This time, instead of the bean bag flying in a perfect arc toward the cornhole board like it does in my visualization exercise, it catches on a finger, leaves my hand at an awkward angle, then swerves off to the right, traveling faster than a projectile thrown by underhanded lob has any right to.
All I can do is hold my breath and watch in horror as it flies past the reception desk and smashes into my trophy case. Thefront shatters, sending a shower of glass shards, championship belts, and rubber ducks crashing to the floor in a heap.
“No!” I scream, my hands flying to my cheeks. “My babies.” My heart races as I sprint to the wreckage and drop to my knees, palms to the sky. “No, no, no. Not my innocent little duckies.”
“Coach,” Jared yells as he runs out of the staff room. “Are you okay? What was that crash? Oh shit! Not the ducks. I’ll get a broom.”
I crawl as close to the pile of glass as I dare, and begin gingerly picking my duckies out of the mess, pinching them between two fingers to shake off any stray shards before placing them onto the reception desk.
As I grab each one, a memory flashes in my brain as I remember how I got it.This referee one was a gift from Rhett. This vampire one I bought in a market in New Orleans. This luchador one was left on my pillow in a hotel room in Mexico with a note from the maid saying her husband was a big fan.One after another, I pick up my ducks, and one after another, the memory of how I acquired it comes back to me.I got the one who's holding a little bell from an opponent after I knocked him out in the first round.
Jared comes back with a broom and some boxes. “Here, put them in the box. I’ll get your belts, then sweep up the glass.”
Together, Jared and I get the worst of the mess cleaned up, and soon I’m left with a box of championship belts, another, bigger box full of my favorite duckies, and an empty wall where my trophy case used to be.
“I bet you’re glad most of your duckies are back at the house, huh?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I tried cramming them all in that trophy case, but I guess I’m lucky that so much of my collection didn’t fit.”
Jaredshrugs. “It could have been worse,” he says, inspecting the contents of the ducky box. “At least they’re waterproof. A quick rinse should take care of any mess.”
“I guess I should spring for the bulletproof glass on the next case.” I should have done it in the first place, but at the time, I couldn’t think of any reason I’d need to take that kind of precaution. Who knew cornhole could cause so much destruction?
“Or you could move your cornholing to another location. Outside, maybe?”
I shudder. “Oh no. I learned my lesson. No more cornhole for me. That sport is way too hazardous. From now on, I’ll stick to something safe, like full-contact combat sports. Or defusing explosives with the military.”
Jared chuckles, then picks up the box of championship belts. “Come on, Coach. Let’s put these boxes in your office so we can finish cleaning the floor. We need to get all this glass up before we can open the gym again.”
“Shit. You’re right. I’ve done enough damage with my terrible cornhole skills. I couldn’t live with myself if someone got hurt because I can’t throw a bean bag in a straight line.” I grab the other box and follow Jared to the office, stopping on my way back to get the vacuum from the cleaning supplies closet.
After I vacuum each section thoroughly, Jared uses a flashlight and a damp paper towel to wipe up any stray glass that is too small to see. When we’ve done the entire area three times, and we’re confident the glass is all gone, we put the cleaning supplies away and begin our walk to Tina’s.
We’re on our way to Wings and Pizza, walking past the town square, where a group of people are playing a game at the permanent cornhole court. I watch as player after player throws a perfect lob onto the opposite board and the realization that I smashed my trophy case hits me hard, live and in full color. I stillcan’t believe I nearly destroyed so much of my duck collection in my ill-advised attempt at learning to play cornhole. I should have never strayed from my natural talents.
Peter was right. I am not made for cornhole. Something about my body makes it impossible for me to throw that damn bean bag with the finesse required to make it to the board. And I don’t think it’s my lat muscles, no matter what Peter keeps trying to tell me. I guess it’s time to accept the fact that I’m the only Swallower in history who can’t get his bag near a hole.
I’m a disgrace. Not only that, now that I can’t in good conscience continue with cornhole, I have nothing to distract me from my failed-before-it-could-begin relationship with Tina. After dinner tonight, when I tell her about the boys living with me permanently, I’ll have nothing to do but wallow in my misery.
I blow out a heavy sigh, getting some serious side-eye from Jared for it.
“It’s not that big a deal, Coach. Not everyone can be good at cornhole. It’s a lot harder than it looks.”
“I know, kid. I’ll be alright.” I won’t be one of those adults who burdens his kids with their adult problems. But I will call Rhett later to ask if he knows any reliable distraction techniques. Because I’m damn sure going to need something, considering Tina lives right down the street from the gym and I’m already having problems staying away from her. And if there’s one thing I won’t be doing with Jared and Carson living with me, it’s drowning my sorrows in alcohol. They deserve better than the life their parents gave them, and I’ll do everything in my power to give it to them.
Even if that means I lose Tina forever.
We Need To Talk
Tina
“I can’t believe howgood you are at this, Dad.”
My dad smiles up at me from where he’s dicing vegetables. “I’m surprised I still know how,” he says with a laugh. “Forty years is a long time to go without practicing my knife skills.”
“I heard that.” My mom is at the back prep table, fawning over Carson like he’s her favorite grandchild. She hasn’t left the poor kid alone since she stormed out of my apartment earlier. After I told her about trying to become a foster parent so I can get custody of him, she was determined to get to know him better. “I remember very well what your knife skills were like. I didn’t let you practice because I couldn’t bear the thought ofscraping your fingers into a plastic baggie full of ice before racing you to the hospital to have them sewn back on.”
Dad rolls his eyes and laughs. “Whatever you say, honey.”
