.

I assumed he didn’t care, but now I know that’s false. It’s like he shared with me yesterday. Avix took his hotshot title and did what they could to spin him into a hot mess. He simply accepted what he couldn’t change, that the world would see him how they wished and no achievement of his would change that.

It didn’t at home, with the two people who loved him most in the world, so why would it here, on a campus with thousands upon thousands of strangers?

Honestly, it’s almost as if he doesn’t take himself seriously at times, like he laughs when others do because that’s his role as placed upon him by outsiders who don’t really know him.

He is Tobias Cruz, ‘The Playboy Pitcher.’ An all-star athlete with the dirtiest curve in the game, future MLB gold and a hall of fame legend.

He is baseball.

God, he is so much more.

Olivia clears her throat, taking a moment to tickle Bailey’s belly while I nod and thank the waitress as she fills two mugs with hot coffee.

Adding a load of creamer, I sit back in my chair, enjoying the warm beverage before Bailey is ready to come back into my arms.

“The fighting started not long after that,” his mother shares next. “I realize now that was only for attention too, but every time we had to pick him up at school or the park or take him home early from a tournament because he got kicked off the field for something or another, the first thing that would fly out of my mouth would be something along the lines of ‘why can’t you behave like your brother did ...’”

“Your son loves you, Olivia,” I whisper, unsure of what else to say. “He talks about your cooking and even makes what he calls your ‘famous recipes’ sometimes. You know he’s helping an older couple in town build a deck at their home?”

Her smile is pleased. “Is he?”

I nod. “He said if his dad hadn’t shown him how, he wouldn’t know what to do.”