Paint Black

by Bolado, Baltazar

  Her eyes remained steady. “Five hundred thousand dollars,” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “Half a million a year. Just one year,” said Ryan, wistfully.

  How and where they could use the money inundated his mind. Little Mitch’s education and future, and Uncle Mitch’s health care came to mind.

  Stephanie’s creamy smooth face looked far away in thought. “Yes, we could use the money,” she replied, softly. Closing her eyes, she listened to Ryan’s voice, as she dreamed of how the money would change their life.

  $500, 000.

  “Just one time—one fucking time—I want to have some coin in my pocket and not be constantly worrying about things. Not about bills, food, shelter, fuck around money—just one time, I don’t want to have to worry about anything. You know?”

  Silence filled the air.

  “I’m sick of how my life’s turned out,” Ryan announced, absent of emotion.

  Guilt spread over him. Not many people had the love Stephanie and he shared, nor a beautiful, healthy kid.

  He wanted more.

  “I’m thankful for my family. We have a healthy kid. But dammit!” His voice sounded like thunder. “What’s wrong with wanting to enjoy life and not suffer through it?”

  With my heart

  The rich, blue skies of Brownsville, Oklahoma made him dream of heaven. Growing up near the Red River gave him a childhood dominated by fishing, outdoor adventure, and baseball. Often, days began before sunrise and didn’t end until late into the night.

  Brownsville provided his parents a place to raise their son in a sheltered environment.

  Ryan considered it an advantage to comprehend at a young age that the world didn’t owe him anything. The hard working ethics of his parents, and the people who resided in the small town, allowed him a black and white mentality not fearful of sacrifice and struggle.

  In fact, at times it seemed he welcomed struggle.

  “You’re right, Stephanie, they owe us—me. Doesn’t my loyalty mean something?” Ryan’s voice, even and sedate, kept hidden the inner turmoil swirling within him. “I’ve worked hard all these years and this rookie pitcher is given an opportunity they never gave me? Okay. All right. It’s life.” A steely glint permeated deep within his pupils.

  Stephanie’s hand reached out to take his in hers.

  “I’ll take on the challenge,” said Ryan.

  Hearing his declaration didn’t surprise Stephanie. She’d felt all these years the intense fire residing in her man’s heart. “You’re not doing it just because the Panthers did this to you… right?”

  Before he answered, Ryan thought back to the small town of Brownsville. The painful memories filled his mind. “I’m taking on this challenge to prove to all those who doubted me all these years.”

  Ryan didn’t talk about his days growing up along Red River's watershed often.

  Not everything he recalled sat well with her. Most of the stories he told her about Brownsville brought her warmth and joy. However, some angered her.

  Stephanie adored being married to Ryan. Ryan’s physical strengths left her breathless and she readily admitted it to him. She’d never met a man so gentle of spirit having the capabilities he displayed on the baseball field. Most men who possessed his internal sensitivities were not athletic, nor physically strong.

  Sensitivities seemingly overwhelmed and pushed him down into a pit of depression.

  “Honey? Are you okay?”

  Exhaling, Ryan nodded in the dark. “I’m okay.” Taking a deep breath, he went on. “Did I ever tell you about growing up in Brownsville?”

  “Yes. But I love listening to you tell your growing up stories.”

  “Springtime.” In the dark, a far off look came over him. “I can still remember how great the air smelled in springtime. Man, being young in Oklahoma, baseball and summer right around the corner…” Ryan shook his head. “Nothing beats those days.” He squeezed Stephanie’s hand gently.

  She pressed her body next to his.

  Ryan went back to his storytelling. “There were the old buildings downtown. I always imagined everything went back to the days of the Choctaw. I went everywhere and always felt safe. Oklahoma’s been home to me my whole life. But… there’s been times…”

  “Times?”

  “The doubters… you know. People who I trusted and believed in, doubting me all through my pitching career.” Ryan’s eyes contained the hardness of steel. “I didn’t know it at first. I was strong. Most of the time my fastball could beat the speed of any bat. Then my arm trouble happened and I started seeing doubt in people’s faces. I heard the whispering behind my back. Mom and Dad told me not to mind them. To forget them. They didn’t know me.” Ryan shook his head. “But when you grow up in a small town…” Letting out his breath, his pause further emphasized his anger. His voice came out quieter, even as his conviction took on a focused quality. “I told myself right then I would make them eat their words. I would show them what I had inside.”

  Stephanie placed her head on his chest and listened to the beating of his heart.

  “In my senior year we went to state. The past three years we’d been the most talented team in the state. Hell, pound for pound, I’ve never seen a more talented team at any level. Yet, every time less talented teams beat us in the playoffs. We’d lost because we’d choked. We were the better team until we faced teams who weren’t afraid of playing in big games.” Ryan spat out the words, unable to suppress his fury. Even years later, his anger remained fresh in his heart. “My freshman year I didn’t pitch in the playoffs. In my sophomore year, I hurt my arm. My junior year we lost the semifinal game before I could pitch in the championship game. I swore my senior year would be different.”

  Another long silence ensued.

  Stephanie dared not intrude on his pain, choosing to lay still and wait patiently for him to share his anguish.

  Ryan resumed, in a calmer voice. “Baby, I don’t judge people or hold flaws in their character against them. We’ve all got our demons to battle. What angered me is why they judged me. Because I never lost a big game in my career, because I spoke out against their choking in big games, they judged me.”

  Once again, a heavy silence permeated the dark bedroom. Stephanie lay quietly—her unfaltering loyalty giving strength to Ryan.

  “I know I can win this side-by-side against Dalton Young.” His voice trembled slightly. “Not because I’m better than him. Hell, his changeup is almost harder than my fastball. I’ve never won a big game because I was better than the opponent. I won because of my heart. You win big games because of what’s inside here.” Ryan pointed to his heart. “My heart won the big games. I’ll beat him… with my heart.”

  Ryan squeezed his wife’s hand so tightly Stephanie almost cried out.

  Ryan softened his grip. “My father and mother… were the greatest examples any son could have. I never heard them complain,” said Ryan. “Growing up, the thing I remember most isn’t the hard times—it’s how they never gave up and worked harder, and managed to come through everything.” He stroked Stephanie’s hair, recalling the days of his youth. Respect and emotion caused him to hug Stephanie. “I don’t have a choice but to keep fighting and trying to make the big leagues. I can’t quit.”

  The darkness hid her look of apprehension. Stephanie hugged Ryan tightly. Not knowing what else to say, she said, “I believe in you, Darling. We’ll do it together. I’ll go to all of our home games. Whenever, you start feeling weak, look up into the stands and little Mitch and I will help you.”

  5th Inning

  I don't like to sound egotistical, but every time I stepped up to the plate with a bat in my hands, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the pitcher.

  —Rogers Hornsby

  My pitching philosophy is simple—keep the ball away from the bat.

  —Satchel Paige

  The great American game should be an unrelenting war of nerves.

  —Ty Cobb


  “How is he doing, Momma?”

  A slight hesitation on the other end of the phone, perhaps to put on a strong front.

  “They say he’s stable, Dear.”

  Guilt covered his voice. “I should be there”

  “Ryan,” Aunt Dorothy said, “he loves the game as you do. This world kills us all. But we must never allow it to kill what we love the most. Other than you and me, he loves baseball. Please don’t take that away from him.”

  Ryan felt powerless. “Take care of him Momma. Please.”

  Setting the phone down, his eyes moved to the small container of pills sitting on the bedside table. It took all of his strength not to reach for them.

  I’ll do it. Not some drug.

  Then why do I keep them?

  The conflict within Ryan left him feeling powerless.

  God, take care of my Dad. Please.

  A couple weeks later, in the hotness of midsummer, his cell phone woke him.

  “Hello,” answered Ryan, groggily.

  “Ryan?”

  Aunt Dorothy sounded haggard and pained.

  Since Uncle Mitch’s illness, he’d made it a habit to check in on his aunt during road trips.

  Ryan instantly sat up in the bed. “What is it, Ma?”

  “Come home, Son. Please come home. Hurry.”

  Oklahoma’s sunny skies didn’t match the grief besetting his organs as they drove the two hundred, twenty-six miles home. Thinking it best to rent a car, Ryan and Stephanie packed a couple of quickly readied suitcases and set off for home. Somberness flooded over them in the car, Ryan and Stephanie hardly speaking the entire way.

  The road took on the form of a serpent, coiling and twisting through the countryside, until at last Ryan began to see the familiar signs of home.

  Parking the car alongside others on the driveway, Ryan mechanically got out and walked up the steps of the porch and through the front door of the two-story house.

  Aunt Dorothy’s features appeared gaunt. Surrounded by friends and family, she forced a smile.

  Ryan rushed to embrace her.

  “He fought so hard,” she whispered to him.

  “Ssshhh,” Ryan tried to console her. “Don’t talk right now, Ma.”

  Gently breaking free from Ryan, Aunt Dorothy embraced Stephanie, and then began to look over the baby who slept peacefully in his car seat. Smiling warmly at Stephanie, she said, “He’s getting big, Dear.”

  Daylight melted away and darkness descended upon the two-story house. After the well-wishers and visitors departed, the house became quieter. Ryan took the opportunity to talk to his Aunt on a more personal level.

  “How are you holding up, Ma?”

  “I’m better now. You’re here,” she replied, her voice weak but her smile strong.

  “I thought he would recover.”

  “We all did. The past few weeks he started talking about coming back home. He even talked about traveling to see one of your games.” Aunt Dorothy looked down slightly. When she raised her head there were tears in her eyes. “He worried about being a burden to us.”

  “He wasn’t a burden… to me.”

  “I told him, Honey. But your father, he kept his pride to the end.”

  Later, in the privacy of his room, Ryan lay awake listening to Stephanie’s slow breathing as she slept. Little Mitch slept quietly in the pack ’n play next to the bed.

  Chaotic and stressful, the days of the wake and the funeral allowed Ryan to release his pain in the solitude of his mind. Tears merged with memories; he celebrated his uncle’s life and the powerful impact of his spirit.

  Originating out of his pain came the most profound earnestness within Ryan’s spirit. He desired to right all the wrongs in his uncle’s life and correct all of the hard luck events he perceived relegated his own sacrifice to the same ill-fated end. His lungs breathed out his pain and anguish.

  All of his life he’d dreamed and not achieved. Now, this once, he hoped to accomplish the visions and imaginings he’d witnessed within his uncle’s heart and felt inside his own bowels.

  Oh Uncle Mitch! Ryan’s tormented spirit cried out to the heavens. I seek to gain the dream you most prized and coveted. I cannot fail. I mustn’t let my pain stop me. My arm must hold up.

  Dirt shoveled on his dad’s coffin unleashed a newfound strength within him and he recommitted to winning the side-by-side contest and finally making it to the major leagues.

  For both of us, Uncle Mitch. Through me, we’ll pitch in the majors. For you and Aunt Dorothy I’ll pitch in the major leagues.

  “I loved your father,” Roy Peterman said to him quietly, his head lowered out of respect. Roy let out a pained breath. “He cared a lot about you… and Dorothy. Once, a long time ago, he told me what he wanted for you and your life.” The newspaperman smiled weakly. “You were all he ever wanted in a son.”

  Two pains

  Now there existed two pains.

  The pain in his arm came as a voracious lion ripping his flesh mercilessly. Savage brutality mauled him on every single pitch.

  The other pain proliferated and pushed throughout his subconscious.

  He combated the awful physical ache by pausing between each pitch and relocating his release point, slightly. While this would ultimately destroy his arm, Ryan cared not, evaluating his pitching career a secondary concern.

  Combating the pain in his heart was another matter. He possessed no cure for its dreadful pulsing. He couldn’t adjust the thought path of his mind like he adjusted the path and conclusion of his pitching mechanics. To bury a man whose first and last thought hinged on his wellbeing left him sad and angry.

  Since a small child, the vision of his uncle’s greatness inspired him. Possessing the same bloodline, he believed greatness resided within him. He never doubted he would accomplish what he’d set out to do. Eventually he would reach the major leagues and set foot on the elite ball fields his uncle once dreamed of playing in.

  A twisting—violent and awful—left him empty. Walking out to the porch, he gripped the railing and looked off into the distant heights of the Wichita Mountains forests.

  Dark finality—cruel death—caused him to feel powerless.

  His life seemed out of control and left him feeling feeble. Tears streamed down his face. Emotional fatigue surpassed his arm ailment.

  Disgust took him over.

  I haven’t accomplished a damn thing in my life. All of my life I’ve been powerless.

  I’m sick of it!

  Before he realized he’d run across the distance. At the edge of Quartz Mountain he stopped, unsure why.

  I’m sorry, Uncle Mitch, he lamented, feeling like a failure. I wasn’t good enough, strong enough.

  Strangely, even as weakness and frailty attacked him, a newfound confidence surged through him. Icy reassurance—even hope—made him feel he could accomplish what he desired.

  He heard a rustling behind him and turned to find Stephanie looking at him in consternation.

  Ryan turned back to face the mountain. The tears on his face went cold. “I gotta… do this.” His whisper drifted up through the elevation and became lost amongst the trees of the thick forest. “I gotta know I…” Stopping, he corrected himself. “We… I gotta know we did this one thing.”

  Stephanie slowly walked up and stood next to him. Gripping his arm, she embraced him. “Come back to the house, Darling. Aunt Dorothy needs us right now.”

  “Maybe you were right.”

  “About what, baby?”

  “About reaching into our savings.”

  Stephanie’s embrace loosened. Pulling back, she shook her head. Trepidation engulfed her and gripped her spine. “But Ryan, you said…”

  “I know Sweetheart.” Steadiness in his voice calmed her somewhat. “I got a plan.”

  Unsure she wanted to know, Stephanie asked, “A plan?”

  “We use the money—all of it if we have to—and take care of the bills weighing us down. We take care of little Mitch, help
Aunt Dorothy, and…” Ryan turned to take her in his arms.

  Stephanie allowed herself to melt in Ryan’s arms. Her mind swirled. “And?”

  “Take care of us.”

  Fear completely saturated her blood, but Stephanie stood strong and managed to press her body next to Ryan’s.

  “Look at us, honey,” Ryan’s voice penetrated her flesh. “We’re not living healthy, always having to worry about money and how we’ll care for our little one. If we’re going to do this thing, we need money.”

  Time no longer insulated her. Stephanie concentrated on the terrifying decision. She wanted her man to feel the reassurance that his woman believed in him but…

  Confronted with the reality of her son’s future, all of her attention shifted away from the short-term to the long-term and the preservation of his inheritance. Impulsively, her words flooded out. “Baby, I’m scared. I mean, what if something worse happens and you’re not able to pitch?”

  His hesitation told her that her doubt hurt him.

  Ryan didn’t respond. Quietly, he slackened his grip on her body.

  Stephanie attempted to cling to him, but Ryan gently pushed her away.

  “I’m sorry, Baby,” Stephanie said.

  Ryan didn’t move or say anything.

  She touched his hand gently.

  He didn’t pull away, allowing her to take hold of his hand. Out of the quiet, Ryan finally spoke, slight anger in his voice. “You don’t think I’m looking out for our future?”

  Hurrying to answer, Stephanie started, “Honey, I didn’t mean to—”

  A thick contour along Ryan’s brow twisted in the dark. With strong vehemence he spat out, “Why can’t you trust me?”