Other People's Problems

"Uhm, yeah. Thanks."

Mom was right. He was acting weird. We don't see each other often, maybe six or seven times a year and then only for an hour or two. Dad was being almost confrontational while he was usually super laid back.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You still have my old mitts?"

"Sure. And a couple of bats. Need 'em for Jeremiah?"

"Yeah."

"Closet in the office. Towards the rear."

"Thanks."

I found two of my old mitts, a few balls, and a bat that would be too heavy for him.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Not a problem. They're yours. Take them or leave them. Gonna stay for a beer?"

"No, gotta get going. Another time."

"Yeah, that works for me."

I was halfway down the porch stairs when I paused. Going back to the door, I opened it and walked in. He looked up from the fridge where he was pulling out ingredients for dinner.

"Forget something?"

I paused before answering. "Yeah. What'd you mean 'works for you'?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Stefania's going to be home soon. Gotta get dinner started."

Standing there, I thought about his attitude. There was definitely something off. "No, seriously, what did you mean?"

He leaned against the refrigerator door. "Okay, you want to do this? I meant you stopping by for under five minutes works for me. Our relationship works for me. Look, you're my son and I love you. That's not going to change. But right now, I'm finding it hard to like you. It's been that way for a while."

I was stunned. "Wow, Dad. Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

"Don't give me that bullshit and don't get flippant with me. There are parts of the boy that I raised still in you, but it's getting drowned by the asshole you've become. You made this choice, Brandon. You created this distance. I've just grown to appreciate it is all."

"That... That's not true. I'm just busy. I've got the clinic and the stuff with Jeremiah and, yeah, other stuff."

"I don't know if you're BS'ing me or yourself, but you're full of shit. You have disdain for me. More importantly, you're afraid you'll become like me, as if being a cuck is contagious. Let me explain some shit to you. I don't need your approval and I don't need your constant sneer every time we're together and you remember how your mother treated me. I was there. I don't need a fucking reminder.

"I had a little boy who needed his mother, so yeah, I took her back. More than once. Did you know that I stopped sleeping with her after the first time? I went years without. Years! When she finally left us, I kept giving her money. Nothing big, but enough to keep her on the line. You know why? Because it was a tether, Brandon. If she thought she could get money from me, she would stay in your life. Know when that stopped? The day you turned 18. The. Very. Fucking. Day."

I stood there, mouth open, staring at him. Who was this guy and where did my weak, mild father go?

"I put up with her shit for years and I did it for you. I'm not asking for a medal or a pat on the back, but I'll be damned if I'm going to take any more of you looking down your nose at me. Stefania's the love of my life. We're good together. I have her, she has me and we're happy. She's my family. If you and I see each other at Thanksgiving and Christmas and then a few times through the year, I'll be okay with that."

He stood there staring right back at me. I swallowed a couple of times before speaking. "Dad, I, uh, I don't look down at you. I..."

"For fuck's sake, Brandon, at least be honest. You do look down on me and you have since you were a teen. You couldn't stand me and didn't want to be like me. So, instead you became like her. You spend your time with married women so there's no entanglements. No risk of getting hurt. They can't abandon you like your mother abandoned us if they don't mean anything to you.

The truth is, you've become a predator and a coward. Did I disgust you, Brandon? For trying to keep my son's mother in his life? Well, rest assured, I know what that's like because your behavior turns my stomach. Strip everything away, remove all the psychological bullshit and it boils down to this; you're an asshole. You're more than happy to help destroy other people's marriages because you're afraid of getting hurt."

You know, I've actually seen people about you. When you stopped going for therapy, I started. I was trying to figure you out, what made you tick. I got some good insights. In addition to protecting yourself, it was suggested that every time you were with some married woman you were taking a shot at me. Like it was a deliberate swipe at me. How fucking juvenile is that?"

There was an emptiness, a hollow feeling in my stomach. He was completely wrong. It was just that married women were easier. They... I don't know, but it wasn't what he was saying. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

"Dad, that's crazy. I didn't know why you put up with her and I'm sorry if I made you feel like I had no respect for you, but... Shit. I don't know. This is a lot. Can we, maybe, get a drink or something? Maybe tomorrow? I need to think about this."

"No, I don't think so, Brandon."

"Okay. Tuesday?"

"Brandon, there are parts of you that I like." He nodded towards the baseball equipment. "This stuff with Jeremiah. The work you do. How much you care about your patients. But you're getting worse. You're circling the drain here and you need some help. I think it would be best if we kept our distance until you see someone. I can't force you anymore, but you need to talk to a therapist. You were fucking a woman whose husband's a cop. That's either a suicide attempt or a cry for help. Maybe both. It was also just a punk move. I love you, son, but I truly don't like you much. Make an effort to change and I'll be there for you. Every step of the way. But until then, I think I need some distance. How many of these women had kids? How many of them had kids that were around your age when your mother started fucking around? See a therapist, Brandon. You need to get your shit together."

I shook my head. Fuck him. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Dad. I really am. But I'll respect your decision. Maybe it would have been a better choice to allow me to have a role model who stood up for himself even if it caused me to lose a mother who was barely there. Your shrink friends ever bring that up? I'll see you around, Dad. Say hi to Stefania. Reach out if you change your mind."

"Get some help, Brandon."

He said it to my back as I walked out the door and away from my father.

++++++

++++++

Three days. Three fucking days and I still couldn't sleep. I tried drinking. I tried supplements. I hate pills and I still took a sleep aid. Nothing was helping. Laying there, I'd just stare at the ceiling as the minutes and then the hours slipped by like a geriatric sloth.

My father hated me. My partner thought I was a dick and his wife loathed me. I was losing a business I had built from the ground up. The kid I was supposed to be helping to live a better life than I had was growing up just like me. I had no friends and the only adult I got along with was my mother who I was learning that I deeply and truly despised.

I couldn't maintain an erection, I couldn't sleep, I jumped at loud noises and I was starting to think I was getting an ulcer.

It was becoming clear that I was getting my wish. I was becoming just like my mother. I despised my mother, so let the self-loathing roll.

After some copious use of Visine and two Monsters for breakfast, I drove down to Lake Pueblo State Park and the reservoir and sat in the parking lot waiting for Pueblo Pioneer Psychology to open. They were only a few blocks away, so I tried to enjoy the view for a while.

At five to nine I began driving over. It simultaneously felt like I was speeding over there, and it was taking forever. In reality, I never broke 30. Parking, I stared at the door. I couldn't make myself get out of the car. I was feeling a little light-headed and thought I might start hyperventilating.

Castigating myself, I punched my thigh twice, told myself to man-up, and got out. Walking to the door adjacent to the main entrance, I walked in. It was a private practice that was associated with the larger Pueblo Pioneer Psychology. Freezing again, I stopped. After a minute, I walked up to the desk.

The woman looked up at me with a bright smile. "Good morning! Welcome to Dr. Mallay's office. Can I help you?"

"Yeah. I, uh, I think," I swallowed hard, blinked twice, and then continued. "I think I need some help."

A short man who looked like he should be working on the docks, Dr. Mallay was not the soft and cuddly type. He was built like a barrel and looked like he wrestled bears on his days off. That was fine. I'd coddled myself for way too long.

I was still drawing a salary, but Jared and I had agreed on his buying me out. As soon as I received the check, I'd be off their books and on my own. Spending the time trying to get a grip on whatever was wrong with me, I was seeing Dr. Mallay three times a week and I signed up to coach Little League.

I dragged Jeremiah down to the practices with me. It was the pee-wees and he moaned and grumbled but I saw how he basked in the attention of the younger kids. Things were going smoothly until another team approached. A bunch of eight-year-olds and a few guys in blue, long-sleeved tees that had "Police Athletic League" emblazoned on the back.

One of them checked his phone and looked up. "Hey, no rush, but I think we have the field from 3:00 to 6:00."

"Yeah, no problem, Coach." Turning towards the field, I called out. "Okay, guys, let's bring it in."

As Jeremiah and I were packing up my car, one of the guys in the blue shirts approached.

"Look, I don't want any trouble, okay? We're just here for the kids. Can we just handle shit somewhere else, another time?"

He stood there looking at me for a minute. "I was going to ask if you're that guy, but I guess you are."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Real dick move, dude."

"Yeah, I guess it was. Jeremiah, wait in the car."

He did, reluctantly.

"You working with these kids?"

It was a stupid question, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "Yeah, me and Jeremiah. They needed a coach."

He nodded. "So, you could have gotten Phil and Charlie kicked off the force. That's a given. I heard you didn't even sue. That true?"

"I... Yeah. Listen, I just want to get all that shit behind me, okay? Just, I don't know, I was wrong. I get it. They took a shot, they were probably friends of his. I can respect that, I guess. They didn't have a history or anything. It was just better to walk away. I didn't need the money or any more shit on my conscience."

"Right. Okay." He paused. "Listen, maybe we can get like a scrimmage game with your kids or something. Here's my card. Give me a yell."

That was the last thing I expected. I took his card, shook his hand and was still in a daze when I dropped Jeremiah off at his foster home.

"Brandon, you okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Sure. Fine. You good? You need any money?"

"I can make it to the end of the week, but if you buy a pizza at Angelos on Wednesday and you get it with everything, you get a free two-liter of Pepsi."

"Uh-huh. A twenty would cover it?"

"Maybe twenty-five?"

I laughed and gave him 30.

One of the kids on our team had an older sister. Brianne was about Jeremiah's age and she began coming to most of the practices and all of the games. She seemed nice enough and Jeremiah told me that they started meeting at the mall. With her mother's permission, Brianne joined us when I took Jeremiah for pizza or burgers after practices.

I was glad to see him with one girl that he was treating respectfully and was happy to talk to her when Brianne's mother approached me when I was alone.

"Coach, you're Jeremiah's brother? There seems to... I don't mean to be rude, but there's an age gap there."

I laughed. "Yeah, sorry. I'm his Big Brother. From Big Brothers, Big Sisters."

She paused for a moment. "Like, for single parents who need help with their kids and stuff?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. For kids who can use an adult in their life."

"So, what's Jeremiah's situation?"

There was a tilt to her head or a shift of her torso that started niggling at the back of my brain. Something had fundamentally changed in the past few seconds.

"He's a foster kid."

She looked from Mercedes and back to me. "So, you're not related? At all? And he lives in some sort of group home?"

There was barely disguised disgust dripping from her tone.

"Yeah. A foster home. They have a couple of kids there. The people that took them in, well, they're fu... freaking heroes. Some of the nicest people I've ever met in my life. Is there something I should know?"

"No, of course not. I'm sure they are wonderful people. I was just thinking that maybe Jeremiah and Brianne might be moving a bit too fast. Maybe they need to slow down."

That what you thought when you believed that I was his well-heeled brother? Or just now that he's an orphan in a foster home? The brother of Doctor Coach was good enough for your daughter but plain old Jeremiah isn't?

"Well, that's your call to make, I guess. To be honest, I doubt that they are doing anything more serious than some light kissing, but do what you have to. Jeremiah's a good kid and Brianne's lucky to be spending time with him. They're both lucky."

"Yes, of course. Well, it was good speaking with you."

Great, bitch.

Brianne stopped showing up at games. I took Jeremiah to "Mookie's House of Taco's" after the game. He looked at the sign and over at me with a 'what the heck' look. I shrugged my shoulders and we went in.

The girl at the counter seemed friendly. "Welcome to Mookie's, featuring 10 salsas! We don't sell Dr. Pepper. What can I get for you?"

We ordered and took a seat.

"Brianne's mom said she can't see me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I heard them arguing. She said I wasn't suitable. What does that even mean? I think it's 'cause I don't have a mom and dad."

"No, I'm sure you heard wrong."

"I don't think so. I'm not good enough 'cause I'm a foster kid."

I took a bite of a taco to buy myself some time. After swallowing and taking a swig of my iced tea, I responded.

"Hey, I... I sort of need to fess up. I got into an argument with her. She wanted Jimmy to pitch and play short. I told her that I was the coach and I'd be making the decisions. We went back and forth for a while and it got sort of bad. I think she sort of hates me and took it out on you."

"What the fuck, man? I really liked her!"

"Yeah, I get that. Watch the cursing. I didn't think it would blow over to you, but it did. It's on me, not you. It had nothing to do with you not being good enough or anything."

"You... You can be a real... I can't even curse! Dammit, Brandon! Think about someone else once in a while, all right?"

"Yeah. My bad. We good?"

"No." He paused. "Yes. I really liked her. I mean really, really liked her."

"I get it. I'm sorry. If it helps, that cashier was checking you out."

"It doesn't help."

He kept looking at her when he thought I was preoccupied. After the next practice he asked if we could go back to Mookie's.

We did have that scrimmage with the PAL team and it went well. The cops that were coaches were all civil and a few shook my hand after the game. Janelle ran the food kiosk and the money went to the local PTA. We'd talk after practices and the games. I'd wind up buying some food for myself and waters for the kids. After the first two weeks, I asked her out. A widow, her husband had died in a car accident five years earlier when their daughter was three.

Her little girl, Anna, began watching our practices and games, always within view of Janelle. After the fourth time she came over, I called out to her.

"Anna, I have this extra glove. You wanna give it a shot?"

We began playing catch before and after practices and soon she was on the team. The kids had just gotten off of tee-ball and she was one of our best hitters. Jeremiah saw me working with her and made it a point to show her how to swing through the ball and maintain her stance. He also put an end to any of the boys on the team grumbling at the girl who hit better than they did.

I don't think it went unnoticed when I praised him for looking out for her.

I was down to once a week with Dr. Mallay. He had that infuriating method of allowing me to draw my own conclusions from our discussions and rarely gave me concrete answers. Dr. Mallay insisted that we were way too early in the process for that and when the time was right he'd let me know where he stood. I thought it was Socratic bullshit.

From what I could gather, my father was right. I was hiding and not allowing myself to be hurt by being with women who weren't truly available and weren't looking for anything meaningful themselves. It became very uncomfortable when he asked if any of the married women I'd been with had children around the same age I was when my mother started stepping out.

In short, I was an asshole who didn't care if I put other people's marriages in danger if it made me feel more secure when I got my rocks off.

I didn't want to be that way anymore.

The baseball season was over and school was out when I decided to pick up the phone.

"Hello, Brandon. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Dad. Everything's all right. I, uh, I just sort of missed you, you know?" I found myself blinking a lot. "You... You think maybe we could get that drink?"

There was a long, terrifying pause.

"Okay. Tomorrow at Riverside Bar? 7:00?"

I smiled. "Yeah, Dad. That would be great. Bring Stefania."

"I will. We'll see you there."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Okay. We'll see you tomorrow."

When they walked through the door, I stood up so they could see me. We had a four-top in the back. It was close enough to the bar for good service, but quiet enough to talk. Stefania was a tall, statuesque blonde with brown eyes. Dad had done well. When they got to the table, I hugged her and Dad reached his hand out. I ignored it and hugged him as well.

"Dad, Stefania, I'd like you to meet Janelle."

++++++

++++++

I realize that I'm going to take a beating for this story. Brandon is an unlikable main character. He's an asshole when the story starts and less of an asshole when it ends. Some people are going to think that he didn't suffer enough. I get that. Some people aren't interested in a story about an immature prick. Not a problem. Flail away.

*

With thanks to Steve M and the folks at Spinoza Indexing. My gratitude is also extended to NoraFares for the editing.

Looking for something else to read? Try "Coming Home" by Lunette. She's a talented writer and fairly new. Click HERE