My Baseball Buddy

***Note that the following story is a work of semi-fiction, or maybe "inspired by a true story." Part is 100% true, and part is fantasy, and I leave it to the reader to determine which is which. Certain details have been tweaked to protect the "innocent." ***

Of all the ways to meet your neighbor... that particular way was not one of the best.

Not that it was really the new family's fault, exactly... well, let me explain.

My name is Will. I like to think I'm a good guy... I'm just over 30, happily married to an amazing woman. I really came into my own in college, growing into my looks and body. I stay pretty active, and I'm proud to say that I've managed to maintain a decent build. Overall I've got a look I'll call "laid-back rugged," with hair everywhere God intended a man to have hair. With no false humility, I can safely say that I catch my fair share of female attention. Of course, I love my wife, and I've thoroughly outgrown my bachelor days... but I still enjoy eye-candy, and having a girl give me a half-hidden ogle still puts an extra spring in my step, same as any guy.

My wife and I live in an older neighborhood in town; most of the homes were built in the 1930s - 1950s. Some have fallen on hard times; recently there's been a boom in developers buying out the shit houses, tearing them down and putting up a much larger new one with all the amenities. Fortunately, we've been able to stop outright "McMansions" from going up, but there has been some grumbling about these fancy new places "changing the neighborhood."

The house behind us, directly across the alley, was a shithole that everyone was glad to see go. Of course, the full-blown demolition and construction was a pain for us neighbors, but things mercifully went fairly quickly. On that fateful morning, I really hadn't even realized the house was done and ready for the new owners... which led to the problem.

I had returned home mid-morning, after realizing I had left behind a pair of critical files I needed to review. No prob, I live fairly close to work. So, I zipped in, grabbed the missing docs, and had just started giving my dog a good-bye scritch behind the ears...

...and then I heard it. And felt it. A low rumble. What the...?

It had stopped by the time I got to the window. I looked out and inwardly groaned... a moving truck had set up shop in the alley. Totally blocking my car in the garage.

I tried to get out there as fast as I could, but the efficient crew had already dropped the ramp and were in the process of unloading furniture by the time I got to the back door.

I would have been within my rights to raise hell and get them to move, but that isn't exactly my style. And in truth, much of what I had to do that day I could do from home. So, I called into work, explained the situation and said I'd be in later... most likely after lunch. It was all cool.

I set up at the computer, worked through email, and generally got done everything I needed to.

After lunch, I heard what appeared to be the sounds of packing up. Sure enough, the crew had closed up the truck and finally left. I quick gathered up my stuff and dashed outside, just in case they were only on a break. There was still a lot of stuff around, but the alley was clear. Out of curiosity, I popped my head around the corner into the neighbor's garage, to see what I could see...

...and nearly ran smack dab into a guy trying to lift a box onto a shelf over his head.

Whoa.

Jesus. I don't make a habit of checking out other men, but this guy fucking commanded attention... and in sizing him up, all of my weird insecurities about being a scrawny kid back in junior high came flooding back. It was like he was an extra who just walked off the set of "The 300," and I half-expected him to throw that box at me, bellowing "THIS IS SPARTA!!" He had stripped off his shirt, revealing a tight athletic frame with muscles that came from being active rather than working out. Adding to his look, he had a spray of hair across his chest and down his torso, which clearly kept running down below his waistband. Holding the box that way, he ended up giving me an equally full-on view of his hairy forearms and pits. Added to everything, he had built up some good, honest sweat from unloading... Christ, it was like the guy was radioactively Male.

Of course, me nearly running into him came as a shock. He sucked in a surprised breath, and nearly dropped the box he was carrying onto both our heads. Even in my dress shirt and tie, I had some slick moves, and was able to steady it as it teetered. Together, we wrestled the box safely to the ground.

I looked back up at him and started apologizing. "Sorry, man, I had no idea you were there! Shit. I'm sorry, I just.... Sorry."

"Oh no, man, it's all good," he responded. He was glowing with good cheer, despite the near-accident. "No harm done except to my pride. Just glad I didn't unexpectedly throw a box of power tools at you! I'm Nate, just moving in. Are you a neighbor?"

Now that my "fight-or-flight" response had died down, I could get a better look at him. The guy had a powerful, masculine face to match his physique. His face, like the rest of him, wasn't angled or sharp, but not really smooth either. He ran a fine line between being rugged and being boyish... although several days' worth of scruff across his jaw tipped the scale more to the lumberjack side of things.

"I'm Will. Nice to meet you!" We had an awkward exchange where we started reaching hands, but he suddenly pulled back and ran his hands roughly across the side of his shorts self-consciously to wipe them off. I smiled broadly. "Don't worry, no sense standing on ceremony." I grabbed his sweaty hand and shook it firmly. "Welcome to the block! My wife and I live right across the alley."

"Oh yeah," he said, with a broadening smile and growing animation. "We could see your yard when we were checking out the house. You guys have a fantastic patio! I'm totally jealous... you can see, our yard is still to come. I was also...." He paused, and his smile suddenly evaporated. "Oh wait... aww crap! Did our truck totally block you when they unloaded?"

I waved him off. "Everything's fine. I'm not usually home this time of day--especially in a tie, if I can ever help it! But everything worked out. I'm heading back to work now."

He still shook his head, and said, "Still, sorry. I try not to piss people off right way. God knows I'll do it soon enough, and I like to have a grace period." We both laughed.

A good-looking woman came around the corner. "Who you talking to babe?"

Nate perked up when he saw her. "Hey sweetie, just meeting our first neighbor! This is Will. Will, this is my wife, Shannon."

We chatted briefly. The pair had been married just over a year. They had met in college, and got married a few years later. When I asked what brought them here, Nate explained that he had just finished up a master's program and they were looking to settle down. Through hard work, determination, and a fair amount of luck, he just got a plum starting position in an impressive, local architecture firm... a firm so impressive that even I had heard of it. It was a sweet deal, especially as Shannon was born and raised around here, and her folks and sister's family still lived in the area. For her, at least, they were moving back home. Nate was starting from scratch in building a circle of friends, but looking forward to new possibilities, and a new chapter in life.

Then, Shannon added something that perked up my ears: "The big thing about Nate is that he's a complete baseball nut. Complete. He's freaking insane!"

"Hey now!" Nate whined.

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "But we weren't in a major league town during school, and I think he's been dying inside. Now that we're settling down, I'm trying to convince him to come over and root for the home team."

Nate theatrically rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I promised I'd like her local team. The things guys do for love. Thing is, I know next to nothing about them. I've always been a National League kind of guy instead."

"Stop," I interjected. "You had me at 'baseball.' I'm the biggest fucking... sorry, 'scuse my French. I'm the biggest freaking baseball fan on the planet! My wife is no help in that regard, and most of the guys I hang out with are strictly football. They think that if a foul ball goes into the stands, you have to stop the game to find it. I'm counting down each of the 14 days until the season starts." I paused, and then offered tentatively, "Say... If you're interested, I'd be happy to help get you up to speed with our hometown heroes."

Nate brightened like a 7-year-old just promised ice cream. "Hey, man, that would be great! Hey Shan, maybe we could get the TV room set up and all watch the opener!"

Shannon sighed and gave a tight, indulgent smile. "Fine. If you get the TV room ready, you can watch the game with Will. Knock yourselves out; I'm sure I'll lift right out."

There was hearty laughter as Nate tried to assure his wife that she was the light of his life. I wished them luck in getting their house together and made my way back to work.

I smiled as I drove--we had only talked for a few minutes, but I got a good vibe from Nate. Given his god-like stature and high-rolling job, I was afraid he was going to be some self-absorbed, insufferable jackass. But he seemed solid. Grounded. He was a perfectly solicitous husband. He was happy to pitch in himself to get a job done, and not afraid to get dirty. And there was a... a... boyish exuberance, even eagerness to him. They made a good couple, and I looked forward to getting to know them.

A few days later I was working in the yard, working up a proper sweat, when Nate popped his head over our fence. "Hey, Will! How's it going?"

"Howdy, neighbor! Not bad, just trying to get some preliminaries done in the yard. How goes it?"

"Just seeing if we're still on for the opener. House still is a mess, but I'll have the downstairs TV room ready to go, and I can't think of a better way to inaugurate it!"

"Hell yeah! I was hoping you weren't just being polite. Looking forward! What can I bring?"

We fell into an excited conversation about preparations, and ended up having a surprisingly animated discussion over the benefits of Chicago vs. New York style hot dogs. I could tell our friendship was going to have camaraderie and rivalry in equal portions. But overall, we fell into a lively natural conversation. It was cool... we just really clicked.

Game day came around, and I showed up in style, wearing my player jersey and carrying enough adult beverages to give alcohol poisoning to a whale. Nate met me with a shit-ton of appetizers, as if he was the God of the Harvest sharing his bounty. The TV room was great, with a wet bar and fridge in the back, and a massive screen dominating the wall. There was a couch in the center, which we promptly claimed and dug into all the goodies with all the gusto of two young guys in the prime of life.

It was a perfect day.

We ended up having a rip-roaring blast, made better by a come-from-behind win, sealed with a nail-biter of a ninth inning. And we ate so much food that I swear I started having meat sweats. By the time I staggered back home, we vowed to watch the next game, too. And when they won that one in a ninth-inning rally, we vowed to watch games together until they lost, to avoid jinxing things.

And so began an epic friendship. We didn't watch every game together, but it quickly became a regular thing for us. Both our wives were thrilled to have a "get out of jail free" card to avoid watching a sport they only had a passing interest in. The baseball games where I crashed at his TV room became the highlights of my week, and I hadn't had so much fun in years. We geeked out on the stats, developed strongly held opinions, and ate and drank ourselves silly. With Nate and I screaming our lungs out at an attempted suicide squeeze play, I felt... almost like a kid again, and it was Christmas morning.

As much fun as I was having, I also got the sense that Nate... well, I don't know quite how to put it, but that our friendship was particularly important to him. More than he'd ever admit. I learned he had little to no contact with his own family (with good reason, by the sounds of it) and had pretty much decided to build a new one with his wife Shannon. Coming here to a new place for him, surrounded by her family and such, was fine... but he felt more than a bit lonely. And while he never for one second complained, and he clearly loved his wife and her family to pieces, he didn't really have anything that was just his. Sure, there were the guys at work, but that wasn't the same.

And that's where I came in. I just clicked with Nate, like no other guy I had known. It really was like we were brothers from another mother. We riffed on each other. We ragged on each other. And had a blast. And our regularly-scheduled baseball games were at the core of it all, forming the warp and weft that made the tapestry of our friendship.

The funny thing is that we were in so many ways just... different. I quickly learned that the guy was absolutely driven at work. The guy had a fire in his belly, and was determined to climb his way to the top. I wouldn't call myself a slacker, but I was much more laid-back, and determined to focus on my life rather than my livelihood. But in our separate ways, we shared a desire to live life to the fullest. And over the time I spent with him I could see us rubbing off on each other, in the best of ways--he got me to take things more seriously, and I got him to take time to smell the flowers.

In the span of a few weeks, I really came to see him as my best friend. Which may not seem surprising in the abstract, but that was... huge for me. I hadn't had a best friend since... when, high school? Earlier? In college I hung out with a group of guys; we traveled together in a smug little pack, always on the lookout for girls, or cheap beer. Sure, the guys picked each other up off the ground after a night of too much carousing. But we didn't ever really talk about things. Not really. And my male friends since then were good and all... but too often it seemed like we were all keeping our emotional distance, especially my buds from work. They were great guys and all, but there wasn't that essential... closeness.

Closeness became a hallmark of my friendship with Nate. He was a physical guy, and our friendship included a steady stream of physical contact. It was odd. But he was always there with a hand around my shoulder, an excited pummel when a guy got on base, or simply by hanging off me as we filled up our plates with food. He was the only one I let do that, and over time I started reciprocating. It got so he'd even hug me when I came over, even if I had been working outside in the yard and smelled like an animal. He didn't mind at all. And I... didn't mind that he didn't mind.

And it wasn't all just fun and games. Later that summer, they went through some very heavy shit. His wife Shannon was particularly devastated, but Nate was a fucking tower of strength. He busted his ass to take care of her, took care of all sorts of unpleasant details, and keep everyone in her family going. I was amazed and impressed by his ability to plow through and do what needed to get done, all the while sheltering his wife. One night I had come over as usual, he shouted that he'd be there in a minute. When he finally made his way down to the downstairs TV room, he looked like 10 miles of bad road. He more or less collapsed into the couch, barely able to lift his head. I probed lightly, "Shannon doing ok?"

"Yeah. She finally fell asleep. Hasn't slept for a couple of days now. Just wanted to make sure she was good before coming down."

"You're a good man."

He just sat there in silence. I pressed, delicately. "You getting any sleep yourself, bud?"

He just shook his head, looking for all the world the weight of the world was on his shoulders. My heart broke for him. I moved and sat down right next to him, and after a moment of silence lightly draped my arm around him. Not saying anything right away. Finally, in a low voice, I said simply, "You're strong. You've held everyone together, and you are a fucking hero. But... is anyone checking in... on how you're doing?"

He turned his head to look at me, started to say some garbage about being fine... but then he really looked at me. Our eyes met. His mouth twisted, and somewhat to my surprise, he completely fell apart. All the weight of the past two weeks boiled over, and he started sobbing. I was... taken aback for a second; this wasn't a usual part of the Guy Code. But I pulled him in, and he grabbed onto me like I was the only thing keeping him together. He just cried. And cried. I ran my fingers lightly through his hair, and let him be... being a rock for him, for a change.

After a while, his sounds quieted, and I realized he had fallen asleep, still holding me like I was his teddy bear. Poor guy, I knew he hadn't slept in days himself, and couldn't let himself relax as long as anyone needed him. Feeling I was going to be there a while, I muted the TV, leaned my head back and drifted off myself.

Sometime later, I awoke with a snap, somewhat disoriented. The game was long done, and the TV was showing some God-awful infomercial. Nate was still holding me tight, although he had slid down somewhat with his head across my belly, pretty much with his face in my lap.

Very much outside the Guy Code.

I smiled inside, knowing there was no other guy I would let get this close. Hell, I'd haul off and deck any other guy who got close to this position. But I didn't mind with Nate. Weird, I kinda... liked it. Liked the trust. Liked having a friend so tight. Appreciated our connection. It was nice. I didn't throw him off, but gently ran my hand through his hair.

But still, it was late. After a few minutes, I lightly disentangled us... sliding a pillow under Nate's head and draping a blanket over him. Then I quietly let myself out. Still thinking about him holding me.

We didn't speak of it. But I couldn't help but notice that Nate had somehow, quietly, learned what my absolute favorite, splurge-worthy brand of single malt scotch was, the kind I only got as a Christmas gift if I was lucky and had been a very good boy. And there was always a bottle of it on hand for the rest of baseball season.

All in all, I couldn't believe that in such a short amount of time, Nate had really... filled up my life. There was an ease to being with him, and... I dunno how to say it. An... excitement.

A real connection.

I never had a connection with a guy like that before.

And it felt fucking amazing.

* * *

The thing that was really cool was that as the summer went on, our home team started really taking off. While they were in the middle of the pack around the All-Star break, they soon shot to the top of the division, and stayed there. Nate and I were ecstatic, and the excitement built, and built, and built. The two of us were in our glory, swept up in a rush of adrenaline and testosterone. Our wives laughed to see us flush and screaming like a pair of drunken baboons, although I suspect they were slowly being driven insane by playoff fever.

As the Magic Number fell to one, Nate's wife Shannon decided to go out with her sister and a few girlfriends for "Ladies Week" away from home to enjoy the approach of autumn. Or as Nate described it, a full week of him being able to leave the toilet seat up. That fucking rocked, as Nate and I could truly let loose with our full playoff hysteria and not worry about being to loud or obnoxious.

And that's when life threw us a curveball of its own.