The truth is, despite it all, I still love you. And I always will.
Seeing the words on the screen in front of me made the tears streaming down my cheeks fall with more intensity. My sobs wracked through my body, and I could barely see the screen through my fuzzy vision. Choking on my own cries, I hovered the mouse over the SEND button.
Could I really do this? Could I really send this email? Would it make me feel any better? Would it make the heartache hurt less?
Would he even get it?
Would he even care?
When you hit rock bottom, there’s nowhere else to go but up. I was at rock bottom. I was at the lowest of any low I could remember. Since leaving Tyler, there had been a permanent ache in my chest, which had only grown more intense over the days and months with no communication from him.
Realizing I had nothing to lose by sending it, I clicked on the button, the whooshing sound of my email being sent causing me to immediately regret the decision. My heart thumped in my chest and I prayed for a message telling me the email was undeliverable, but that never happened.
The rest of the night, I stayed awake, waiting for an answer.
I didn’t know why I expected one.
I didn’t know why I hoped for one.
But I did.
I never got one.
Tyler
“DROP YOUR ELBOW JUST a little,” I instructed a Sudanese boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, as he stood next to a makeshift home plate. “Keep your eye on the ball. Then knock it out of the park.”
“Like Fenway Park?” the little boy asked in a thick African accent.
I laughed. “Exactly.”
“I’m Babe Ruth then?”
“No. Definitely not. He’s a traitor who went to play for the Yankees.”
“Boo, Yankees,” a chorus of voices sounded around me. I looked up, laughing at how easily they picked up on the rivalry between the Red Sox, my team of choice, and the Yankees. Turning my attention back to the little boy, I said, “You’re David Ortiz. Big Papi.”
“Okay. Big Papi. I’ll hit a big slam.”
I chuckled. “Grand slam, but close enough,” I said. “Okay, you ready?”
The little boy bent his knees and held the bat as I had taught him, turning his head toward the pitcher’s mound. I nodded to Eli and he tossed an easy pitch. I stood back and waited in anticipation, as if this was game seven of the World Series.
Since I had arrived here, I had been teaching a group of young boys and girls everything I knew about American sports. I occasionally helped in the medical tent, but everything was well under control, so Eli and I spent most of our time playing soccer, basketball, and baseball, my personal favorite. It was challenging, considering many of these young kids had suffered injuries, some requiring amputation, while trying to escape the civil unrest in their home country. But instead of one kid trying to stand out and be better than another, they helped each other, even when they were on different teams. Adults could learn something from watching these kids interact with each other. It was humbling and eye-opening.
The crack of the bat brought me back to the present and I shot up, jumping up and down. “You did it! Run! Run!” I shouted, darting past home plate toward first to show him how to run the bases. “Keep going until I tell you to stop!”
“See! I’m Big Papi!”
I beamed, my smile reaching my eyes. It was the happiest I could remember being for months. Moments like these made me feel as if I had some purpose. “Yes, you are!”
As he rounded the bases, the opposite team cheering along with his own, I glanced at my watch.
Clapping as everyone congratulated the little boy, I gestured to them. “Come on. Bring it in, everyone!” They all ran toward me, throwing their second-hand baseball gloves in a mound. “That’s it for today,” I said and they all groaned. “We’ll pick it up sometime after your classes this week.”
“Can we watch a real baseball game one day?” a little girl, who couldn’t have been more than eight, asked.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, wishing there was a way for me to share the joy of a live baseball game with these kids. They probably would never be able to savor the smell of popcorn and hot dogs as they listened to the crack of the bat echo through the ballpark, thousands of people cheering. It was one of the things that always excited me, even as I neared my thirties. There was something timeless about sitting in Fenway Park watching the Red Sox play. It was something I believed everyone should experience at least once in their lives. Knowing these kids were lucky to even be alive reinvigorated why I was here, despite the nagging doubt finding me at odd times.
After getting hugs from nearly all the children, Eli and I packed up the equipment and locked it in the storage shed. We hopped in our armored truck and left the refugee camp, beginning the three hour journey to the communications center for my weekly check-in with my brother.
“We missed Fourth of July,” Eli commented during our drive.
“It seems like we’ve missed a lot, doesn’t it?”
“Is Griffin still with your mom?”
“Yeah. She loves that dog. I’m sure she’s going to have a hard time parting with him when I get back home.”
“And when do you think that will be?” Eli asked, never missing an opportunity to convince me it was time we leave, with or without my brother’s permission.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ready to walk away now. These kids… I feel like I’d be abandoning them if I just go. Maybe it’s been a blessing in disguise that Alexander keeps insisting we stay over here.”
“And what about your life back home?” Eli countered. “What about your family? Your responsibilities?” He lowered his voice. “What about Mackenzie? Don’t you think you’re abandoning her?”
I sighed. “That ship may have sailed. It’s been almost four months. I’m not sure she’ll want to see me again. I had a window of opportunity and it’s probably closed.”
“So you’re just going to dismiss her and pretend none of it happened? If you ask me, seems like an easy way out.”
“I’m not looking for a way out, Eli,” I countered. I turned my head away from him and stared at the barren desert, the vehicle kicking up dust as we drove, but I couldn’t ignore the truth in his words. Was giving her space just an excuse to not have to face my problems? I wronged her and the guilt ate away at me. But staring into her eyes again would just remind me that I failed her…and myself.
“I’m doubtful she’ll want to see me after everything,” I added, my voice low.
“Or maybe she’s worried because she doesn’t know where you are.” I could feel his eyes studying me. “Maybe she needs some sort of closure and your being over here, trying to run from your responsibility, has left her more confused than ever. How would you feel if you were in her shoes? You find out everything you believed was a lie, but the one person who could answer all your questions mysteriously disappears?”
“She’s the one who told me to let her go,” I explained.
“And you didn’t,” Eli shot back. “Do you think she was able to let you go?”
“I don’t know,” I said dismissively, the uneasy feeling that had begun to form in the pit of my stomach growing stronger and stronger. Over the past month, something had seemed off to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. At least once a week, I briefly entertained the notion of disobeying my brother’s orders, but that was as far as it had ever gotten. In truth, I liked the bubble I had been living in, regardless of the fact I was all too aware that I was ignoring my duties and responsibilities back home. Over here, it was as if none of my problems would find me, as if I wouldn’t have to be faced with a reminder of what I had done.