Three Strikes - 2. Kill him...with kindness

Working in the Pediatric Oncology Ward was the hardest, yet most rewarding, job I’ve ever had. On one hand, I got to hang out with some of the dopiest kids around and, together, have a crazy good time. After what had felt to be an eternity of Gangnam Style on repeat, I decided to take things into my own hands and broaden their horizons.

Between treatments and anti-nausea meds, I’d been teaching them how to dance the Whip and Nae Nae, Lil Soulja Boy, Cha Cha Slide, Macarena (which are great for those kids who are wheelchair bound), and the current obsession, the Floss, which is insanely hilarious to watch the little ones try to master.

Someone recorded a clip of me dancing during the first game against Landry’s Laundry. I showed the clip to the kids and they freaked out. They loved it and thought it was the best thing they’d ever seen so I decided to do it again at the next game—anything to bring smiles to the faces of those kids.

“Wait for it!”

The kids watched the clip from the second game. I was skipping to second base then busted out to disco fever. I even bribed a friend on the league committee to play “Earth, Wind, and Fire” on the loudspeaker. After I told him what it was for, it took very little convincing to get him on board.

For the most part, everyone thought it was a hoot, and I saw a few of Conway’s players shakin’ their groove thang in the dugout. It lasted only ten seconds, but everyone had a good time, and it seemed to lessen the animosity when we inevitably kicked their asses. I mean—when the heteros on the team kicked their asses. (Smirk)

There was one person who didn’t find it amusing at all. Yarley’s catcher was, once again, scouting the competing teams so he could report like a good boy scout. I needed to think of something extra spectacular for that game, just to be a faggy-boi bitch.

“There’s music, too!”

Candace excitedly clapped her hands together as I broke out into a perfectly seamless dance. The video panned around to other players doing a less-than-enthusiastic version but dancing, nonetheless.

“If all baseball was like this, I might actually watch it.”

Calvin was smiling, but trying not to smile at the same time; the way kids do when they’re too cool to just have fun. I didn’t have any favorites, but if I did, Cal would be it because we’ve spent so much time together.

Twelve years ago, he was diagnosed with Prolymphocytic Leukemia when he was eighteen months old, and he’d been in and out of the hospital ever since. Relapse is an ugly bitch. I started working there six years ago, immediately after graduation, but I volunteered while I was in school so I’ve known him and his parents for a while.

“Well, I’ll continue dancing and bringing you videos as long as you never stop dancing.”

I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“The next game is Friday, but you guys can’t pick the song.”

The kids started whining and complaining. I tell you what, if you give them an inch, they’ll take a foot. That’s okay, though, because I’ll give them (pretty much) anything they want.

“Don’t worry, I have something amazing planned. You’ll love it.”

*** *** *** ***

I went to the gym three days a week because, although I didn’t lift much anymore, I still liked to keep in shape. My body was naturally slender so, in the past when I played baseball, I spent an obscene amount of time in the gym trying to bulk up. I was so miserable trying to change my body into something that didn’t come natural for me.

After I stopped playing baseball in college, I also stopped going to the gym. I dropped twenty pounds and two pant sizes within one year, and I felt so much better about myself. Eventually, I started working out again but only to maintain fitness, not to achieve bulk.

Throughout the years, I’ve rotated through various activities such as running, swimming, racquetball, and Pilates while simultaneously taking self-defense classes such as Ju-Jitsu, Karate, and kickboxing. I liked to keep things fresh and exciting.

The gym was a nice size. I’d only recently joined after the gym by my house closed down. The new gym had been awesome and seemed to offer a variety of classes and significantly more options than my previous gym had.

I changed into relatively skimpy, neon, running shorts, ditched my shirt, put in my wireless earbuds, and set the treadmill for a nice leisurely run. I was three miles into a seven mile run when I started trekking upward at a level five incline. That may not sound like much, but it felt like I was trying to run up Mt. Everest.

I wasn’t a full time runner, by any standard, so it was pretty much murdering my very soul. After a few minutes into the climb, I started thinking, ‘I’m one ballsy ass bitch because seven miles is pretty damn zealous of me’.

Sure, it sounded easy peazy lemon squeezy when I was fresh off of a mid-morning snack and hadn’t done much more than get out of bed. But suddenly I was contemplating replacing the intended seven miler with a four miler and doing the seven miler next week—or never. Who needs to run seven miles anyway? That shit’s cray-cray.

I was a half mile, and an inch of my life, away from my newly updated goal when I felt and then heard, what resembled, fingernails on a chalkboard.

“Oh, look, girly boy runs! How cute.”

He (his teammates called him Shane) got on the treadmill and started jogging alongside of me. When I’d first started running (three miles earlier), there were only four people in the gym and, at least, twenty treadmills. The math didn’t add up so I looked around to see if, somehow, the gym had filled up while I’d been climbing Mt. Everest.

The short answer—no. In fact, there were only three people present, and that included Shane and myself. So why, in Mary Poppins Wonderland, was he running next to me? I had absolutely no idea. I grabbed my phone and snapped a quick picture of him, glanced at it, flipped it toward his direction so he could take a peek, and said.

“Oh, look. It’s an indigenous gym rat. I should let the front desk know before it spreads it’s diseases to the other patrons and scares everyone away.”

It took every ounce of energy I had to say that without appearing winded, but it was hard because I’d passed the four mile mark and was well on my way to being exhausted. If he hadn’t been running next to me, I would’ve been done quite a while before and on my merry way home.

“Maybe they’ll throw the trash out first, then the rats wouldn't have a reason to be here.”

Outwardly, I rolled my eyes, but inwardly, I laughed. I bet he was kicking himself for accidentally complimenting me while putting himself down.

“Ah! So you do admit you’re nothing but a dirty rat?”

I was going to glance over and shoot him a ‘ha ha’ look, but I had a ball cap on, and it would’ve taken a real effort to look up at him, so I decided against it. Plus, like myself, he was shirtless and I didn’t need to see that.

He didn’t say anything after that, which I was incredibly thankful for. He also didn’t stop running, which I was incredibly not thankful for. I ended up suffering through the whole seven miles before I reached my original goal and the machine put me into an automatic five minute cool down.

I finally got off and, somehow, managed to hide the fatal case of sea legs that threatened to take me down. Had I had a choice, I would’ve skipped the cool down stretches and went straight home, but my options were A) voluntarily sitting on the floor to stretch or falling on my face in front of Shane when my legs involuntarily gave out due to fatigue.

I finished letting my legs recuperate—I mean, I finished my post workout stretching—and went straight home without a second glance at what’s his ass. Of course, I thought about his perfect ass and how it’d look while he was running, which made me regret not stealing a glance. I also wanted to throw up, but that was probably because I’d just ran seven-hellish-miles.

*** *** *** ***

My fabulous weekend plans with the DONNAS were cancelled after I was asked to pull two extra night shifts at the hospital, which were much quieter than day shifts but positively exhausting. Most of the time, I kept tabs on vitals and made sure the kiddos were comfortable and nausea-free.

I barely remembered Monday, since most of it existed in my dreams. That was until I had to pull myself out of bed long enough to make my way to practice, which I was twenty minutes late for. It was probably for the best because I was too tired and exhausted to deal with Shane’s excessive need to tear me down. I did miss some of his teammates, though. Shane might’ve been a world class jerk, but Kurt, Drew, and Aaron were cool dudes and we got along well.

After practice, I was looking forward to going back to sleep, and had no intentions of returning to the land of the living until my shift the next day. Unfortunately, my lack of attendance the weekend before had not gone unnoticed. We were walking to the parking lot when the DONNAS ambushed me. As he galloped past me, Olie announced.

“DONNAS night at your house tonight!”

I started to groan, but it was interrupted by my own ginormous yawn. I was freaking tired!

“Not tonight, my loves. I’m going home to sleep. I’m still exhausted from this weekend.”

I knew if they really wanted to push it, there was nothing I could do to stop them from coming over. Luckily, it looked as if they were in a gracious mood, so I needed to seize the moment and offer a carrot.

“What if we go out after the game? I have Friday and Saturday off, so I was thinking we could go to Rafen’s.”

I could see the squeals happening before I heard them. It was like a collective inhale from the entire group before they erupted into a surprisingly high pitch squeal followed by a lot of jumping and hugging. That kind of happiness is so contagious, I couldn’t help but join in, regardless of how exhausted I was. We jumped, screamed, hugged, and spent two minutes in pure, uninhibited happiness.

“Boi’s night!”

Everyone echoed in return.

“Boi’s night!”

I was happy to have plans with the guys for Friday, and I was excited those plans were at Rafen’s. I don’t often engage in casual sex, (key word is often, not never), but I was really needing some extra attention.

I wanted a night of being approached by men, letting them shower me with drinks and praise, taking one lucky son-of-a-bitch home, and having wild and crazy sex. In my head, it was going to be wild and crazy, but in reality, I was hoping for some decent sex.

I know that sounds terrible, but let’s face it, it’s not often you actually get mind blowing sex with a total stranger—especially after a night of drinking. So the plan was Rafen’s, super-hot guy, and some fucking decent sex, which meant my Wednesday hair appointment also needed to include the full body maintenance plan.

*** *** *** ***

I was lying on the table and breathing harder and feeling worse than I did when I ran seven miles the week before.

“What did I ever do to you, Debbie? Why are you being such a bitch?”

Certain things in life get easier as you become accustomed to them, but having every hair follicle mercilessly pulled out from your sensitive areas, does not! I swear, in the past, Debbie had been far gentler. It’s as if the bitch didn’t care anymore. Maybe she thinks, because I’m gay, I won’t care if she ruins my junk. Well, newsflash, Debbie! I quite like my junk fully intact, you psycho.

“Calm down. We’re almost done and then your entire body will be as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“Easy for you to say. I was planning on having sex Friday night, but I doubt I’ll be able to coax my balls down from their eternal hiding place by then. Everything’s so traumatized.”

I’ve never been hairy, and what little hair I had on my chest was so awkward, I started shaving years ago. I switched to waxing because it was more convenient and lasted longer. I also had some laser treatments, but I got lazy.

Deep, relaxing, breaths. Breathe in—HOLY F*&%#@! *insert momentary loss of any semblance of coherency*

“Alrighty! All done here. Go ahead and get dressed, and let’s give you a haircut so you can get out of here.”

I sat there for a moment and cupped my privates. I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt the need to apologize to them after getting waxed. ‘I’m so sorry I violated and abused you. I love you and nothing will change that.’ It was a simple, little pep talk in hopes to regain favor so I could get it up and working by Friday.

I’d been dreaming about having all of the average sex I could handle and I didn’t want permanent deflation getting in the way. After I’d properly apologized, I got dressed and went to the chair for my bi-weekly haircut.

As she snapped the cape around my neck and turned me away from the mirror, she asked.

“The usual?”

“Pretty much. Only the one part line this time. Other than that, same ol’, same ol’.”

She hadn’t been working on my hair for too long before I heard the door ding, indicating someone was coming in. It was normal for people to come in and out beings it was a busy salon with a dozen stylists doing their thing but, of course, it couldn’t be that simple. I glanced up and, before I saw him, I already knew he was there. I just knew it! It’s self-defense 101—‘know where your enemy is at all times’.

Down the center of the salon were two rows of chairs sitting back to back. It was a convenience offered so if you brought a guest (kids, family, or friends) in with you, they could sit and be near you. It was a solid idea when executed for its purpose, and one I’d used many times when any of the DONNAS tagged along.

However, rat bastard is not my friend, or even an acquaintance, so why he decided to sit down directly in front of me was one of my life's biggest mysteries. Without trying to hide my lack of amusement regarding his seat placement and also not willing to step down, I asked.

“Can I help you?”

His smile was somewhere between genuine and sinister. He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his chestnut hair in an effort to plump the matted mess and also casually point out the reason for his visit.

“Nope. Only waiting to get my hair cut.”

“Such a shame. Your hair is your best feature. Once you cut it off you’ll have nothing going for you.”

Except dat ass, those thighs, your smoking hot body, and ruggedly handsome face. It’s too bad your personality stinks worse than my game-day socks, asshole.

At that moment, Debbie started brushing the loose hairs away from my neck before tearing the cape off and letting me check myself in the mirror. Normally, I’d do a thorough once over, but this time I decided to bail as quickly as possible. I was sure my hair was fine because Debbie had been doing a wonderful job for years. I pulled out a hundred dollar bill for the cut and waxing and set it on her counter while confirming my appointment in two weeks.

I gave Shane a mock salute and turned to Debbie one last time before turning to leave the salon.

“Careful, Debbie. Bad company corrupts good character.”

As I reached the door, Debbie grabbed my attention.

“Hey, D!”

With my hand prepared to push the door open, I turned to see what she needed.

“Try and let all of them down easy.”

“Wha—who?”

The confusion on my face was easily readable and she chuckled ever so slightly.

“All of the guys that don’t make the cut on Friday, yeah? No need for a sea of broken hearts Saturday morning.”

I was prepared for a half dozen responses, but that wasn’t one of them, and I definitely laughed a little too hard at her response.

“Oh, Deb, no promises. Once I find mister hot body, I’ll be too busy to worry about the ones that got away. But don’t worry, they’ll survive.”

Movement caught my eye and I saw Shane staring at me with one brow raised as he listened to our conversation. I had momentarily forgotten he was there. I pointed in his direction and continued.

“He can pick up my leftovers—rats are good at stuff like that.”

I winked in his direction. It wasn’t a friendly wink, but the type of wink that’s equivalent to flipping someone off. He silently chuckled and was about to say something, a retort of sorts I’m sure, but I cut him off.

“Ta ta!”

I offered a loose wave to anyone who cared and left the door, and Shane’s nasty comment, swinging behind me. I really despised that guy and hated the fact he kept popping up in my life. The drive to the market was spent trying to figure out how I was going to handle him.

I mean, baseball had recently started, and we had all summer left, so he wasn’t going to simply disappear. I finally realized I wasn’t going to do anything. He was a thrill seeker, a guy who got off by watching other people's reactions, and I had played perfectly into it, too.

I wasn’t going to react anymore—I was either going to completely ignore him or kill him with kindness. It was going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I stopped being a pushover a long time ago. I had to remind myself it didn’t mean I was a pushover, but simply, I was going to rise above the pushing. However, first, I was going to kick his team’s ass and, by extension, his ass—dat ass.

*** *** *** ***

I’d been very busy with the extra work shifts—on top of my already full schedule—plus baseball, that I hadn’t been grocery shopping for over a week. I had to resort to eating takeout all of Tuesday and breakfast consisted of coffee and a sugar laden pastry. I was starving, bloated, and desperate for real food.

Grocery shopping on an empty stomach is trash. All of my energy reserves were spent trying not to stuff my cart with bagels, chips, and all of the junk I didn’t want but was craving because of my excessive hunger. I decided to stay away from the center aisles and do a quick shop around the perimeters until I could shop when my blood sugar levels were at a normal range.

The outcome was an inedible amount of produce. I’m but one man, what was I thinking? I knew most of it would go to waste and, for a moment, I thought I should return some of it, but maybe a fruit and veggie cleanse wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

My jeans were uncomfortably tight and I had only forty-eight hours before I was going to be on display at the hottest gay club in the county. I figured I should definitely hit the gym, after I eat, and sweat the bloat out.

I was half way through the checkout process when I realized I’d forgotten my reusable bags. The county had passed a new bag ban law that year. Stores were no longer allowed to give bags away, so you had to take your own or buy them—waste not, what not and such.

Unfortunately for me, not all of my shopping trips were well thought out, which meant I almost never remembered my bags. Usually, I only had an armful of groceries anyway, but that day, I had a lot. The stubborn part of me refused to spend two dollars on the bags they sell to forgetful fools like me.

Of course, the store was crazy busy and the line behind me was huge.

Of course! Fuck me!

I looked at the cashier with the most pathetic puppy dog face I could manage.

“I forgot my bags. I’m going to run really fast and grab them from my car—I’ll be right back?”

I apologetically smiled, with my jaw clenched tight, and she nodded for me to go so I ran! Of course, I’d parked in the back forty, since I thought the extra steps would be beneficial, so I was in full regret mode. Why couldn’t I be more like Sammy and embrace the mantra ‘you only live once’ followed by always taking the closest parking spot?

I unlocked my car during my approach and grabbed the bags from the back of my SUV. Some asshat, in a lifted truck, had parked on my driver’s side so close to my car there was no way I’d be able to squeeze through.

The frustrating part was the fact there were no other cars around so they could have parked anywhere, but they’d decided seven inches away from my driver side door was going to be their new temporary home. I didn’t have time to think about it too much because there was probably an angry mob of people waiting for me to return and bag my shit up.

I was right, there was a line of impatient people waiting for me. What is it about feeling pressured that makes the task at hand ridiculously difficult? It was as if I couldn’t get anything into the dang bags. It didn’t matter how much I apologized (and I apologized a lot), I felt their annoyed stares burning my skin.

Finally, I finished and, I swear to God, there was an applause as I walked away. It started with a slow clap as I bagged my last two items and finished with a manic round of applause as I reached the exit. Okay, fine, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but that’s what it felt like.

As I approached my car, I shuffled the bags around so I could grab the keys from my pocket. I stopped dead in my tracks and dropped my head back so I could silently scream my bad luck to the heavens—I’d left my keys in the store at the checkout counter! I took a deep, relaxing breath.

“Goosefraba.”

I contemplated lying down and taking a nap in the parking lot—I really needed one at that point. I looked back at the store and, once again, regretted parking so far away. Against my better judgement, I tucked the groceries under my car because I had no desire to take them on another round trip excursion. If someone decided to steal them, then good for them. They must need them more than I.

On my way back for the second time, with my car still a ways off, I decided to use my key-fob as a makeshift wand and waved it around as I excessively unlocked my car. In my head, I embraced my inner Harry Potter and silently shouted as I hit unlock.

“Alohomora!”

Voila! The magic worked and my car was unlocked. Soon, my magic wand turned into a baton, and I was the conductor of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra as I led them in my favorite Christmas song ever, “Christmas Eve Sarajevo”. It was hard not to get into that song because it was so intense and amazing, and it sent chills down my spine every time I listened to it. I’m not ashamed to say it’s the only Christmas song I listened to all year round.

By the time I reached my car, I was torn between continuing as the conductor and showcasing my electric guitar or piano solo abilities. Maybe I’d do both, but then there were the drums, too, and they’d be a pretty spectacular show, also. Maybe I’d be one of those monkeys that walked around with that musical contraption and then I’d be able to do it all.

“Bum ba-da-ba bum. Bum ba-da-ba bum.”

“What are you doing?”

My whole body jolted as I was startled from my inner musical debate. After I turned around to see who was watching me, my eyes fell upon Shane. That rat bastard! I had to remind myself I wasn’t going to react or say anything rude. Ignore him or kill him with kindness. Was it actually possible to kill someone with kindness? Because if it was so, that would’ve been all of the motivation I needed.

“Nothing.”

I opened the hatch and started loading my groceries as he did the same.

As it turned out, that rat bastard was the douchie parking job guy. Go figure.

“It didn’t look like nothing. It definitely looked like you were having a seizure. For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to call nine-one-one.”

He’s such a jerk. I gritted my teeth in an effort to remain calm.

“Nope, all good.”

I saw the coloring book I had bought for work—I usually kept a small bag of goodies to randomly hand out to the kids. I grabbed it, closed the hatch, leaned against my car, and impatiently stared at the rat bastard.

“What?”

He looked unsure about the attention. I don’t think he was prepared for me to give him my full and undivided attention. I smiled and stepped toward him with the coloring book held out in front of me. His eyes flickered between me and the book.

“You seem to have a hard time staying in the lines. I thought you could use this book to practice. Go slow and I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job. Now, if you could be a darling, I’d like to go home.”

I used my hand to shoo him away. He had a small smile as he looked at the book, which was in his possession by then, and lifted it slightly in acknowledgment.

“Perfect. I’ll do that.”

With that, he disappeared and I heard his door open and close a moment later. Thank God. I only wanted to go home. I was wondering why he hadn’t started his truck, yet, when he re-appeared in front of me.

“Actually, I’ve decided I have a few more things I need to do, first. I’ll see you around, Gor-Dee.”

He really enunciated the two syllable word as he walked away and left me to crawl through my passenger door. I thought about ways I could kill him with kindness, such as kindly pushing him off of a rooftop or kindly suffocating him in his sleep.