catfish 25

 Friday, Friday, the weekend arrived at left.  Way back at the House of Chin, I came to love Friday.  Not that it was the weekend for me, I generally worked Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, but those of the regulars who had regular jobs were so buoyant of a Friday after five that it just grew on me.  Then when I began to have a regular job, I made a fetish of it.  Still do now even though it is a just another day like it is to all retirees.  I honor it by making the trek out to the Ten Cat pretty religiously.

Anyway back to Catfish.  What do you think of Ron being an asshole buddy of Catfish?  Good move or bad?  Is he ever going to score with Gina?  Is there a thing going on between Itch and Gina?

How do you like it so far?

 

But there I was Saturday out in the ballyard as Itch liked to call it, bat in my hands, Dan pitching, Itch catching, Ted out in the field.

 “Here’s the deal,” Dan said, “All you got to do is one thing, and that’s to keep your eyes open.  It doesn’t matter if you miss, it doesn’t matter if you foul it off, it doesn’t matter if your hit is just a slow roller, all that matters is that you keep your eyes open, you got that?”

 “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”  Shit this is not the way I wanted to be spending my Saturday morning.  But you know, living in the bunkhouse when Dan got a bug up his ass, you kind of had to go along.  That’s what Ted was doing out there, recruited off his couch, especially since he was no fan of mine, not with that Ron thing going on.  I don’t know how the fuck Dan got Itch out there, but it was a funny thing, he just seemed to be into this whole softball thing, I don’t know why.

 “Okay then, just keep those eyes open,” and he tossed the ball and it was way outside.  I just watched it go by, but I did keep my eyes open. 

 “See, that’s a ball,” Dan said, as if he’d meant to throw it that way, “If this was a game you’d be ahead in the count.”

 “Yeah, yeah.”

 His second pitch went about the same way.  “See, now you got a two and oh count, you got an edge, now the pitcher has to come in.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” but I guess I kind of believed him, because that next pitch didn’t look so bad, not so far out, I stepped out and gave it a mighty swing, felt it hit off the end of the bat, and there it was, a line drive over first base, a hit in anybody’s book.  “How did you like that?” I called out to the mound.

 “I didn’t like it at all, you know why?”

 “No I don’t.”

 “Why don’t you guess?”

 Shit, I didn’t want to guess, but I knew what he wanted to hear, and he was right, “Because I closed my eyes.”

 “That’s right,” he answered, kind of smug, pissed me off.

 “How can you tell?” I challenged him.

 “I just can,” he answered.

 Didn’t seem to me like he could, all the way out there, but I let it slide.  What the fuck, I’d just do it his way, the sooner it was over, the sooner I could get back to my easy Saturday.  I’d just keep my eyes open, how hard could that be?

 A lot harder than I thought it would be.  Truth is Dan was a shitty pitcher, balls went over my head, bounced before they even got to the plate, were way outside and sometimes went behind my back.  These were easy to watch, to keep my eyes open on, it was frustrating, boring, to just stand there looking at them, and so that when one looked like it was going to be where I could hit it, I just wanted to give it that mad swing, you know it felt so good, so right, there’s this point where you just pull the trigger, and you just give yourself up, and whatever happens happens.  You don’t want your mind clouded by some instruction at a time like that.

 And that’s what that ‘keep your eyes open’ thing was, a distraction, an unnatural interruption, a break in my smooth swing, a hitch.  I was hitting more balls, I have to admit that, but a lot of them were fouls, and a lot of them were weak grounders, and it was just no fun.  I was glad when the whole thing was over.

 “Hey good job, Natty.” That was Itch gathering up the equipment when it was all over. 

 Was he being sarcastic, or worse yet ironic?  “I looked like shit,” I told him.

 He gave me a long look, like he was trying to think of what to say, and then he said, “Yeah you did, most of time, but those magnificent strike outs of yours, much as they, I don’t know, lift the human spirit, don’t do much for the team, making a little more contact, it’s just going to be better,” and then like he needed a little more agreement he turned to Dan who was gathering up the balls, “Don’t you think?”

 Dan didn’t even look up, “I think we made some progress,” he said, “Let’s do it again next Saturday.”

 Shit fuck.  I didn’t want to waste another Saturday morning on this crap.  A few weak grounders, what the fuck was with that, and now my swing was all fucked up, all hitchy and I didn’t know what I was doing anymore, and like I said no fun anymore.

 But it was done, it was over with, I’d worry about next week next week.  Back to the bunkhouse, beers with the guys, and then off to the great wall, which was not such great shakes as it once was, date night you know, just kind of slow.

 “So she thinks I’m cold huh?” Itch wanted to know, sliding maybe my fourth beer in front of me.  Damn, I didn’t want to have this conversation, but as long as he brought it up, “Well you kind of are, you know?”

 “I am?”

 He looked at me like he was thinking this over, and then he hit his stride, “Well I like to think of myself as an objective viewer of the human condition.”

 “See, that’s kind of cold.”

 “You think?”

 “Yeah I do think.”

 And then in walked Ron, by himself which was a little strange because usually Tammy was his shadow, still had that strut though, plunked himself down on an empty bar stool, and I cringed a little half expecting a “Hey Eeeech,” but that didn’t happen, they had reached an accommodation.

 Itch, for his part, didn’t pretend to be fooling with something, poured a glass, and set it in front of Ron.  “That’ll be a buck,” he said which he didn’t need to say because everybody knew what a beer cost, and Ron took his time pulling the bill out of his wallet and even then kept his thumb on it so that when Itch pulled for it he had to yank it.

 “Thank you,” Itch said.

 “You’re welcome,” Ron answered, no love lost between these guys.

 About then Ron spotted me sitting at the other end of the bar, “And one for my friend Catfish,” and he pulled another buck out of his wallet.

 “You got it Pal,” said Itch.

 “Thanks Pal,” Ron answered.

 “To the Big Job,” Ron hoisted his beer glass in my direction.

 “Fucking yeah,” I answered hoisting mine in his direction, the man had saved my life, and I was walking down easy street now because of him.  Even so I was rather glad that he left it at that, didn’t motion me over to sit down next to him or anything like that.

 And then Itch was setting a new beer in front of me.  “From your asshole buddy,” he said, not too loud.

 Damn.  Itch must have picked that up from Ted and the guys, I’d been hearing it a lot lately from them. 

  “Guy did me a big favor, okay?”

 “That’s what I hear.  I hear you’re a big man now, down at the big job.”

 “You know Itch, I’d like to see you out there.  I’d like to see you digging the same ditch every fucking day.  Maybe that would give you some insight into the human fucking condition.”

 That shut him up, as well it should have, working in his Goddamn air-conditioned bar, never lifting any thing heavier than a glass of fucking beer.  

 Not that heavy, not heavy at all as I lifted it up and drained it and plunked the empty glass back down on the bar and got up and walked out, making a point of stopping by Ron, slapping him on the back, “Thanks Pal, see you Monday.”

 The liquor store was a couple blocks out of my way straight back to the bunkhouse, but I stopped by there thinking that I would make a better impression walking into the bunkhouse with a case of Old Style rather than waiting for the collection and sticking a big bill into the hat where maybe nobody would even notice I was doing it.  And it turned out that there was a sale on Special Export which was Old Style’s fancy beer, came in green bottles, so that’s what I got. 

 “Hey guys,” I was all Catfish walking in the door, “Let’s have some green yummies tonight.”

 Well who doesn’t perk up at an early case of beer, especially the green bottle kind, and they all did, and it was kind of like we all decided that there was no point in bringing up that whole Ron asshole buddy business, and I launched into some stories which went over well enough, but I was kind of limited you know.  I couldn’t get into any Catfish conquest stories because I hadn’t conquested Gina yet.  Rounding third base really didn’t make much of a story, and well I didn’t want Gina and me to be everybody’s business.  It was just more complicated.

 And once my stories ran out the conversation just naturally slid into work, and that got a little awkward because normally a lot of that was bitching about the guys who got the easy jobs, and now I was one of them and nobody wanted to say anything about that, me having bought the beer and all.  And another thing about talking about work is it’s mostly complaining, talking about how all the bosses are assholes, and Ron was a boss, and maybe they were thinking if they said something maybe it would get back to him.  Of course I’d never do that and they should have known that, but I could see how they would be a little suspicious.  I guess I would be if I were them.

 And see that’s it, I wasn’t them anymore.  I was this other guy. 

 You know Gina had said something, towards the end of the meal at La Trattoria when I was pretty sloshed from all that fine wine and had gotten into the habit of just nodding at everything she said and hadn’t paid it any particular mind at the time, but what she had said was something to the effect that she didn’t see why I was still living in that bunkhouse.  I was making good money now, I could get a good apartment, a nice place.

 A nice place, sounds nice, but not really the sort of thing I was into, you know it kind of implied keeping up, emptying ash trays, picking up last night’s beer cans the very next morning, washing dishes, having dishes, thinking maybe the couch should be here instead of there, all that crap.

 So that’s why I was just nodding, and besides I liked the bunkhouse, liked the guys, liked shooting the shit, liked that fine feeling  when the beer run came through and the cans were tossed around and the tops were popped. 

 But I wasn’t feeling the same way tonight, what with being on the edge of the conversation.  I was thinking about getting that nice apartment, and again it wasn’t much about having an apartment, but something that Gina had said while I was nodding.  It would be a place that she could come over to.  It wouldn’t be me fighting to get past that door, past the door into her bedroom, into her bedroom.  It would be more relaxed, smoother, aw honey you don’t want to walk back to your place, it’s raining outside.  I would have eggs and bacon in my refrigerator.  It was something to think about.