Catching Tatum (16 page)

I felt like my whole life exploded. I had given Cole my heart and in return he would give me my death sentence.

I PUT MY HEAD
in my hands and let my dreads snake their way over my shoulders. My mom's arms wrapped me up, like a mother hen, pulling me into her warmth and protection.

“Can't you just tell me?” I asked.

“It'll be OK. He needs to be the one to tell you, though. Trust me, this is his to tell.”

My life flashed in front of my eyes, and I realized there really wasn't much of one to see. I wasn't a mother nurturing kids, or a soldier proudly serving my country, or even a therapist or trainer. I was aimless. I spent the last couple years doing nothing but lazing around a gym and a ball field with no ambitions. I was waiting, had been waiting, for a reason to start living my life, like I had to have a reason to really live. And now I may not be able to live at all. I prayed to God it wasn't what I thought it was. It had to be something different ... just had to be, but what?

Waiting to find out what was going on with Cole was pure torture. There was a game the next night at the park and, sure enough, our new star catcher was there, obviously waiting for me when I arrived.

“Hey!” he said, smiling and running over as soon as he saw me come in the gate.

I nodded, suspicion and hate boiling inside.

“So ... you know?”

“That you talked to my parents? That you went behind my back to get to me? Yeah, I know. Just tell me what you have to say.”

He looked somber, sorry. “Not here, please. Give me at least that much. I won't try anything. I need to explain. Let me take you to breakfast tomorrow.”

“I work, remember?” I said flatly.

“Lunch?”

“Can't you just say it?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I can't.” He looked down, ashamed. Whatever it was, it was bad.

“We leave at three.”

“I'm off at one.”

“That'll work; we don't have to be here until two-thirty. How about that park up the road from the field? I'll bring subs. See you there a little after one, then? They didn't tell you anything?” he asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “Said it was yours to tell.”

He nodded, resigned. It looked to me like he was almost hoping they would have told me. I wouldn't doubt it; it had to be hard to break that kind of news. He was off his game that night. I knew it was because of me, because of what he had to say.

The morning dragged like a ball and chain at my feet. I didn't want to but I couldn't wait to hear what Cole had to say. At least if it was something as bad as I suspected I would know and could decide what to do with the information once I had it. The park we met at was covered in big alder trees, and under almost every one of them was a metal picnic bench. I would never admit it to Cole but it was one of my favorite parks in the city because of the cemetery beside it. I liked to walk through it, see names, read epitaphs, think about people I had never known in life. There was one especially sad tombstone of a girl who was only seventeen. It said simply “Gone too soon” and it reminded me of my mom's teaching to capture memories. I wondered if that girl had made enough memories. Maybe her time was done; maybe she wasn't gone too soon but gone when her time was up, her shelves filled. Did she go to heaven? What was after … this? Would I go to heaven? Was Cole about to give me my death sentence?

He was waiting when I got there. He was sitting at one of the tables, facing the parking lot, and waved when he saw me park my car. I sighed deeply.

“Hey,” he said with one of his best smiles.

“Don't,” I said. “I don't want to be here, so just tell me what you have to tell me and let's be done with this.”

“The biggest thing is … I'm sorry.”

“You've said that. Fine, if you need forgiveness you have it but that doesn't mean I want to be friends. But there's more to it than that and that's why I'm here, so get on with it,” I said, taking the bag with my sandwich from his extended hand.

“You know me too well ...”

“I don't know you at all, never did.”

“I lacked substance back then; no one knew me.” What a weird thing for someone to say. Who was he? I didn't know how to respond so I stared, trying to let everything he said not matter one bit.

“So, what's so important that you had to go to my parents?”

“Can we eat first?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I'm hungry and we're leaving soon.”

“Whatever ...” I pulled my sandwich out of the bag, BLTA like I used to get. I didn't tell him what I wanted; he remembered.

“See, I know you.” He winked, triumphantly, when I looked at him.

“It's a sandwich and I got the same thing every time.”

“'Cause you're predictable.”

“I'm not ...”

“You're the definition of predictability.”

“With what I eat. With the fact that I expect a boyfriend to be loyal to me, but not my life. You can't judge me like that; it's been six years,” I said, taking a huge bite of the sub.

“I can, Tatum. We were together for almost a year. I remember tons about you. I knew you ... and you knew me. You used to make me those cards and put them in my locker; you used to come to my games and bring my favorite Gatorade. It wasn't all as bad as you're making it out to be. I was too in love with myself to be the guy I should have been. I got caught up in being the big man on campus, but we had good times.”

I remembered bottling up plenty of memories with him. I guess after we broke up I pushed them so far back on the shelf they nearly disappeared, but when he brought them up, they were there; dusty, but ready to be remembered.

“Like that one time at Travis' game when we got hot dogs and you dropped yours getting the mustard ...” He was trying to make me play along. I knew exactly what he was talking about; he got me another one and that time someone bumped me and the dog flew out of my hand. I wanted another one but he refused to spend any more money, so I went around panhandling telling all the other people in line that my stingy boyfriend wouldn't get me another dog. Finally, he relented with conditions. He made me go to the top of the bleachers and tell the whole field that my boyfriend, Cole Jackson, was the best boyfriend in the world. And I did. There were some grumpy grandparents in the crowd that didn't appreciate our teenage antics but a couple others were laughing and clapping, probably remembering when they were young and in love. My mom was mortified, whispering at me from the backside of the bleachers to get down. I did, and jumped into Cole's waiting arms. We hugged, we kissed, and he bought me the third hotdog of the night.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I answered, trying not to give away the truth.

“You're serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what about the hot tub?”

“That's sex, Cole. Do you have any memories of us that don't involve sex?”

“You remember it then?” he said with a nod, then looked down at his food, took a bite and chewed it all before answering. “Actually I have lots of memories of you. You made us make them all the time. You were always looking for the next big thing; there always had to be something better than what we were doing, where we were going.” He nodded. “I could never be good enough for you back then no matter how hard I tried. I knew that so, yeah, I cheated on you, and I lied about it. It's not OK, it never was, and I'm sorry. But I cared about you and I still remember us. Yeah, most of it has to do with sex.”

“Because that's all we did.”

“No, it's not. We went to tons of games. I took you out.”

“To the mall, to the movies.”

“You never said you wanted to do anything different; you never complained.”

“It was so boring, and it always ended the same way ... and you admit you cheated on me! With who?”

“What did you want from me, Tatum? I was a stupid kid, I had a hot girl and I thought ... no ... I knew you would get bored with me sooner or later so, yeah, I had back up plans. I already said it was wrong, but every time you got bored and said you wanted to go do something, we went out.”

“I wanted to go to homecoming. You said no. I wanted to go to the prom. You refused.”

“That was one thing. I wasn't going to spend my money to go to a dance.”

“I said I'd pay for it.”

“I didn't want to go. I don't dance,” he answered. It was almost like we were kids again having the same kind of fight that made me decide to end it in the first place.

“’Cause you already got what you wanted from me,” I answered.

“No because the point of a dance is stupid and a waste of money, whether it was mine or yours.”

“Not if you love someone. You should have done whatever I wanted. You should have been happy to take me out and show me off.”

“It was a dance. It was stupid.”

“Dancing isn't stupid.” I remembered dancing with my dad in the kitchen, with all the other boys that had danced with me ... and dancing with Parker. Why couldn't I be having lunch with him instead of hashing over old arguments with the jerk of the world? “And there was no reward at the end, ‘cause you already got in my pants, so you had no reason to take me to one.”

“C’mon, girl,” he said, flopping his sandwich down on the paper. “It was one thing I wouldn't do. I took you out. I was proud of you.”

“You took me to the mall. You never did what I wanted to do. Every time it was the same thing.”

“How was I supposed to know it wasn't what you wanted? You never said anything but 'I'm bored; let's do something.' You're a girl. I figured the mall was a good place to take you ... and we did, too, go to other places; don't even say it was always the mall.”

I never thought of it from his point of view. I started to after he said that. He said he knew I was too good for him. Was his cheating his way of protecting his heart? To have a backup plan? It was true I was always looking for the next big thing. Then if he wanted to keep me why would he do the same old thing and refuse the one thing I begged for if he knew that? And why was he trying to make me feel bad about being me? He could have come up with something more fun than the mall. He could have not been with other girls and been more into me. He was smooth, twisting it all to be my fault when it was all his. I hated him in that moment more than ever before.

“Don't even start that, Cole! You just admitted you were cheating on me the whole time.”

“Not the whole time ...” he broke in.

“Oh, so that makes it OK?”

“No, I told you ... I'm sorry, I was wrong ... I'm trying to explain ...”

“You don't need to explain anything. You were a selfish, lousy boyfriend, and you're admitting you cheated on me, and now you want to make me feel like it's my fault.”

“No I don't ...”

“It's real simple: if you wanna keep a girl, be romantic, think about her, be about her, do things for her and keep it in your pants! Or break up with her before messing with other girls! I was a great girlfriend, Cole. I was your number one fan. I loved you and would have loved you forever. Yeah, I wanted to do more than go to the mall; yeah, I got bored watching you play video games but I was your girl! That's why I didn't complain.”

“You complained ...”

“Shut up! You know what I mean. I was one hundred percent yours and you squashed my heart like it was nothing. Whether I said anything about it or not, you could have treated me better and you know it. You were never into me as much as I was into you. Don't even try to say you were afraid I would bounce. You thought you were God's gift to girls. You could have treated me better ... you could have saved me from a disease I'll have for the rest of my life—you could have been a memory I could treasure for the rest of my life. Instead, I'm left with the memory that the first guy I ever had sex with was a boring, selfish, two-timing cheater that tried to twist it all into my fault and ... and the sex wasn’t even that good either …” I was so worked up my words were falling out of my mouth faster than I could think. I wanted to leave but I had to hear what he had to tell me. “And now I'm supposed to find out there's more. Tell me whatever you have to tell me and let me get on with my life.” I stopped and waited for him to say he had HIV or something worse—if there could be something worse.

There was nothing but silence. The leaves rustled in the warm breeze. He was looking away, almost over his shoulder, at the grass, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Speak!” I said after a too long silence.

He looked at me. I didn't see pride and arrogance. Remorse and brokenness shone in his eyes. I thought he was trying not to cry; then he opened up his mouth.

“I was a jerk, OK? To you ... to everyone back then. I'm good at my game. I can't help it. I'm good. I have been as long as I can remember. I don't have to try as hard as other guys. I'm a natural.”

“Get to the point ...”

“That is the point, Tatum. I thought I was all that because everyone made me believe I was. They told me I was. You did, too, and you know it ... I smiled and winked at you and you were putty in my hands.”

“Do you want me to slap you right now?” I asked. I had my sandwich in my hand; I wanted to smear it all over his perfect face.

“No, I want you to get it. I'm not saying it is OK how I thought or acted ... all I'm saying is, that's how it was. That's how it still is. I know some people can't catch a ball or swing a bat no matter how hard they try. I know some kids get put down by their parents and coaches. Some don't get to play at all 'cause they suck. I know some kids get bad grades and aren't good looking ...”

“Get to the point so I can go,” I said, low and slowly.

“I screwed up. I was so into me I didn't think about anyone else. It was all about me. And everyone made it about me. I didn't have to do anything to keep you around because I was the guy every girl wanted to be with. The way I saw it, you were lucky to be with me. Yeah, you were hot and made me look good, but I was doing you a favor being your boyfriend, too. It was wrong ... I was wrong. Can't you accept what I'm saying? I admit everything you're saying.” He looked at me; his shoulders sagged with a weight he couldn't bear. He looked away, but not fast enough to hide the tears in his eyes. Whatever he had to say, he was going to say it now.