The Apology

[Ghosts]

Henry Carter felt the misting December rain drip off the frayed brim of his Bakersfield Bears hat and onto his stiffening fingers as he re-lit his cigarette. He wanted to be chain smoking, but his muscle memory was too faded, and his thoughts were too disarrayed to accomplish the task. A fifth attempt to light the misted cigarette amidst the whipping winds of Niihama resulted in a lovely combination friction and flame burn. The resultant flash of anger saw Henry slam the lighter onto the cement. A satisfying pop of butane eased his nerves a bit. Deciding against further littering, he crushed the dampened cigarette in his hand and stuffed it in the pocket of his windbreaker. A mess he’d revile later.
Without warning, Henry, a large ma especially among the Japanese, found himself hoisted by the shoulders and in need of a landing trajectory as his legs cycled awkwardly beneath him. As he stumbled to a stand, he turned to see a grinning Steve McDonald, dressed like he was headed to a funeral or an FBI interview. The bulky man looked more svelte than Carter had ever recalled in the fitted suit, partially protected from the rain with a full-length trench coat. In an instant, Henry traversed angst to fear to anger to shame. How could “20-piece” have outdressed him so dramatically. Henry figured a baseball coaching interview should be conducted in the highest formal wear he’d even seen a baseball coach wear – jeans and a polo shirt. He didn’t own any polo shirts, so he was wearing a light sweater.
“Taking this real serious, huh, Carter?” Steve jabbed him in the shoulder and then brushed the rain off the windbreaker. “Let’s go see the boss!”
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The approach down the long hallway of the executive hallway of the Niihama-shi Ghosts stadium, Oikake Maze, wreaked havoc on Henry Carter’s nerves. Alight by the nicotine of 4, or maybe 6, cigarettes, Henry grew more anxious and nauseous with each step. The dark wooden doors at the end of the hall appeared more ominous than any other he recalled seeing. Dread was choking him, and there was nothing to do but let it take him and – “oomph,” Henry uttered as Steve grabbed his elbow and yanked him to the right. Shocked, not only by the fact that as a grown man he just literally said “oomph” aloud, but by the immediate presence of GM Dan Vail in his view. Vail stood with an outstretched hand and a warm smile, while Henry tried to voluntarily force his heart to beat blood back into his face. McDonald grabbed Vail’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“Great to see you, Steve, really great to see you again,” Vail said. “And Henry, a man after my own heart,”
Vail said as he slapped the thigh of his worn jeans. “Let’s have a seat, guys.” Vail gestured towards a small office across the hall from the great, awful mahogany gates. Carter’s gaze lingered a moment on the ornate doors and was awestruck – not by the doors but by the hilarious juxtaposition of those doors with their surroundings. Everything else in the area was cheap, 1990s-era minimalist office décor. Tiled carpets, hanging ceilings, plastic and metal chairs… and Vail’s office was no exception. A bit untidied, but clean – a small, glass-top desk, an old-style desktop computer, and two of those cheap plastic and metal chairs that couldn’t fold and were clumsier than one imagined.
The three sat, and a short, oddly comfortable silence ensued. “How long have we known each other, gentlemen?” Vail smiled wistfully, clearly reminiscing. “June 2029,” he said, bouncing a pointed finger at Henry Carter. “I traded a haul for you, Flynn, and Medina. A true blockbuster,” Vail nodded to himself. “And of course you predated me in Bakersfield, Steve.”
Both nodded at the recollections, waiting for a question to surface. Another silence followed as Vail stared out the window from his desk. This one lingered a bit longer, and Henry, who had begun to feel at ease in the light of Vail’s informality, began to grow nervous once more.
“I am truly sorry, guys.” Vail’s gaze did not shift from whatever fixed point he was locked onto somewhere in the horizon over the Seto Island Sea. “When I left Bakersfield after 2030, we were building something powerful. Not being able to complete that work is a regret I’ll carry with me until I die,” Vail broke his gaze and lowered to a new point on, or maybe through, his desk. “I can’t help but to feel,” as he spoke, there was a casual sorrow that lent his words a remarkable softness. Vail lifted his gaze and met Henry’s, “That things might have gone differently for each of us if I had been able to do so.”
Henry took the words in and was immediately cast into an internal maelstrom. He was sure that if Vail had offered him a hug, he would have taken it and started bawling. And then he might have punched him. And run away to inner Mongolia or the maybe Morocco. Henry did everything he could not to allow his panic to escape.
“That’s one of the myriad of reasons I brought you guys back here. Steve, you helped us land a championship, and not only am I eternally grateful for your outstanding performance during that run, I am also levied some semblance of peace after the abrupt end to the Bakersfield plan. Being able to add you last season, Henry, was far too little far too late, but I am glad you were able to meet Jerome and Derreck. When a certain pitching coach that shall remain nameless wasn’t able to help you adjust to your declining velocity, I was certain we needed to go in a new coaching direction. And Steve, if I can get you to impart just an ounce of the patience and pitch recognition that you employed over your career onto some of our prospects, it will help us all tremendously.”
Vail paused to look at his guests, both of whom appeared a bit uncertain. “Gentlemen, this isn’t an interview, it’s a personal invitation. I want you both to be coaches in our organization. Please.” Vail implored.
Steve McDonald was about to speak when Henry Carter threw a hand across his former catcher’s chest to stop him. Henry stood meaningfully, stole a quick glance toward his friend, and then met Vail’s eyes. “It will be an honor,” Henry Carter said, outstretching his hand.