TheBanyanTree: Game Over

[R J Fernalld]

Back home, in small town Maine, the field is covered with old beer cans and
dandelions as I write this. I learned something today...baseball is not a
solid foundation for a father/daughter relationship. It was all we ever had
and I thought it was enough. I tried hard to make it enough.
 
I tried for too many years, and now I am done.
 
Mama died in '97 and he cried through the funeral like a sniveling child
wondering who now would feed him. They had been married forty plus years.
Within weeks...weeks...he was in the arms of another woman. His string of
lies to his children became increasingly chilling and cruel. He drew a line
in the sand as we wept beside Mama's newly closed grave...'accept me with
this woman or else'.
 
Batter up. I tired. I tried to get the others to try.
 
All this man and I ever had was baseball from the time I was old enough to
wish he loved me. He didn't love me, so much was certain and he never would.
But children cry themselves to sleep wishing, thinking of new ways to please

I remember the nights I drowned, wishing.
 
Strike one.
 
But we had baseball. I learned, as children are wont to do, to love
something he loved. I saw the excitement he knew for the game and wanted to
see him sparkle because of me, even if it was only because I could talk the
game. I didn't realize then that being alive without a penis in his world
made me less.
 
I know now, but then I tried. For all my youth I tried. No balls, two
strikes.
 
People should never tie four year olds to chairs and hit them. I didn't know
that until I was ten. Until I was twelve I didn't know that he only married
Mama because I was growing inside her. I didn't know it wasn't my fault that
he
was unhappy till I was thirty. I never was honest with myself that he didn't
 love me or anyone but himself till Mama died when I was forty two.
 
Strike three... yet I still tried.
 
I gave ground, gave in, gave quarter, gave compassion, gave my weakening
body, gave and gave and gave. Selfish demands for respect and venomous lies
were my recompense.
 
The umpire whispered...'you're out!'
 
It was over. Something in me finally stopped trying. I quit talking baseball
with the selfish old man and his harridan wife. I saw clearly the killing
blow of neglect he dealt Mama, and the black heart and fangs of his new
woman. Mama's children were orphans. I saw the bloody thread that runs
through the misadventures of my life and knew his neglect was the source.
His hatred and my pain would no longer hold me hostage except that I swore I
would hold on to hating him till he was dead for Mama's sake.
 
After all that, you see, baseball lovers, I was still trying....hoping for
extra innings. But no more.
 
Finally, yes finally, tonight the field is empty. The bases aren't loaded,
the pitcher's lost his edge and the weeds cover the outfield. The players
are gone, the diamond doesn't sparkle and stealing home is now impossible.
The umpire's quit. Game over.
 
copyright R J Fernalld 2004
 
 
A friend is someone who will bail you out of jail. 
A best friend is the one sitting beside you saying, 
'Damn that was fun.'