Let's Waste Time

Getting back in touch with my brother wasn’t the only magical thing the shop had in store for me. But this time, it was a bit unexpected. It came from a newspaper. And maybe it wasn’t destiny or anything fancy like that. Larry, the shop owner, had the newspaper delivered every day, so he had something to do when the nerds were getting on his nerves. It was how he “kept up with the times.”

So there was really nothing magical about it showing up on the front counter in the morning. When I was dropped off, I took it to the backroom to take it to Larry. He was going over paperwork in his teeny tiny office. Which was basically just a closet in the back of the shop. I sat it down on the edge of his desk.

“Papers in,” I told him.

“Thanks, Marley.” He reached for it and pulled off the rubber band. He pulled it open to the sports section, and I was about to walk back out when I stopped.

“Wait, wait, wait. Can I see that real quick?” I turned back around and took the paper from him. I pulled out the sports section and gave him the rest. Then I brought it to my face for a closer look at the grainy photograph.

It was a picture of some guy who was apparently the San Francisco Giants baseball team manager. I didn’t care about him. He had his arm around another guy as they shook hands like they’d just made a deal. The other guy had an awkward smile like a goober who hated having his picture taken.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I said. Larry stood up to look over my shoulder. The door to his office was open, so the other guys got curious and came over to look too. They were nosier than me.

“What’s going on?” Doug asked.

“The Giants got a new rookie. I guess the manager went to the wrong amateur baseball game and signed a new player.” I turned it around to show them. They looked at me like I was nuts. I didn’t give a shit about baseball.

“That’s great, Marley. Really happy for them,” Todd said.

“You don’t recognize him?”

“Should I?”

“He’s from Oakland. The headline is wrong. He’s local enough, but he gets really irritated when people don’t make the distinction.” I pointed at the awkward baseball player and tapped on his face. “That one.”

“Ah yes. I recognize all the black and white pixels.”

“Don’t be an ass. It’s Chris.”
“Chris?” They all paused to stare at me as if they’d never heard of anyone named Chris in their lives.

“Isn’t that the guy you were—you know—doing the do with?” Albert asked. I turned back to the paper.

“I can’t believe it. I never knew he was that good. He never took me to any games. He made it.”

“You know—you could probably score tickets to a game once the season starts up,” Todd suggested. I wanted to. I wanted to see him so bad. But I figured this was nothing but lingering feelings for the first healthy relationship I’d ever actually had. And it was a disaster. So I folded it back up and handed it back out to Larry.

“No, I can’t afford Giants tickets. Are you kidding? And it’s not like I’d even get to meet the team or anything. It’s been too long. I’m sure he’s happy. All his dreams are coming true. I don’t want to bother him again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Know what?”

“That he’s happy.”

“He’s been playing baseball all his life. It’s all he’s ever wanted to do. Now he gets to play for the Giants. I’m sure he’s happy.”

“Maybe in that part of his life. But he might be happier with you.” I snorted and pushed through them to return to the front.

“I doubt it.”