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Tenley texted me earlier saying she woke up feeling better today, so I’m hoping that’s a good sign of the end coming.
My luck, it’s the day I’m out of town for a game. Figures.
Not typically being one to be swayed by distractions,today I’m full of them. I texted my mom this morning after not hearing from her for longer than I’m comfortable with.
I want to make sure my siblings are good. Taken care of. Mainly, hearing it for myself, that she hasn’t fallen off the bandwagon, and ruined her six months of sobriety.
She made a promise to me, and I intend to hold her to it.
I check my phone again, waiting for her reply, but nothing. Now, I have to have my head in the game against a rival team with worry in the back of my mind.
This is the part of my life no one sees. Yes, I’m in the limelight, but I pay good money to keep things hidden. The world can label me as Atlanta’s sluttiest playboy, but I’ve been dealt a hand that led me into the bed of faceless women just to give me something…anything…to feel other than pressure for once.
So much fucking pressure and dependence on me.
It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Although it’s better now, I worry just the same. Enough to question everything my mom does and make sure my brothers and sisters don’t go without.
That’s why this endorsement is so fucking critical. If I lose it, let it slip through my fingers over something as ridiculous as social media, my siblings lose their chance at getting out of Atlanta. A prospect of a fresh start to a life they deserve.
I’m adamant on making that happen.
Don’t get me wrong; I love Atlanta. It’s my home. But as big of a city as it is, I know the ability it has to make you feel stuck. Like there aren’t other options and it’s easier here.
It’s not.
So, when Tenley sent me a list of candid photo ideas to try and capture while I’m out of town, I find myself feeling motivated rather than dreading it for once.
Makingmy way from the guest bullpen to our dugout, I pull out my phone and snap a quick photo of the vacant field by third base.
My grounding place.
I filter it through the grainy preset Tenley showed me how to use and upload the photo, giving the caption my best effort. Or maybe just the perfect caption to get her attention.
Ever the menace I am.
Boston drills lookin like shit tonight. But third base about to be lit by #11. Watch out, shitheads. #atlantaboys
There. That wasn’t so bad. Now, I can go about my day and not worry about the next post until tomorrow.
Looks like that won’t be possible because the stupid thing won’t stop vibrating. I watch in fascination, mesmerized as notification after notification slides across the screen with no end in sight.
Jesus Christ.
There’s no way this many people care about what I’m doing with my day. Yeah, I play pro ball, but I don’t understand how something as simple as a field would be so exciting for fans.
I text Tenley to tell her, realizing I find myself wanting to do that a lot when she’s not around.
I’m missing the woman who’s essentially using me to get off. Not my greatest accomplishment, but I’m no less proud.
August:Uploaded a pic of the field like you said. Who knew that would be so interesting????
Tenley:I did. The correct answer is me. It’s why I’m the profesh.
August:How you feeling?
Tenley:Same as an hour ago. But thanks for asking.
August:Oh, right.
