“You’re notthatold,” he said, which made me feel as if I could float across Commonwealth Street like a funky parade balloon.
The mobs were tight at the corner. Traffic heavy. Fall brought all kinds of leaf peepers to the area, as well as park goers, baseball fans. The city was hopping. Someone in the crowd, not sure who, a dude, bellowed Jari’s last name, followed by a scathing slur on his father that made me stiffen.
The dude, who I assumed to be soused on the half-price beer at our game, grabbed at Jari, catching his shoulder. Something in Jari snapped, or shut down, now I didn’t know which it was, but the light changed, and everyone moved. Everyone but Jari. Even the asshole who had insulted him was shunted along with the crowd, thank God, because I had one more game to pitch this season, and I did not want to break my hand punching that fucker in his drunken mouth. We were alone on the sidewalk, and I crowded him back a little to avoid approaching groups.
“Jari,” I asked softly, leaning to the left to peer into his hood. His brow was dotted with sweat, his lips a thin line, and he was huffing like a winded racehorse. Shit. I knew the signs well. “Okay, it’s okay. Can you focus on me? On my voice?”
“Touched me,” he panted, his left hand now tight around the bands and bracelets on his right wrist. “I don’t… I can’t breathe. Oh fuck. Fuck. Cam. Help.”
Yep, that was the bat signal that Super Savior had been waiting for. “Jari, I’m right here. I’m going to help you find a quiet place.” A tall order out here on the sidewalk, but where there was a will, there’s a way, as the old saying goes. “Can I take your hand?” He bit down on his lower lip, hard, and I took that as a no. “Okay, we’ll do that in a minute. Can you tell me something that you can smell right now?”
“Bus fumes,” he croaked out.
I stepped in front of him, smiling gently, hands at my sides for now. He might hate touch. Kirby had yearned for it, but that was my cousin, not Jari. “Yeah, I smell those too. How about something you can hear?” I threw some dark looks at curious people as they milled around us.
“Traffic. Pigeons. You.” His lower lip was oozing blood. My hand shot to the back pocket of my athletic pants. It took every ounce of restraint I had not to dab at his lip. “Blood. I taste blood.”
“Would you like to wipe the blood away?”
“Please… please…”
I held out the napkin I kept in my pocket for emergencies. He took it from my fingers, then held it to his mouth, blocking his face completely, save for a tiny bit of skin showing around his sunglasses. Pale skin. Very pale, damp.
“You’re doing well. I’m here with you. This will pass soon.” I said, leaning closer to ensure I was heard over the din of the capital. “Do you think you can move now?” He shook his head; his breathing shot back up. “That’s fine. What you’re feeling is scary, but we’re safe here on the sidewalk.”
“I hate… this… he touched me…” His lower lip trembled. “Yelled my name…”
“Yeah, people think because we’re public figures, they can touch us without permission.” Someone jostled Jari. I barked at them. “We should move from this corner. Can you walk with me to a quiet place? I know a little collectables shop just down a side street.”
“Is it safe? People?”
“Very safe and very quiet in a room out back. They have a cat. Fat orange cat named Lionel.” I held out my hand, and he shook his head, glancing around him.
“I’m not…” he lowered his voice even more, “I’m not out, or anything.”
“It’s all good.” I could have said something about being friends, but he was clearly closeted, and hell, I know what that was like. I didn’t get the luxury of coming out until my career was well established. I hated that it was even a thing, but that was major league sports for you.
He was calmer by the time we arrived at All Bases Covered. Their big cat was lounging in the front window next to a display of signed baseballs and bats.
“That’s Lionel. He’ll sit on your lap if you like,” I said.
“I like cats,” Jari replied, his breath still choppy.
“Me too,” I said, then pushed through the old door, setting off a set of small bells over the door. The collectibles store smelled of leather, wood, and cigars. “I do signings here from time to time. The owners are huge baseball fans. Oh, hey, here’s Lionel.” The ginger cat made one pass around Jari’s ankles. Jari sighed long and hard, bending down to run his hand over the cat time and again. “There’s a table and chairs around the corner. Phil calls it the dugout, but it’s just a place to sit and talk baseball with other fans.”
“Okay. Can Lionel come?”
“Lionel is a cat, so he does as he pleases, but we can invite him,” I said, then gently led him around a curio cabinet packed full of baseball cards. “Here we go. Oh, hey, it’s Phil.” I waved my right hand at an older man sound asleep in one of the old recliners. Lionel leaped up on Phil’s lap, startling the old gent out of his nap. Phil righted his glasses on his wide nose.
“Jeez, Lionel!” Phil said.
“Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep,” I said with a smile. “This is my friend Jari. Can we sit here in the dugout with you for a little while? He’s got a headache starting.”
“Sure, sure, sit. I’ll go brew us some coffee. Hey, I saw the game. You pitched well. Your slider is lethal,” Phil said and then pushed to his feet, disturbing the cat, grabbed his cane, andmade his way to the back of the packed shop. Jari took off his sunglasses and flopped into a ratty Barcalounger. He melted into the worn chair, his eyes closing as he dug into the sleeve of his hoodie to find his watch and bracelets, stopping when Lionel jumped up on his lap with a purr. I sat down on a battered stool, smiling at the softening of his expression. He seemed calmer now, thank goodness.
“Thanks for the lie,” Jari whispered. “That was… sorry you saw that.”
“Hey, no, don’t be sorry. We all have triggers that set us off. I’m just glad you’re feeling less anxious.” He nodded, his fingers stroking the long-haired cat rhythmically. “Kirby used to battle anxiety attacks when he was younger, so I’ve witnessed a lot of them.”
