Cold Mist

[Ghosts]

A shiver shimmied down Henry Carter’s rigid spine, causing a sudden, mild shift in the little red dinghy he’d borrowed from his neighbor. The morning mist was still weeding its way about his exposed skin, continuing the chill he’d been experiencing for the last hour. The dawn had broken, and the golden hour shimmered, but the warmth it would bring had yet to warm the water, the boat, or its upright inhabitant. Carter looked over at his guest, who had not noticed the perturbance of Carter’s shiver. Steve McDonald, wearing nothing but gym shorts, a tank top, and aviator sunglasses, seemed unbothered by the cold. He hadn’t even worn his ancient, abused flip flops – footwear he was rarely caught without – instead opting for a barefoot approach that left his feet splashing about the boat’s puddled hull.

Carter shook his head, forever confused by his former teammate. He reached into the pocket of his denim coat and retrieved the unopened pack of Camel cigarettes. He unwrapped the film covering with an unease born of anxieties. Carter stole a glance at McDonald, who returned the glance and shrugged. Carter laughed to himself – of course the guy that earned himself the nickname “20 Piece” for bringing a huge box of chicken nuggets to every game for an entire season would not share the common disgust of cigarettes Carter was accustomed to confronting. His anxiety over opening the pack waning, he decided against the process.

The brightening glimmer of the rising sun also brought him a chuckle. He recalled his flight to Niihama, which being a red-eye, landed him shortly after the local dawn. His driver awaited him after deplaning, standing silhouetted against the dawn behind him. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the terminal offered an unimpeded view of the sunrise. “Welcome to the Rising Sun” the man offered and a jovial tone, delighted by his double entendre. That’s twice now that man made Henry Carter, the “joyless wonder”, as his Dad would call him, chuckle.

“I can’t play anymore, Steve,” Carter confessed over the stilled lake. He waited hurriedly for a reply, and when none was offered, Henry turned abruptly to his friend. “I’ve lost the damn edge, man,” Carter continued, frustratedly.

Steve McDonald gave him a nod, and took the opportunity to stretch his back by slowly twisting left and right. “I know, bud.”

“My velocity is down. I can’t locate consistently,” Carter continued, spilling his sins out.

Now laughing aloud, McDonald replied, “I know, dude. The kids you played against this year made that pretty clear.” McDonald laughed harder at the insult. “But hell, I think I might have had 50 hits in the whole damn season. I’m old. You’re old. Shit happens, dude.”

“Hell I put up an ERA over 5 in AAA!” Carter said as a wave of anger crashed over him. “I threw a perfect goddamn game once!”

“Yeah but did you? It was against, Yuma, man.” McDonald stared at him flatly. Carter, taken aback, stared back. He contemplated trying to knock his stocky ex-catcher out of the boat, but reconsidered. The man featured a permanently low center of gravity. It would never work. As there staring contest nearly entered a challenge phase, McDonald cracked a smile. “Get over yourself, amigo.” Breaking his stare, McDonald reached down into the mini cooler, fished about, and grabbed two Coors Lights. He offered one to Carter.

Henry relaxed, and as he’d been coached to repeatedly, allowed his anger to expel as he exhaled. He took the beer and said, “You know that’s not going to happen.”

McDonald nodded, cracked his beer, and took a sip.

“And I just can’t quit, man. I can’t do it,” Henry admitted.

“I can,” Steve smiled. “Hell I already submitted my retirement packet to the player’s association.”

“Yeah, I have my filled out. Ready to hit, ‘submit’. But, goddamn, then what? I am not ready to be unemployed. I think I would suck at it,” Henry said, cracking his own smile.

[Arroyos]

Tell Henry that in spite of his fears, it turns out being unemployed is really easy. Like falling off a horse.

After 5 years of retirement, I can honestly say I've never been bored for more than 5 minutes--except when waiting in airports--and enjoyed having abundant time to do what I love most: swim, write, read and nap.

Tell Carter that we Yuman Beings remember his perfect game, and we curse his name in reverence.