“Do you prefer ice, or no ice, for yourwater?”
He shrugged, “Whatever is easiest.” He smiled before quickly adding “Please.”Hand back on his stomach.“Russell.”
It’d been a long time since I had had someone with such little confidence and indecisiveness pouring from his soul. It was going to be a delight to go on this journey with Ryan Hudson. He was going to take patience, which wasn’t an issue. Patience, I knew he needed, and if I didn’t start now, it wouldn’t be fair tohim.
“If I had wanted to take the easiest route, Ryan, I would have filled your glass from the tap.” I paused for him to think about that. “But I didn’t want the easiest route. I wanted to know your preference. I prefer that my guests are comfortable. You and I have a lot to discuss today. I don’t want you staring at a glass of tap water because you thought you were being polite.”Hand rubbing the back of his neck.“Now, do you prefer ice, ornot?”
“Ice,please.”
I nodded to let him know that I was happy that he had committed with an answer. His dimple appeared and his hands had relaxed. I filled his glass with ice and opened a bottle of Fiji water from the fridge. I poured it over the ice, returned the cap to the bottle, set it next to the glass and then looked up athim.
“Would you like a lemon or lime slice?” Ioffered.
His mouth opened, but then he closed it quickly. He looked over my shoulder at the fridge as he pondered his answer. I’d wait himout.
“Are you asking me if I want either of them? Or are you asking me which of the two I’dlike?”
Clever, Ryan.Clever.
He broke down my question and asked a question to make sure he understood what was beingasked.
“Because I would prefer not to have lemon or lime.”Hand rubbing his stomach.“But if you want me to have one, I will take thelemon.”
Dammit. Why had he gone from a confident response back to accepting whatever I preferred? Was he really this nervous? He seemed to fear answering questions that would require his opinion as the answer. I will dig into this further, but I had been almost certain this was some unhealthy conditioning from his youth that had created the see-saw effect. The key right now was to get him to relax. I smiled and slid the glass and bottle of water towardshim.
“It’s a beautiful morning. Shall we sit outside on the patio and chat abit?”
“Yeah, that’d becool.”
Ryan followed me outside and we took up seats across from one another. I made it so that his back was to the house so he would face the quiet, serene yard. I thought that perhaps lush greenery would relaxhim.
I remained quiet for the first few moments that we were outside and simply looked at Ryan. He busied his hands with wiping the excessive condensation from his glass onto his pants. Then he ran his hand down the back of his hair again and let it settle on his neck, all while showing me his dry, cement-like elbows. With his arm up and hand angled to rest on his neck, I could see a tattoo of some sort as it peeked out from his baggy short sleeve on his right side. His knees bounced nervously as he reached for the glass. I doubted he was thirsty at all. He simply needed something to do with hishands.
I wonderedif…
Just as I began to look at his fingernails to see if he was possibly a nail biter, he brought his left hand to his mouth. He slyly slipped a finger between his lips, and his teeth were drawn to his nail like amagnet.
I knew it was only a matter of time before I found out how deep the damage of the abuse ran and dictated his nervous behavior. I had a good idea. From the questions I had asked him, I had learned a lot about Mr. Ryan Hudson. They were great pieces to know and essentially, I needed to know them before we began venturing down the road of topping and sessionnegotiations.
My eyes had been drawn to his well-defined arms. I hadn’t had the chance to get a good look at him because his short sleeves nearly went down to the bend of his arm and elbow. But even under the curtain of his oversized sleeve, I had received glimpses of a very prominent toned bicep. His forearms were tight and muscled. There were many hints that suggested Ryan was in good shape, but his clothing told me that he was either modest or hidingsomething.
From my experience, by the mid-thirties most men outgrew the modesty phase, if they had had one. Ryan’s body appeared to be one that any young man would love to boast. That compelled me to believe it wasn’t modesty, but more along the lines of hiding something. He wasn’t a child anymore; so whatever abuse that had occurred had long since been over. Therefore, I didn’t feel like he was hiding a bruise, or anything of that nature. Or, this could’ve been nothing more than a young man who had no idea what size clothes he should bewearing.
“You have a really nice yard,” Ryancommented.
The backyard relaxed him. Dig. He gave you anopening.
“Thank you. Did you have a backyard growing up? Maybe a sandbox to play in,perhaps?”
His hands gravitated to his stomach as he explained that he had a decent sized yard that he and his older brother played in when they were really young. He said that he had always practiced sliding in his backyard in preparation for his baseball games. We talked a little more about baseball, which allowed him to grow into a comfortableconversation.
I had recalled from his responses to my questions that his right hand was his dominant hand. I always asked that so I knew if I needed to adjust my stance when I educate on impact play. But I knew that just because it was his dominant hand, I shouldn’t assume that he batted or threw right-handed too. To keep the conversation flowing and him comfortable, I inquired and found out a bit of interesting info that I otherwise may not have untillater.
“Did you bat right-handed?”
“Yes. I think we only hand one or two guys on our team that werelefties.”
“Right handed batters are more prevalent, I have noticed.” He nodded and reached for his water. “Did you throw with your rightarm?”
