The Absence of Aftermath

[Ghosts]

New Hampshire – December 15, 2033

“Hahaha relax, it’s not that big of a deal, Steph,” Steve Hott leaned back into the abnormally reclined driver’s seat of his vintage 2020 Dodge Charger. He loved his twin sister, but for a twin, she never seemed to understand him. He was just having fun. She was always so concerned.

“Sure, sure, I should have maybe looked into the dosage a bit more,” Hott conceded. “And yeah, I thought it would take longer to kick in, so hitting it before the press conference was… inadvisable.” Even as he admitted the mistake, Hott couldn’t help but laugh. He’d replayed the video from his press conference a dozen times, and thought it was funnier each and every time.

“Well, I probably won’t do that one again… soon. But sis, c’mon, for years I’ve treated my body like a temple. Now that I’m out of the game, I get to live a little.” Hott wasn’t really listening to his sister’s unusually vocal response. Instead, his mind wandered to the mountain.

Goddamn that was awesome. How was I not cold the entire time? And the doctors said I barely have any frostbite. I am goddamn invincible.

How he’d gotten to New Hampshire was a blur. He remembered driving, but it felt like an impossibly short drive that must have taken close to 24 hours. Had he stopped to pee? He must have refueled… White Lightning got terrible gas mileage. He recalled running, and he hated running, but as he ran, he felt powerful. He remembered yelling at the top of his lungs. Absurd things: STEVE HOTT IS A GOD AMONG MEN. AHHHHHHHH. STEVE HOTT DOESN’T RUN, HE SHIFTS THE EARTH BENEATH HIM. STEVE HOTT IS WHAT THE DARK IS AFRAID OF. As he was saying them, he knew he was saying them to entertain himself, but the feeling… that was real. Steve had been drunk before, and prone to bouts of comical narcissism while very drunk, but this was something else entirely.

Steve grinned widely. He hadn’t really felt that way often while playing baseball. There were stretches, of course, like those four games in Florida. A magical time… Man why the hell did they change that name? So stupid. While hallucinating in the woods of a Northeastern Winter, though, Steve felt alive and a way he wanted to feel again. He dwelled on the thought, only moments later realizing his sister was still on the phone, and still lecturing him. It was then that he remembered the other gift that Neil gave him. He reached for the Bakersfield Bears bobble head stuck on his dash. After a moment of testing his dexterity, he fished this small plastic bag from the bear’s head. He looked down at the tiny zip lock bag and removed the thin paper contents it protected.

Not just yet little friends.

“Hey listen, Steph, I’m going to head home and get some rest. I promise no more shenanigans until I heal up at least. Do you wanna come visit? I’ll fly you out. It’ll be fun,” Steve always knew how to win her over. Ever since leaving the house for the first time, he’d always been able to end any disagreement with the simple promise of spending time with her. It wasn’t really intentional manipulation, it just happened to work that way. He loved spending time with her of course. She was more like him than anyone he’d ever met. But even with his twin sister, there was always a wall.

In a rare moment of self-actualization, Steve legitimately wondered how he might change his patterns. 35-years-old, no wife, hell – no serious relationships to speak of. He had money in the bank, sure, but how long would it last? Coaching baseball doesn’t often pay well. The truth was, Steve had never really been able to connect with anyone with the possible exception of Steph. He’d recently gotten much better at pretending, so instead of fighting with his teammates constantly, he told them what he thought they wanted to hear. He was usually right. It was probably that ability to navigate around other people that landed him coaching offers. He was pleased with himself for having developed that skillset, but now more than ever, he was completely lost as to how to actually connect with another human being.

The moment and its melancholy were transient, tough, and soon Steve’s mind drifted into shallower waters. As he started the long, arduously sober drive back to Minnesota and ultimately his apartment, stocked with his own merchandise and secondhand furniture, his mind was light and unburdened.