𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 | 𝐛. 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳

𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 | 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧

       "THIS WAS SO FUN, we have to do this more often." I say, looking at everyone. "I'll pay next time."
We all hug one another as a farewell, saying goodbye before we all part ways again and let those of which have lives outside of L.A. get back to their homes. Lennon and I approach her car, waving goodbye to the rest of the boys as the climb into Smalls' mini-van. Lennon and I climb into her Subaru and watch as the boys disappear towards the stadium where their cars reside. Some will be dropped off at the airport, others, like Squints or Kenny will drive the twenty-something minute drive back to San Fernando Valley to their wives and children. I was the oldest Sandlot boy, older than them all by about a year or more, next was Ham, younger than me by about three or four months, then Lennon, six months younger than me, although our age difference never bothered either of us. Most of the boys convinced their parents to let them skip a grade so we graduated school together except for Tommy Timmons who was maybe two years younger than his older brother, Timmy. And, although I was the oldest of the group, it feels like I'm the furthest behind. I mean, sure, I'm a Major League Baseball player, but the rest of the guys are further along in life than I am. I mean, Timmy and Tommy are multi-millionaire architects and the inventors of the mini-mall. Ham is a famous wrestler with a beautiful wife and baby on the way. Yeah-Yeah was a pioneer inventor of Bungee jumping in the military. Squints purchased the family pharmacy and married the girl he had been pining over for years. They now have nine children together and are living happily ever after. Kenny married and has a little boy who is just as Baseball obsessed as I am. Kenny coaches his son's little league baseball team, 'The Heaters'. Smalls married and has two beautiful little girls who love coming to work with him to "Watch the good guys in white and blue beat the bad guys and gray and blue"--The Dodgers vs the Houston Astros, their least favorite team. Lennon is a big-time sports reporter, although that's really all I've heard about her. I know she isn't engaged or married, but I have no clue if some big-time lawyer or actor waits for her back in NYC. Besides Bertram who fell off the face of the planet, I'm behind. All I have to my name is a house over in Santa Monica on the outskirts of L.A. and a Rookie-of-the-Year plaque hanging up above my washing machine.
"Where do you live, Benny? I'd love to see your little corner of the world if you'll let me." Lennon says, smiling at me.
I raise an eyebrow, looking over at her closely. Her fair skin glows under the street lights. The sky is dark now, the street lights giving light to the roads as cars drive up and down their winding paths. A sudden realization hits me as I stare at her--she's really here. I'm not imagining this scenario as I have in the past, this however is real. Her words, soft and careful and cautious, carefully calculated until she creates the sentence she so perfectly desires. Her voice is sweet like honey, leaving me hungry for more of the sweet nectary sound like a child let loose in a candy store. Lennon sits in the driver's seat of her car, an eyebrow raised at me, smiling. She was my first love. A woman who disappeared from sight, but never from mind, and sat in the front of my mind for years, although there was nothing to be said. My skin crawls as the withdrawals begin to kick in. I need the honey-sweet tone of her voice to carry to my ears, although I'm not entirely sure what will be said. Is this how addicts feel? If so, I can see why they do everything in their power to get what they crave, even if it may kill them in the process.
"Benny?" Lennon asks, an eyebrow raised, her curled blonde hair hanging in her face, practically begging her to reach up and brush it away. "Is that okay, if I drive you home?"
I snap out of my daze and nod to her, exhaling sharply as the intoxicating scent of daisies trails up and clouds my head.
"Yes, of course, that's just fine." I say, trying to piece together a sentence that hopefully makes sense as I speak. "I live on the outskirts of L.A. over by Santa Monica."
The combination of daisies and her honey-toned voice causes an overload in my head and I practically have a stroke, struggling to piece together information. She pulls out of the parking lot and starts driving towards Santa Monica. The traffic lights illuminate her skin, making my skin feel hot. What is happening to me? We're quiet for the entire drive except for the occasional instruction on where to turn and where to stop. She parks out front of my house, a smaller house, grey in color, with a huge balcony out back, decorated with lights and greenery galore. Lennon and I climb out. She stands on the sidewalk, staring up at my house, an eyebrow raised. I grab my bag from the trunk and watch her.
"What, is something wrong with the house? I've been thinking of painting it a different color as my off-practice days' activity." I say.
She shakes her head, staring at the house in awe. Her blue eyes examine the house carefully, almost as if she's never seen something like it before.
"Benny, it's beautiful. It's so pretty, and I'm so happy for you. I wouldn't necessarily change the house color, but instead the door to a brighter color for a pop. But, it doesn't even need it. It's beautiful." She says.
"And so are you..." I say, looking over at her in awe.
She looks away from the house, and back at me, an eyebrow raised as she looks up at me. She looks confused.
"Benny, what--"
I cut her off by grabbing her hand and pulling her towards me. My hands wrap around her waist and her hands press to my chest. I'm acutely aware of her dainty fingers tracing my chest and arms. I lean down, pressing our foreheads together, our lips grazing just barely.
"We haven't talked about the past, and I don't plan to talk about it for a while, but I can't just stand here, looking at you, knowing that your actually back here, in California, and not tell you the truth." I say quietly.
Lennon's hand reaches up, tracing my jaw line. Her fingers are soft and thin, delicate as they move along my face.
"We've both changed quite a bit since we last saw one another, haven't we?" She asks, one eyebrow raised.
I nod, smiling at her, our foreheads still pressed together. I close my eyes and exhale slowly through my mouth. This. This is all I have wanted since that day she left. This. Standing in the dark, wrapped around one another, wordless.