July 2008

Orlando, Florida

Gord was shocked to see Kim for the first time since the spring of 2005. His steak was left half-eaten on his plate; his appetite had vanished.

His teammates looked at each other quizzically. They had never seen Gord so rattled before. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. They were surprised at how candidly he explained his past with Kim. Emotional conversations about unrequited love were not the bailiwick of professional athletes. An uncomfortable tension hung over their table.

Chris Seaboard attempted to infuse some humour into the situation.

“Gordo, that was a real sweet story. But why don’t you grow a pair and go talk to her? It feels like I’m out to dinner with my girlfriend right now.”

Gord ignored his friend’s barbs, but deep down, he knew that Seaboard was right.

“Yeah, man, you pussied out big time back then. Time to man up,” added Steve Anderson.

“She probably doesn’t even remember me,” Gord reasoned unconvincingly.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Go over there and talk to her.” Seaboard smirked at a reluctant Gord. “If she doesn’t remember you, then the resulting awkwardness will at least provide us with the night’s entertainment.”

“You’ll kick yourself if you don’t take the chance,” said Anderson.

“Here’s your shot,” piped up JR Coltrane. “The old man’s going to the bathroom. He probably has a prostate the size of a watermelon, so he’ll be in there awhile.”

Gord inhaled deeply. He put his hands on the crisp, linen tablecloth and propelled himself to a standing position.

“You guys are dickheads.” Gord paused, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. Be a man, he told himself. “Okay, fuck it. Here goes nothing.”

Gord moved slowly toward Kim’s table. His heart palpitated ferociously. Each step thundered throughout his body and echoed in his ears. He could feel beads of nervous sweat drip down his back. He wiped his clammy hands on the front of his pants.

Gord’s mind searched for an opening line. What could he say?

Hey, remember me? We used to be best friends and then we stopped talking because I was too much of a chickenshit to tell you how I felt. I haven’t seen you in three years. How have you been?

Gord stopped five feet from her table. Kim was too busy texting on her phone to notice him standing behind her. He cleared his throat. Moment of truth.

“Hi, Kim.”

Instantly, her hands stopped typing. Kim raised her head slightly, trying to place the voice. A second later, her back tightened and her shoulders rolled back into a position of perfect posture. She knew who was standing behind her.

Kim turned around slowly, as though she was unsure what she would find at her back. Gord had a sly smile on his face as she turned. He lifted his eyebrows as if to say, Yeah, it’s really me. Bewilderment ran across Kim’s face.

An interminable silence passed. She blinked a number of times and shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around the scene. Gord broke out into a big grin as he looked at her up close for the first time in over three years. She is so beautiful, he thought.

“Oh my God! Gord!” she exclaimed.

Kim stood up and closed the gap between them. Their joy at seeing each other was quickly replaced by the history of their last meeting. They both moved in for a hug, but instead of a warm embrace, it resembled an awkward greeting between two distant acquaintances. Their arms were wrapped around each other, but their waists were miles apart.

Gord began to speak. “Kim, you look — ”

“What are you doing here?” Kim inquired, interrupting him.

“Oh, well, I’m just out for dinner with my teammates.”

“Teammates?”

“Yeah. I play ball for the Lakeland Wildcats. Detroit’s Single A farm team.”

“Really? That’s great!” Kim replied excitedly. “You got drafted after school?”

“No, I didn’t even get a sniff,” Gord shook his head. “Not one scout approached me during my senior year — it was pretty disappointing. I had good numbers, too, but I guess teams didn’t think I threw hard enough.” He shrugged. “Story of my life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. So, how did you end up with the Wildcats?”

“The Michigan coaching staff set up some independent league tryouts for me after graduation. I threw really well at an open showcase in Illinois and got signed. I went 8–1 with a low ERA in indy ball and the Wildcats signed me at the end of the summer. They sent me to Lakeland for the last month of the season, and I’m back there again this year.”

“I’m really glad you stuck with it and followed your dream.” She smiled. “I always knew how important baseball was to you.”

“Thanks, Kim.”

“I heard you guys had a really good senior year?”

“Yeah, it was awesome. After four years, everything finally came together. We made it all the way to the College Championships. Such an unbelievable experience. You should have been there.”

Gord’s last sentence was more scathing than he intended. He had simply meant that Kim would have enjoyed the spirited atmosphere on campus during the Wolverines’ run to the finals. Instead, his comment was laced with disappointment and anger over Kim’s departure from school after junior year. He immediately regretted his brief loss of composure. His face flushed. Gord struggled to smooth over his gaffe.

“So, uh,” he laughed nervously. “Last I heard you were doing some TV work?”

“Yeah, I’m a features reporter for Channel 13. I do entertainment: celebrity gossip, restaurants, local events, dating. Stuff like that.”

Gord grinned. “Hard-hitting journalism at its best, eh?”

“Shut up,” she laughed. “I can tell you haven’t gotten any funnier.”

“Kim, who’s this?” Jim Bell had returned from the bathroom.

“This is Gord Mattis, Dad. We went to Michigan together. We lived in the same hall.”

“The ballplayer?”

“Yes, sir,” Gord replied.

Jim grabbed Gord’s right hand and pumped it furiously. “How are you doing, son?”

“I’m great. I just noticed Kim from across the restaurant and thought I would stop by and say hello.”

“Why don’t you join us?” Jim offered.

“I’d like to, sir, but I’m here with some friends and I should be heading back. Thanks anyway.”

Gord turned to Kim. “It was great seeing you, Kim.”

“You too, Gord.”

They didn’t hug goodbye, but instead exchanged warm smiles. Their eyes lingered on each other for just a fraction of a second before Gord turned and walked back to his table.

A rush of mixed emotions wracked Gord. He was happy to have seen her, but old feelings started crawling back to the surface. She seemed surprised, but happy to see him.

Shit, Gord thought. Should I have asked for her number?

When he returned to the table, the guys looked at him expectantly. Gord felt lightheaded. The last ten minutes had been a blur. He needed some fresh air to clear his mind. What had started off as a low-key celebration for a promoted teammate had turned into an emotionally exhausting night.

Seaboard spoke up first. “How did it go?”

“It was, uh, good.” Gord grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. “I’m going to take off, though. You guys stay.” He threw some cash down on the table. “This should cover my share. I’ll see you guys at the park tomorrow.”

Gord left the restaurant without giving his surprised teammates a chance to respond.