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Apology by Synchronik |
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As soon as the plane touches down on the
runway, well before the seatbelt sign is off, Buster is up out of his seat
and popping the latch on the overhead that holds Lincecum's day bag. "I got it, Timmy," he says,
holding up a hand when Tim makes a move in protest. "Asskisser," Huff says.
"He's gonna get a swelled head." "He should have a swollen head,"
Sandoval says, leaning over his seat to give Lincecum a high five.
"Swollen like a fruit. Good job, Timmy." "Thanks, man," Tim says, slapping
Sandoval's palm. He is not saying it to Buster, but Buster doesn't care. He swipes Tim's room key from the travel
coordinator, too, ready with a smart comeback in his head in case someone
says something, but it's too late at night and everyone's too eager to get to
their own rooms to notice that Buster takes Tim's bag and Tim's key and then
opens the door to Tim's room and ushers him inside. "Listen," Tim says when the door
is closed behind them. "I'm really tired, so maybe we could do this
later? Like, never?" "I'm sorry," Buster says. Tim plops down on the corner of the bed,
his hands between his knees. "Okay. Apology accepted. Again. Good night." "No." Buster crouches down in
front of Tim, hands on Tim's knees. He so familiar with this position,
looking up into Lincecum's face, it feels like second nature to him. Sixty
feet or six inches, what's the difference? He wonders what sign he needs to
put down to get Lincecum to meet his eyes. "Tim, hey." Tim rubs a hand over his face and finally, finally, looks him in the eye. "I'm sorry," Buster says again.
"I had a little freak out. I should have...I don't know. Said
something." "It's fine," Tim says, although
his tone doesn't match his words. "I get it. We're cool." "We're cool," Buster says. Tim nods. "Yep. No problem. Apology
accepted. Really." He bugs
his eyes out at Buster. "So, thanks, you know. For doing it." Buster watches him carefully, as carefully
as he did earlier that night (that was yesterday,
Buster realizes as he catches the time on the digital clock next to the bed).
"And now we're good." Tim nods again, his head going up and down
like one of those creepy bobbleheads. "So good I can hardly stand
it." Buster reaches up from his crouch and puts
his hand in Lincecum's hair. Lincecum jerks away so fast that Buster is
left with a few strands of hair around his index finger. "Whoa!" "I thought--" "I think you should leave," Tim
says. He's fallen back on the bed on one elbow, and Buster's practically
between his knees, but he couldn't be farther away. "Tim--" "GET. OUT." Tim's voice sounds
clogged and thick, but his face is hard and clear. Buster stands, pushing off Tim's knees.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "I'm going, I swear. I'm next
door, though, and I'm going to leave the connecting door unlocked. I'm doing
that as soon as I get in there. So if you want to, you know, talk or
something. Okay?" Lincecum stares up at him and doesn't say a
word. "Okay," Buster says. "Here's
your key." He sets the key down on top of the television cabinet.
"I'm just right through there." He points at the door. Again, nothing. Buster lets himself out of Tim's room and
into his own. The first thing he does is turn the lock on the connecting door
on his side, pressing his hand against the wood for a minute. He stares at
the knob and counts to ten, then twenty. He knows it's pointless-- Tim's not
going to come through that door--but he can't stop hoping. The End |