Page 14

Shitting Bricks

Charlie

Kneeling in front of the toilet, I hug the porcelain as if it’s an old friend. The coolness seeps through my skin, soothing the feverish flush that runs rampant over my body.

This feeling of shitting bricks is new territory for me.

Closing my eyes, I tell myself the following: I’m Charlie McManus. I’m a badass pitcher. I can play baseball in my sleep.

So, why do I think that the second I step out onto the mound, I’m going to forget everything I know about the sport?

I can see it now, the ball foreign in my hands, the red seams tearing up my skin when I throw it pathetically into the dirt.

Everyone in the stands, pointing and laughing at me as if someone dumped a bucket of pig blood over my head.

The scouts’ faces set in scowls behind their aviator sunglasses, muttering words like “What were we thinking?” and “This was such a waste of time.”

I’m basically an Olympic gold medalist in freaking out right now, and there’s only one person who can help.

Grabbing my phone off the counter, I slide down against the bathroom wall and dial my brother’s number with shaky fingers.

It rings once, twice, three times. Voicemail. Dammit, Roy.

I stare at the screen, debating whether to leave a message or scream into the receiver at the top of my lungs. Before I can decide, the phone buzzes in my hand, and Roy’s name flashes across the screen. My thumb jabs the answer button, and Roy’s face instantly appears.

“Little bro.”

“Roy,” I cry out. “Thank God.”

“What’s up?” His brow furrows as he takes in my pale, sweaty face. “You okay?”

“No,” I say honestly.

“Why are you sweating? I swear to God, Charlie. If you’re calling me in the middle of a fuck?—”

“I’m not!” I sweep my phone around the room so Roy can see I’m in the bathroom.

“That was one time. And it was an emergency.” My face reddens at the memory of calling my brother because I had no clue how to put on a condom.

It wasn’t my fault that I’d been sick the day they taught us in health class.

“How was I supposed to know they made them so damn confusing! All that ‘roll down’ this and ‘pinch the tip’ that and looking the same inside and out?! I was under a lot of pressure, okay?”

“You’re lucky I picked up,” Roy chuckles. “Imagine if you had to call Dad for condom advice.”

I visibly shudder. “Don’t even joke. I’m pretty sure that conversation would have ended with me joining a monastery.”

“Well, you know what they say—with great penis comes great responsibility.”

“Wow. Profound, Roy. You should embroider that on a pillow.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs. “The point is, you survived. Becky didn’t get knocked up, and you learned a valuable lesson about prophylactics. Though I have to say, mood-killer much? Bet she was real turned on by you having a sex ed pow-wow with your big bro.”

“Ugh. For the next three months after that, every time I saw a condom, my dick practically retreated inside my body. It took some serious coaxing to get the big guy to come back out and play. ”

Roy’s face scrunches up. “TMI, dude.”

“Hey, you started it! But seriously though…” I sober up, meeting Roy’s gaze through the phone. “Thanks for picking up that night. I know I interrupted whatever it was you were up to, but I didn’t know what else to do.” After a beat of silence, I add, “You’re always there when I need you most.”

Roy’s expression softens. “That’s what big brothers are for, kid. To make sure you don’t royally screw up the important stuff.”

“My hero,” I deadpan.

“So, I take it you didn’t call me to take a trip down memory lane?”

I shake my head. “I’ve got a game today. A big one. Scouts are gonna be there and?—”

“You’ll crush it.”

“I don’t know, man. I’m freaking out here. What if?—”

“Charlie, you’re a damn good pitcher. Just go out there and do your thing.”

I hear noises in the background on his end, but Roy’s attention is entirely on me. That is, until the crashing sound.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Charlie, give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

When he puts his phone down, I notice the hardware tools hanging on the wall.

He’s at work at the hardware store on the corner of Main Street and Main Road, a four-way intersection at the heart of Bomont. Population 5,327. A town where everybody knows your name and your business.

I wince when I hear Roy’s muffled voice barking at the customer who made the mess.

Roy’s voice rises to a shout, the kind of irate tone he reserves for the worst customers.

The ones who knock over displays or let their kids run wild through the aisles.

I can picture him now, face flushed red as he jabs an accusing finger at the culprit.

I know it’s not really about the mess.

Every night after closing up the store, he drives out to the farm to help Mom and Dad with the cows and the crops. Then he’s back at the hardware shop first thing in the morning, seven days a week. At this rate, he’s going to work himself into an early grave.

A pang of guilt stabs through my chest. Here I am, wallowing in my stupid anxiety while my brother is out there busting his ass for our family. For me. So I can keep chasing this dumb dream of playing baseball at a fancy college instead of sticking around Bomont.

I should be doing more to help out, not dumping my problems on Roy’s shoulders too. He’s already carrying the weight of the world. I hate adding to that burden.

But Bomont and I are oil and water.

Nothing ever changes there. I swear, if I squint hard enough, I can still see my ten-year-old self riding my bike down the street, baseball cards clipped in the spokes, on my way to the park for Little League practice.

The barbershop where Dad took us for haircuts still has a candy cane pole out front.

The diner still serves blue plate specials.

Even the lone stoplight blinks the same tired yellow after 9:00 p.m..

It’s as if the whole town is stuck in amber, preserved in a simpler time—a time before smartphones and social media, before Amazon and Uber Eats.

Everyone still leaves their front doors unlocked.

They gift casseroles to new neighbors and gather to watch the high school football team play under the Friday night lights.

For some, that familiarity is comforting.

But not for me. I want more than Sunday dinners and county fairs. More than marrying a high school sweetheart and coaching Little League.

I want the big city. The bright lights.

I want…possibility.

Roy picks the phone back up, and I paste on a smile, determined not to let him see how rattled I still am. “Everything okay?” I ask lightly .

Roy sighs, rubbing his temple. “Just some jackass who decided to play Jenga with the paint can display. I swear, people have no respect for?—”

He cuts himself off, realizing he’s about to go off on a rant. “Never mind. Not important. Let’s focus on you, little brother. This game—it’s a big opportunity, right? Chance to impress those scouts and maybe go pro someday?”

I nod, my throat suddenly tight. “Yeah. It’s kind of a big deal.”

Roy stares me dead in the eye. “Then get your head on straight, Charlie. Remember that Little League championship game when you were twelve? Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, and you struck out three batters in a row to win it all. You were ice cold out there on that mound.”

A smile tugs at my lips as the memory washes over me.

“Just play like you always do. The rest will take care of itself.”

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. The nausea fades, and a growing sense of calm washes over me. Opening my eyes, I ask, “What have you been up to lately? Aside from working at the hardware store and around the house.”

“Not much,” he replies. “Just keeping busy.”

“Busy with what?” I push, genuinely curious. He rarely talks about his day-to-day life. I figure it’s because he doesn’t want to brag about all the cool stuff he’s getting up to.

“You know, this and that.”

I laugh. “Come on, man, give me something. Are you seeing anyone? How’s the gym? Did you finish that book I recommended?”

He clears his throat and nods. “The gym’s good. Been going most mornings. And the book…yeah, it was interesting.”

Interesting. That was Roy-speak for terrible.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to share every detail of your fascinating life with me.”

I stand up from the bathroom floor, my legs wobbly from kneeling for so long, and flush the toilet. After washing my hands, I open the door and pad down the hallway, the hardwood floor cool beneath my bare feet. Rounding the corner into the living room, I come to a dead stop.

There, bent over with his head stuck in the fridge, is Daniel. His boxers ride low over his ass, revealing a bit of crack. I grin, flipping my phone’s camera to show Roy.

He groans. “Dude, it’s way too early to be seeing a full moon.”

I laugh so hard that the camera shakes.

“Charlie,” he warns with a sigh, but I can’t stop cackling.

Daniel hears me and turns around with a carton of milk in his hand. I howl when I see that he’s sporting some serious morning wood.

Roy groans again. “I’ve seen enough.” He hangs up.

“What’s so funny?” Daniel asks.

“Nothing,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye. “Just showing Roy your cute outfit.”

“Bet he loved that.”

“Oh, yeah. Made his day.”

Daniel takes a swig of milk straight from the carton and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why are you up this early? Freaking out about the game again?”

“I was…until I saw your monster boner.”

He glances down at himself and shrugs, completely unfazed. “It means good luck in some cultures.”

“What cultures?”

“Mine.” He sets the milk on the counter and stretches his arms above his head. The move makes his tree-trunk thighs flex in ways that should be illegal.

“You could put on some pants, you know,” I suggest, knowing full well that he won’t.