LJ Idol 10 - Week 3 - The Brushback Pitch
Dylan shifts against the throw cushions like they’re made of barb wire for the tenth time in as many minutes.
Nothing seems comfortable at the moment. Truth be told nothing had felt comfortable for years. Not since…
…
Two months before graduation and Dylan’s world had come crashing down. His carefully constructed world of lies and stolen touches. The lies were to keep him and Cal safe, to protect their little bubble of what they liked to think was normality. They both knew that the town, their families especially wouldn’t understand and Cal had been shaken to the core three years ago when that kid had been beaten half to death behind the bleachers for daring to want what Cal and Dylan.
But two months before graduation and Cal’s mom had caught them, Dylan’s hand buried in Cal’s too long (“always too long Cal”) hair and his ticket to freedom in the other hand.
Cal’s mother had always been the bible bashing crazy. His words. Not Cal’s. Dylan just couldn’t understand how Cal’s mom could believe in a God that would punish someone like Cal. His parents had been the same, not as bad to Dylan as Cal’s had been, but bad enough to put the fear of the so called Ever Loving God into both of them with their “Boys don’t kiss boys” rule.
Dylan had walked home after that, a pit in his stomach the size of Texas and his lips still tingling from the feel of Cal’s against his. God he’s wanted to scream at the sky, to scream at anyone that would listen, to tell them that what they had was a million times better than what anyone else had. Cal was his soulmate, his other half, the light to his dark and whatever other sappy, trite platitude you could come up with.
…
Dylan shifts again, the phone in his hand taunting him as he slams it back down on the coffee table and runs his fingers around the rim of his coffee mug.
call him…call him…just call him
It had been on replay in his mind for days. Hell, who was he kidding, years. Since they were both 17 and Dylan had done the single most stupid thing he’d ever done and walked away from Cal.
“Just fucking call him,” he groans, running his hands through his hair. Cal had always liked it long, liked to run his fingers through it, broken and bitten nails catching against Dylan’s scalp and Cal whispered “Dyl” into his mouth.
Cal had been the only one to ever call him Dyl. The only one that Dylan ever let call him that. It had been Cal’s name and he loved the sound of it on Cal’s lips.
“Whats the worst that could happen?”
He could slam the phone down on you, call you the worst names imaginable and break your heart
“Just like you did his,” Dylan says aloud to the taunting phone screen still bearing Cal’s name. He has no idea if Cal has the same number but that’s what life's about right? Taking a risk.
Every now and then he remembers, in maudlin moments, the look on Cal’s face as Dylan snuck past Cal’s mom. The pleading look to just stay here with me. He remembers that look and when he’s drunk he cries about it. Then gets more drunk and fucks someone through a mattress to get the burning image of Cal out from behind his eyes.
He could do this. He could call. He could get the blessed answer of Cal’s voice down the phone, of Cal agreeing to see him, not that he deserves that. Or he could call and get nothing. Or even worse he could get hatred down the phone, hatred, anger, resentment. But he has to try.
No one has ever come close to Cal. No one pulled at the dark corners of Dylan like he did, pushed and pulled without even knowing what he was doing, until the corners were rounded off and Dylan was Dyl.
He’s tried. God, he’s tried so hard to forget Cal. To imagine Cal with someone else, happy and laughing and running his impossibly long fingers through their hair. He’s tried and failed and that’s what’s bought him to this. To the shifting and the staring and the drinking.
The phone’s screen blinks black and Dylan taps twice to wake it up again.
this is what life is about, isn’t it?
He’s spent too long, tried too hard to find out who he is. To figure out what he wants and he always comes back to Cal. Maybe he’s being selfish, maybe he’s clinging on to some childhood fantasy, maybe he’s about to get his head taken off but he’s got to try right? Because when life throws brushback pitches at you, you duck, or you take a fucking swing.
He’s not a coward.
Not anymore.
He downs the rest of his coffee, now cold, and picks up the phone. His thumb shakes as he presses the call button and puts the phone to his ear.
“Dyl?”
“Hi Cal.”
Nothing seems comfortable at the moment. Truth be told nothing had felt comfortable for years. Not since…
…
Two months before graduation and Dylan’s world had come crashing down. His carefully constructed world of lies and stolen touches. The lies were to keep him and Cal safe, to protect their little bubble of what they liked to think was normality. They both knew that the town, their families especially wouldn’t understand and Cal had been shaken to the core three years ago when that kid had been beaten half to death behind the bleachers for daring to want what Cal and Dylan.
But two months before graduation and Cal’s mom had caught them, Dylan’s hand buried in Cal’s too long (“always too long Cal”) hair and his ticket to freedom in the other hand.
Cal’s mother had always been the bible bashing crazy. His words. Not Cal’s. Dylan just couldn’t understand how Cal’s mom could believe in a God that would punish someone like Cal. His parents had been the same, not as bad to Dylan as Cal’s had been, but bad enough to put the fear of the so called Ever Loving God into both of them with their “Boys don’t kiss boys” rule.
Dylan had walked home after that, a pit in his stomach the size of Texas and his lips still tingling from the feel of Cal’s against his. God he’s wanted to scream at the sky, to scream at anyone that would listen, to tell them that what they had was a million times better than what anyone else had. Cal was his soulmate, his other half, the light to his dark and whatever other sappy, trite platitude you could come up with.
…
Dylan shifts again, the phone in his hand taunting him as he slams it back down on the coffee table and runs his fingers around the rim of his coffee mug.
call him…call him…just call him
It had been on replay in his mind for days. Hell, who was he kidding, years. Since they were both 17 and Dylan had done the single most stupid thing he’d ever done and walked away from Cal.
“Just fucking call him,” he groans, running his hands through his hair. Cal had always liked it long, liked to run his fingers through it, broken and bitten nails catching against Dylan’s scalp and Cal whispered “Dyl” into his mouth.
Cal had been the only one to ever call him Dyl. The only one that Dylan ever let call him that. It had been Cal’s name and he loved the sound of it on Cal’s lips.
“Whats the worst that could happen?”
He could slam the phone down on you, call you the worst names imaginable and break your heart
“Just like you did his,” Dylan says aloud to the taunting phone screen still bearing Cal’s name. He has no idea if Cal has the same number but that’s what life's about right? Taking a risk.
Every now and then he remembers, in maudlin moments, the look on Cal’s face as Dylan snuck past Cal’s mom. The pleading look to just stay here with me. He remembers that look and when he’s drunk he cries about it. Then gets more drunk and fucks someone through a mattress to get the burning image of Cal out from behind his eyes.
He could do this. He could call. He could get the blessed answer of Cal’s voice down the phone, of Cal agreeing to see him, not that he deserves that. Or he could call and get nothing. Or even worse he could get hatred down the phone, hatred, anger, resentment. But he has to try.
No one has ever come close to Cal. No one pulled at the dark corners of Dylan like he did, pushed and pulled without even knowing what he was doing, until the corners were rounded off and Dylan was Dyl.
He’s tried. God, he’s tried so hard to forget Cal. To imagine Cal with someone else, happy and laughing and running his impossibly long fingers through their hair. He’s tried and failed and that’s what’s bought him to this. To the shifting and the staring and the drinking.
The phone’s screen blinks black and Dylan taps twice to wake it up again.
this is what life is about, isn’t it?
He’s spent too long, tried too hard to find out who he is. To figure out what he wants and he always comes back to Cal. Maybe he’s being selfish, maybe he’s clinging on to some childhood fantasy, maybe he’s about to get his head taken off but he’s got to try right? Because when life throws brushback pitches at you, you duck, or you take a fucking swing.
He’s not a coward.
Not anymore.
He downs the rest of his coffee, now cold, and picks up the phone. His thumb shakes as he presses the call button and puts the phone to his ear.
“Dyl?”
“Hi Cal.”