No.
Within an hour of that text, the next one had comeover.
Leonard: You’re not being fair to Russell. He needs more than what you are. But if you insist that you’re good enough, I will work with you. I can train you to be what he needs. Has he done this with youyet?
With his text, he sent a picture of a guy with his legs parted, and another guy appeared to be flogging his balls. I frowned. Russell said I was what he needed and wanted. How did Leonard know what Russell needed or wanted? I stared at the next text that came in shortly after the lastone.
Leonard: I have a plan of training written out for you. I can see you are serious about attempting to keep up with Russell, but he plays rough and hard. Both of which, I don’t think you’re capableof.
I was capable of keeping up withRussell.
Wasn’tI?
He said I was what he needed and wanted. Those were Russell’s words many times. I began to replay things in my head as I went through the motions of the rest of the morning. I took a shower, shaved, brushed my teeth, and threw on some shorts and a USC baseball t-shirt.
I stared blankly into the fridge as it neared noon. I wasn’t in the mood for anything. Nothing looked good to me. I opened a can of 7Up and sat down on the couch. My phone alerted me of an incoming text. I eagerly pulled it out of my pocket and hoped it had beenRussell.
Leonard: You need to stop being a selfish shit and let Russell go. Let him enjoy life with people who can keep up with him and hisneeds.
Let Russellgo?
No.
He said I was his. He promised I was his. He said he didn’t make promises that he couldn’tkeep!
I frowned and set the phone down next to me and turned the TV on. I turned the channel to a Dodgers game and tried to focus on the game, but it was no use. I muted the game and picked my phone up.Where was Russell? Why hadn’t he calledme?
I pulled him up from my favorite contacts and almost hit the button to call him, but then I set the phone down. He said something urgent came up and that he’d call me when hecould.
Did that mean that he didn’t want me to call or reach out to him right now? Would I be in trouble if I called or sent him atext?
But, he’d said that I could always call him, no matter the day ortime.
I picked the phone up but didn’t have the balls to dialhim.
“Stop being a dick, Ryan,” I told myself. “He said something urgent came up. Leave him alone so he can deal with whatever he’s dealing with. He said he’d call you when hecould.”
I set the phone back down and stared at the Dodgers game on TV. I ended up lying on the couch on my side to watch the rest of the game. I quickly lost touch with the game as I thought about Russell and the possibility that I wasn’t good enough forhim.
“And that’s the ballgame! Final score, Los Angeles five, Coloradotwo.”
I blinked a few times at the TV screen when the announcer said the score. Fuck, I had been zoned out since the seventh inning. It was now late afternoon and still nothing from Russell. Something was going on. I snatched my phone up off the opposite end of the couch and powered it off and then back on. Maybe he had been texting or calling, and my phone had frozen up. It’s done that before, maybe this was what had happened. I gave it a few moments once it powered back on, but nothing new. I swallowed my pride and finally calledhim.
I paced around my living room and prayed he’d answer. I needed to hear him. It rang and rang and rang until the voicemail greeting picked.No.I ended the call and tossed the phonedown.
I needed to stay busy. I kept busy in the kitchen, and as I was scrubbing the sink, I thought I heard my cell phone. I dropped the sponge, ran to the living room, and picked up thephone.
Leonard: Ever wonder what Russell does when he’s not babysitting you and teaching you how towalk?
“Fucking asshole!” I yelled at thescreen.
I started to furiously type a response and got frustrated with myself for making a bunch of typos as I texted in haste. I took a deep breath and sighed before I deleted my response. I sat down on the couch and held a hand over mystomach.
Was it really over with Russell? I loved him,though.
I felt like I was moments away from getting severely sick. I went to my room and pulled on one of his t-shirts. I needed to be close to him. From my nightstand, I retrieved my wallet and pulled out the engraved tag from Russell. I grabbed the letter he had written to me at Christmas and read it over and over as I clutched the tag in myhand.
“You promised this meant something,” I whispered. As the tears stung my eyes and a pain that I was familiar with took over in my throat and chest, I muttered, “I thoughtImeant something. You told me that Idid.”
