Coming Out for Athletes - 6. I have problems with subtlety

Practice could bite me, some days. Today was one of those days. We were at Central park, in this pathetic excuse for a baseball diamond, next to a few other poor excuses for baseball diamonds. My one consolation about today's practice? It wasn't snowing today, like the last time we had to use this travesty of a park last year. Practice was going well. Well enough for me anyways. I hated the whole concept of our practices and how they didn't do a damn thing to make us ready for the games we kept losing night after night.

Things had gotten better for me. After coming out to Brendan over the summer and playing a fall season with the team, I was beginning to feel more like one of the boys. I have to admit, it was a new feeling. I'd never felt totally comfortable among the baseball crowd before, but I was fitting in thanks to Brendan's support. Zach hadn't been as vocal, but he never was about bullying issues. It was nice that we could drive home together and talk about it without having to worry so much... I suppose I outed myself to his mother when he started asking me who all the gay people at school were, and I said I couldn't tell him because of the homo bro code. No. That's probably not a thing, but I didn't want to out anyone, especially since I didn't even know for sure!

The only thing making this team unbearable this year was Caleb. What a jackass. Comes on here from god knows where last year and immediately thinks he's the best thing to happen to us all. Sure, he was talented, but I've never met anyone so arrogant, so utterly frustrating to be around... So ATTRACTIVE! Errr... yeah, I guess I think he's hot. Shut up, it's not a crime. He's a hair under six feet tall, like I am. He's got blond hair, not like I do. He's about twenty pounds heavier than me, which means he actually looks three-dimensional. He even has the whole lack of facial hair thing, which is odd because his older brother's only eighteen and has what looks like a carpet attached to his face.

Passing over that... Caleb is an ass. An attractive ass, but still an ass. That I can't stop staring at, particularly the ass's ass.

Except he hates me. Our first game of the year? He spent the whole time I actually got on base yelling at me for not taking a bigger lead off. Almost got picked off when I turned back to bitch him out. The whole game was like that. Coach was mad as hell, actually told him and I to go settle our issues, and sent the whole team to watch us and make sure we actually dealt with things. I thought it couldn't get more humiliating until we actually started fighting it out and getting our shit dealt with. Watching my teammates pick sides was ridiculous, but we did end up having a grudging truce with each other in time for the second game of the double-header. A game I spent entirely on the bench, nursing a sore arm and a bruised ego.

The problem is we're basically the same person. We both pitch, we both play middle infield and third base. We're both easily in the top tier of our crappy team. I guess he's a rival? I don't hate him, but I can't stop myself from wanting to do better than him and prove he's not as good as he says he is. Mostly though, I want him to like me.

He's just a few feet away from me. Waiting on deck to get his shot at batting practice. I've been pitching most of the practice, so I'm in the dugout watching everyone else field. It's nice, I was out there fielding earlier, but Coach said anyone who hadn't taken their swings yet should head to the bench. I was going to be last, but that was fine, I'd go get some more reps in with Dad or someone after practice if I really needed to.

Just a few feet away. I'm watching him, and of course his eye is on whoever's pitching. Probably Coach. Probably the best choice to be watching, god knows we foul off enough balls that being on deck isn't the safest place to be. I figure I should do baseball things instead of gay things now. I tear myself away from the vision of mixed emotions before me, and I grab the gear I'll need. Ancient helmet, the thing's been with me since before puberty and looks it. I don't remember where all the nicks and scars on it came from, I've never been hit in the head before. New batting gloves. They're white. They won't be for long. My bat. Oh, the things I could say about my bat. Well, not this bat. This one's the third in its glorious ancestry of being used by a barely competent teenager. Maple, red. 32 inches long, 29 ounces for weight. Yes, I know we don't measure weight in ounces normally, but bats are measured in ounces.

Bat #1 was broken last year, took a pitch right on the hands and it shattered. There's probably still pieces floating through the sky. Bat #2 broke right after my fight with Caleb. I didn't hit him. Bad pitch again, this time it hit a knob or something? Splintered it, but it didn't break. Still, rules were rules and the league wouldn't allow a potentially deadly weapon to be used. Had to snap it after the game. This was #3. There's no history here yet, but it's red, it's maple and it's mine. Feels comfortable, like an old friend. Except this old friend is like, a replacement friend for the last two that went away.

Right. Batting practice. Caleb. He's leaning against the fence now, so I came out to join him. May as well, two sets of eyes are better than one, right? He should be swinging, but he's been warming up for almost ten minutes now, he's long since been ready.

He's not treating me like shit. That's a change. I wonder if our fight has anything to do with that. Go figure, standing up for yourself can have positive consequences. I'll have to keep that one in mind. He's watching Brendan take his swings. I can't tell if he's analyzing Brendan or just watching for lack of anything else to do.

I should tell him. What's he going to do, attack me when he learns I'm gay? Maybe he'll like me back.

I'm about to tell the guy I hate that I'm gay. It's like a bad sitcom, but I can't stop myself.

"Hey Caleb. You know I'm gay right?" No interlude, no subtlety. Let's just blurt it out, that'll end well.

He doesn't answer. Of course not. Why would he? Just because he and his brother insinuated I was gay doesn't mean he thought it was actually true. Still... he didn't fall off a park bench, start interrogating me about who else was gay or throw an acorn at my head, so I had to consider his response the most stoic of my teammates so far.

Still not saying anything. Did he even hear me? Do I want to say it again? Let's not, this is already raising my fight or flight reactions. He's got a bat. I've got a bat. I'm watching the bat a lot more than I'm watching for stray baseballs now.

Finally, a reaction.

"What do you want me to say? Good job? You're gay. Doesn't change a damn thing between you and I." He says gruffly, not even looking at me.

That's...not disheartening? I thought he'd freak out. He didn't. He's leaving to go take his batting practice time, and I'm left alone in the on deck circle. I'm watching him, the way he grunts when he's swinging extra hard. The tightness in his face because of how intense he is. Yes, we're very alike in some ways.

I go back to taking some practice swings. I didn't get a boyfriend, but I got someone to say that nothing has changed. That's pretty good. And at least I can still stare at that ass.