Catching Colleen

"No, it's all good, really," he said. His drink was ready and he grabbed it from the barista. "Nice to meet you, Serge. I have to get going. Colleen, always a pleasure," he said heading toward the door.

"So long, Kirk. And your venti, Serge," she said. I took it but she waved me off paying, "On me."

"I was hoping I might be able to see the manager when she wasn't working," I said with a hopeful look or tone.

"And she would like to know if that's asking for a date," Colleen asked. The barista was enjoying this. He could tell I was squirming at the "date" reference, and I decided Colleen had some sort of inside joke going with the guy. So I fessed up.

"Yes, it is a date request. The date is informal, as befits a man who made his living squatting in the dirt."

Laughing, Colleen said, "You wore a mask, too. Should I be worried?"

"It took a long time before catchers wore masks. At the time it was not unreasonable. Some people now think it's only common sense." I paused. "They still sometimes call the gear the 'tools of ignorance,' you know," I finished.

"I hadn't heard that before. Does that make you a baseball intellectual of some kind?" she went on with a look over at the kid. She was definitely enjoying this with the employee, who as a male should have been on my side. I thought and paused. Intellectual?

"Larussa's an intellectual, I think. Maybe a few of the announcers. But no, not me. I, I mean."

She got herself a drink and came around from behind. We sat at a small table looking out on cars pulling into the parking lot and the line of them streaming down the road toward Dayton, Middletown, .

"So tell me about your kid," I asked.

She smiled. "She's great. Loves basketball, but you should see her throw a hardball. I've got her on a boys baseball team, maybe another year. Pitching, and pretty good, too. They're getting bigger, the boys are. But she holds her own. Good student, always on the honor roll but gets an occasional B or C. Church youth group, I think she's going to get out of the choir soon--she just doesn't like it that much anymore and she's so busy with basketball. Great kid. She's been my life away from work."

The door opened and six, no seven, Catholic school girls in uniforms and carrying cell phones at their ears entered. "Serge, we are just about to get our rush, my other barista isn't coming in, and of course I want to talk to you. But I have to work now. Why don't you get a paper and have a seat and enjoy your coffee. Maybe there will be a gap and I can talk to you." That sounded good, and I should have agreed, but I didn't.

"Well, if you want to train me, I can help."

The kids were lined up and the door opened for a guy in a business suit. Colleen looked at me and said, "Can you work a cash register?"

I had never done that, so I said, "I learn quick."

"Quickly. I thought you were an English major?"

I went around the counter and behind the cash register. The barista smiled and nodded.

Within the hour I went from completely humiliated by my initial ineptitude to satisfied to find I could run a cash register, put coffee in the right sized cup, and not alienate customers. Colleen was everywhere, teaching me, serving, cleaning, welcoming, coaxing, and always smiling. A little after 7 there was a break in the action and my sister walked in.

"What!! Ko, I think this is the first time I've ever seen you work for a living!" she said, with a broad smile.

"What'll it be, Jo?"

"Grande, decaf, skinny latte."

"Already working on it, Mrs. McMannis," said the barista.

Joan replied, "Thanks Marty. You finish up that degree yet?"

"Working on the master's now," Marty said.

"Oh, so you two know each other, huh?" I asked as I rang her up.

"Marty was one of my students many years ago."

"My favorite teacher," Marty put in as her drink finished up for him.

Joan nodded. "Nice to see you, Mart. Ko, why don't you come by for supper tonight? The girls should be home around 6 so we'll eat around 6:30."

"Sure thing, Sis, sounds great." She headed out.

Marty looked up. "Sis?"

The door closed behind her.

"Joan's my big sister," I said. Marty seemed surprised, or like he finally got the puzzle.

He said, "I wonder why she never mentioned her brother played baseball in the majors..."

"I'm sort of the black sheep of the family. They don't talk about me much."

About 9 there was a lull in the action, and I was shocked that three hours had passed so quickly. Colleen pronounced me a real Starbuckler. I felt proud. Or at least, not stupid, and mildly competent. At 9:30 two other employees arrived and Colleen thanked me for my help.

I asked again about the date and said I'd be in town all day. She said why not lunch, around 1:30, and I agreed because I would have agreed to anything with her. After all, I'd driven out here at six in the morning for some reason.

Catching Colleen Ch. 03 Called Up to the Bigs

I remember lying in bed with Carol the morning after our wedding. It had been a long, gentle, sexual experience. I awoke to her touches and she to mine, and it was satisfying and warm lying in bed as the sun came up. I thought it was a sign of God's blessing; I thought we were invincible as a couple. Nothing would break us up. I have often wondered what happened to that feeling of standing in front of the world and saying only this person will I love from this day, don't even think about it, don't even worry, Mom and Dad, I will be hers and she mine and rest easy on it. Worry about the others.

Carol left on a late summer's day, I forget the month--late August or early September. I was with the Twins and we were not seeing each other much, as if we were dwindling. It may have been made in heaven but it was a marriage ruined on earth. I think it ended because she went one way and I didn't go anywhere, and suddenly we were not interested in us anymore. It was forlorn. It died of our inattention and lack of effort and--on my part--immaturity. I was not a good husband. Faithful, but that is really just the minimum, isn't it? I cried when she said she was leaving, but I kept asking myself if I was crying for my loss--or my embarrassment, or my failure.

No, she was not unfaithful either, to my knowledge. I think the parting hurt her as much as it did me and with more reason because she was growing. That last time I saw her she had a funny expression, knowing this was it and we had failed and we weren't the sort of people who liked to fail. I remember her eyes looked darker and ingenuous somehow. There was no man waiting in the wings--her mother was with her at the divorce meeting.

We had no kids. We hadn't built anything. We wanted kids, later. We wanted careers, now. We wanted to be married, now. It was all of this earth, this spot, this space. None of it seemed to matter for others or life. We would have children for us, when we were ready. We were working on careers and personal futures and now. We took us for granted. We didn't know it should mean something beyond our own interest.

Divorce. Probably the right decision, despite what my Pope would say.

There were no women after Carol, and for some years now. I missed her. I missed having a woman in my life. I missed love. I missed sex. I had no one, possessed no one, was possessed of no one. It was, after all, all about me. Perhaps now I saw that. Maybe I was finally growing up. Maybe not.

It's never good to pat yourself on the back for realizing you were less than you should have been.

I parked in the lot outside Colleen's store just as she came out. She saw me, saw my car, and smiled and came my way anyway. She was smiling and looked classy, and I felt a stirring at her shape.

"Serge, I expected a Jag or BMW or something. An old Ford?" she asked.

I smiled. "I wasn't that good a catcher," I said, and she smiled. "You don't mind riding in an older Ford?"

"Nah, not a bit. I run a coffee shop. My dreams are simple," she said, still smiling. "I like pickups, too."

"This is the only car I have. No trucks," I said, holding the door for her. She got in and I closed the door. I went around and got in. "Sorry it's not more impressive. After my marriage broke up I sort of let things go." She looked at me, for the first time like she was not taking me at face value.

"Good to know, I guess," she said. "Not sure what it means."

"She and I parted friends, and we agreed to the separation of assets. I was just starting to make enough money. I put her through law school then and she did not contest savings or anything; she was ready to get on with earning her own living. I got rid of our apartment and moved into a little apartment on the east side of Cincinnati--little and cheap. I bought this car new about then--again, little and cheap."

"You must have known lots of guys making millions and millions," she said.

"Sure did. They'd park their Rolls or Jag right next to me and then complain I was hurting their resale value," I said. "One manager called me in, had me see the financial planner they use to help guys make good investments. He worried I'd lost all my money gambling or something."

She looked at me but I didn't embellish, so she changed the subject.

"So where are we going to eat?" she asked.

"Where is there to eat near downtown Sky Grey, Ohio?"

"There's a Frisch's, an Omelet Shak out of town, and Murray's about four miles from here."

"Murray's okay?" I asked.

"Take a right out of the lot and go four miles," she said.

It was a lovely late lunch. Murray's turned out to be an Amish family restaurant with a store attached selling everything from rocking chairs to scented candles, pancake mix, and knickknacks. I had a sandwich made with homemade bread right out of the oven, as luck would have it. I'll go back to Murray's.

Colleen was one of those people who was interested in everything. She asked about people I knew, my relation with the Church since my divorce, where I'd gone on vacations, why I liked Styron so much, and my feelings about global warming. I learned that she had been engaged once, but when she had broken it off she had decided to start her family herself. She was finally approved for the adoption on her twenty-ninth birthday and hadn't dated much since she got Renée.

Just raising a mixed race kid out in rural Sky Grey raised some eyebrows--but the open hostility she had feared did not materialize. She knew that there had been an active chapter of the Klan in the area forty years before, but she had seen no openly racist act regarding her daughter. She had not seen any disapproval, either, but she wondered if that was because everyone knew Renée was adopted. Colleen had lived in the area all her life, and wondered if attitudes would be different if people thought Renée was her biological child. She said if there had been any real problem, she'd have gotten Renée out of the area. As time had gone by, Renée and she had become very close. She worried if Renée was leaning on her too much--she had only one or two real friends, one of whom was Penny McMannis.

"I like you, Colleen," I said in what I thought to be a very forward statement, for me. She smiled.

"I like you too, Serge, and I hope you'll date me. But you should understand, I will keep you away from Renée, a lot. I don't want her to bond to a guy I have no commitment from, and commitments are made over time, for me," she said.

I thought I understood why there had not been a lot of relationships with men since Renée came along. Colleen put everything on the backburner for her child, and she expected a boyfriend to understand that the kid's interests come first. She saw my pensive pause as criticism--I saw a little downturn to the corners of her mouth, almost a grimace as she looked down at her plate. I had it bad--I saw her grimace as a sign of character.

I thought I surprised her.

"Perfect," I said. I put my hand on hers. "Friday night are you busy? Can you get a sitter? Do you need a sitter--I mean, she's 13 and is that old enough to be home alone? And I think we should share the expense of the sitter, so if you want I can pay this time and you can pick it up if we go out again?"

"Okay, Serge. I'd love to go out with you again Friday night.

*

So began the down-hormone side of our dating relationship. Perhaps I should call it the rising action part. Nah.

She and I began gently dating, seeing each other about twice a week. I met her at Mass one Sunday (she brought Renée to that), she took me to her Methodist church the next week, I helped run a bingo with her at the VFW in Sky Grey on one Wednesday, took her to a movie one Saturday, helped her open her store one other time, sat with her at the girls' last practice game--gentle dating. She particularly enjoyed learning to fire a pistol, using mine--a gift from my Dad ten years ago. We went to a local outdoor range in a state forest--she'd never fired a gun before. So for me it was an exciting October as I came more and more to like this woman, and I hoped she felt likewise. I felt comfortable with her. We talked on the phone several times a week, just arranging dates or talking about Renée or business.

It was the day after the girls' last practice game that I got a call from Joan. It was Saturday, 1 November. "Serge? It's me, Joan."

"Hey Sis, how are you? Just saw you yesterday, what's up?"

"We have a problem. Ralph is sick and doesn't think he can keep coaching the girls," she said.

"He seemed okay yesterday," I said. I hadn't noticed any sign.

"No, Serge, he has cancer and needs to go in for chemo this week. He says it was only diagnosed in mid-October, but now they think he needs treatment immediately. So I was thinking--the girls need a coach. We could get a parent, and there is one teacher who will do it if we can't find anyone else, but she'd rather just be an assistant to someone who knows the game better. If you would like to do it, I think they'd give you the job."

I remember the last contract I signed. One year with the Reds, more than decent pay after almost 14 years in the big leagues (and considering the humble origins of the professional sport). I thought this contract would be less.

I'd get to know the kids better. They seemed like great kids--I hadn't heard of anyone recalcitrant or playing the absence games kids play: skipping practice and wanting to play in games, that sort of thing. Mr. Wilton had scrupulously gotten everyone into the practice games I thought equally--but real games would end that as the best players would play the most. There were only eleven on the team.

"Joan, I'm inclined to do it, but everyone knows I'm related to Penny. A lot of them know I'm dating Colleen. Is that going to cause any problem?"

"I don't think so. I talked to Colleen, and George Wilmington was willing to coach if you wouldn't but he says he never played the game, and Terry Mistra--she's Bobbi's mom--said she'd be happy with you taking it. Those are all the parents I talked to this morning. So I think that will be okay."

"I'd like to talk to Ralph--that's his name, right? If he's willing and able."

"I think I can set that up for you. He and his wife live near us. I'll get back to you on that. Uh, their first game is Tuesday, so we need to firm this up quickly, Serge."

It occurred to me at this moment that I had never coached a team in my life.

"Uh, Jo, I really never coached a team before."

"That's okay, Ko, you were always bossing kids around growing up so you have much more experience than you realize," she joked. She was happy I'd said yes.

"Sis, I all of a sudden feel a weight on my shoulders," I said, because I did.

"Get used to that feeling. Responsibility."

"It's like being in the playoff hunt," I said, "and no, you shouldn't say so it's a new feeling for me." She laughed and we said our goodbyes.

I sat back in a soft chair, slumped. I thought of Colleen and how I felt. I'd known her a little over a month and it felt different. With Carol I'd felt excited at the start, and then like we were a team, and there had been a passion. I still felt that way about Carol, but like it was a part of me and a good part but it was formative. With Colleen it was like I had reached the end of a road: satisfied, right, good, desirous. Summative.

It was a few hours later that Joan called back.

"Serge, Ralph will meet with you tomorrow at my house. I invited him and Marge over, as well as Colleen and Renée, so Art will grill a brisket or something and we'll make an early supper of it around 4. Come early so you can talk to Ralph. Whew!

"I called the principal and he'd like to interview you Monday morning at 11, hopefully to confirm you in the job and then you can take over at the girls' practice at 4. Ralph will be at the practice and introduce you. Oh, the teacher who was willing to help is still thinking about it, she said she'd call back tomorrow. I don't know what's going on there, she seems to have some drama right now. I think she's out." Drama was Joan's term for backstory issues that affect people. We all have them at times (it was drama when I was playing ball and was discussing divorce with Carol).

"You do a lot for that school," I said.

"I'll do what's necessary for my children to be happy. Plus, you said you could help her with her free throws," she said laughing, and I smiled.

"Do I need an apartment out in Sky Grey?" I asked.

"How serious are you about Colleen?" Touché.

"Very. But it's early. She's protecting Renée from bonding with me until she is sure I'm long term."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm the other adult in the triangle but not in the family. Of course you have to protect the kid. And, frankly, it protects me. It's quite possible to fall in love with a child and not make a wise decision for the adult. If Colleen and I make it, I want it to be because of how I feel about her and the kid, not just one or the other.

"I think I missed out on kids. Carol and I may have subverted our relationship by putting off building a family," I conjectured.

"Your life was good, with Carol and without," she said after a moment. "There is no one way to make a family or a good life. You had every chance to make a good life. Your failure does not reflect bad judgment in whom you loved. Perhaps how."

I saw that as a reasonable and loving analysis. I said, "Thanks, Sis. Tomorrow before 4." And we hung up.

It was coincidental that I got a call that night from Carol. I had not talked to her since the divorce and I didn't talk to her this time, either. It was the most disturbing call I'd ever received. I was outside working on my car, so the answering machine recorded a message. I put in parentheses things I think she was saying to her husband in the background.

"Serge? Serge? You there?"

"(Uh. Uh. Just wait a second.)

"Hi, honey, sorry you're not (uh) home. I just wanted you to know that I'm married, again. (Oh, jeez) Yeah, today we got married. And his cock is so big! (Uh. Uh. UHH)"

"Anyway, as you can probably...tell, he's giving it to me right now. (Uh. Uh)"

"Give me a call sometime, Serge. (Uh. Hold on, I'm close. Uh.) It's never been so good. I sent you an email with my number a few minutes ago. It's all the way in me! (Uh. Uh.) Later."

I assumed they climaxed then. Or soon after. It must be hard to hold a telephone conversation while screwing. Maybe she put it on speaker.

Carol liked to describe lovemaking as she had it, although we'd never done anything like calling a former lover while in the throes of sex. This hadn't sounded like lovemaking; it sounded like sex and...defiance. It almost sounded adolescent: I'm having sex and it's good and it's not you! Carol sounded weird; it was her voice but it was shrill, somehow, almost desperate. I wondered where she lived, and I wondered if this call was some sort of harassment or sex game gotten out of hand or a drunken dare. It smacked of threat.