Page 3 of Playful Kris

One day it’s warm enough for a light long sleeve shirt, the next you’re bundled in your winter gear and still freezing.

We’re in the offseason for collegiate baseball right now, but that doesn’t mean these guys aren’t still putting in the work every day.

And me and the other coaches are preparing for the season, constantly thinking of ways to better the team, our shortcomings from last season, what we need to change, etc.

Not to mention, UT is always scheduling their athletic departments for charitable fundraisers. That alone keeps us fairly busy around here in the offseason.

I step into the workout portion of our athletic department and spot most of the team hitting their reps, I nod as I walk past them toward the exit.

My day is done already, so I’m about to head home and relax on the couch.

Once the season starts, I don’t get to do much of that. It’s constant practice, constant events, constant traveling. By the end of the season, while I dread the game of baseball being done for another year, I look forward to it at the same time the older I get.

I was one of the lucky ones who was able to get a position on the coaching staff as soon as I graduated from UT. Everyone expected me to go pro, but it just wasn’t in the cards for me, and I’ve come to terms with it.

Shattering my elbow in a car accident didn’t help matters any either.

Which is also why I’m working so damn hard to teach these young men, even though they’re only a few years younger than me, the importance of strength training along with strengthening your mind.

My childhood fucked me up in more ways than I care to admit, and it’s put a damper on a lot of my life plans, but I’ve been to therapy, I know the importance now of making sure my ends are tied up and the dangers of what could happen when they aren’t.

The second I step outside, the warm sun hits me and it’s welcomed. Yesterday I would have frozen my ass off all day.

The campus is decorated for halloween, with banners posted about the upcoming Halloween fundraiser the college hosts each year. I never go, and haven’t since my sophomore year here.

I’m not really big on holidays, and the fact my birthday falls on Christmas is like a giant fuck you from the universe.

I head across the parking lot toward my truck, and smile at it. I’ve worked my ass off to get the things I have right now, and not many twenty-six year olds can say they own their own car and house already.

Growing up in a divided house, where you dad is never around and barely sent his child support payments each month, and your mom is working doubles to make ends meet while you babysit your little brother and eat PB&J sandwiches for the twelfth night in a row, you learn pretty early on the importance of a dollar.

That’s about the only good thing I can say I got from my childhood.

Aside from my brother, he’s alright as far as those come.

Speaking of which, he sent me a text earlier this morning asking me to give him a call. He proposed to his girlfriend about six months ago, and they’re in a rush to get married. I received the invite in the mail, but the idea of having to attend a family event, because that’s exactly what this would be, makes me anxious.

And I fucking hate feeling anxious.

Climbing into the truck, I start her up and lean my head against the headrest as I stare at his text from this morning.

I inhale, trying to get up the nerve to make the call because I’m pretty sure I know what it’s about.

It’s not that I don’t want to attend his wedding, or that I don’t want to be his best man. I don’t want to see my mom and her new man, and I don’t want to see my dad and whichever woman he’s deemed worthy of a date to his son’s wedding.

That’s the shit I’m not ready to deal with.

It’s also why I haven’t been home for a holiday since I graduated high school.

Dialing my brother’s number, I put it on speaker since I haven’t started the truck to connect it to bluetooth yet. It rings a few times before he picks up, and I brace myself.

“Hey, I was wondering if you were going to ghost me again,” he says.

The guilt immediately hits me. I’ve been a shitty brother, not meaning to be, it’s just how things have played out.

Kaleb is a lot closer to our parents than I’ve ever been, but he also doesn’t remember all the shit that’s gone down over the years after their divorce, and even during it. He doesn’t realize how shitty it was for an eleven year old to babysit his eight year old brother every night, every day of the week almost.

“I didn’t ghost you,” I grunt, disagreeing. “I was just busy at work.”

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