Cable to Nowhere

The cable guy arrived at 7 AM, right when Sarah's memory said he would. That was the problem with divorce—the way your ex-wife's organizational habits persisted in your brain like phantom limbs.

Marcus stood in the doorway, shirtless, the morning chill raising gooseflesh on his chest. "You're early."

"Traffic was light on the expressway." The technician—name tag read DEVON—hoisted a coil of thick black cable over his shoulder. "Where's the connection point?"

Marcus pointed toward the bedroom. The room where Sarah had packed her things in cardboard boxes three months ago. The room where he now slept on a mattress on the floor because buying a new bed felt like admitting defeat.

Devon worked efficiently. "You play?" he nodded toward the corner where a baseball glove sat atop a stack of unread magazines.

"Used to." Marcus hadn't picked it up since the company softball tournament last summer. Sarah had come to watch, sat in the stands with her legs crossed, her sundress grazing her knees. He'd hit a home run and felt like a hero for three hours. "My wife—I mean my ex-wife—she thought I was too old for rec leagues."

"Age is just a number." Devon stripped the cable's insulation with practiced fingers. "I'm forty-two. Still run three times a week. Keeps the blood pumping."

Running. Marcus used to run, back when he thought cardiovascular endurance mattered. Back when he thought anything he did mattered. Now his most significant physical exertion was carrying takeout up three flights of stairs.

"You got a pool?" Devon asked, gesturing toward the backyard visible through the sliding glass door.

"Sarah wanted one. We never got around to it." They'd talked about it for years. In-ground, with a Jacuzzi and those fancy lights that changed color. They were always going to do it next summer, when they had more money, when they had more time. Next summer never came.

Devon connected the cable to the wall mounted TV. "Test signal. You should get 300 channels.

The screen flickered to life—a financial news program scrolling past. The ticker showed markets down, a bull run reversing course. Marcus had lost half his 401k in the tech selloff. Sarah had taken the house equity. All he had left was cable television and a baseball glove gathering dust.

"Everything looks good." Devon packed his tools. "You okay, man? You seem somewhere else."

Marcus considered lying, but what was the point? "My wife left me. I'm forty-three, I sleep on a mattress on the floor, and I just subscribed to premium cable because I don't know what else to do with my evenings."

Devin nodded slowly. "My first wife left me too. Took everything. I started swimming at the YMCA. Best thing ever happened to me. Water washes everything clean, you know?"

Marcus looked at the barren backyard where the pool would never be. Then he picked up his baseball glove, tested the leather's give with his thumb. "You think the YMCA has a league?"

"Community center on 4th. Tuesday nights." Devon handed him a receipt. "Sometimes you gotta stop running from things and start running toward something else."

After Devon left, Marcus stood in his empty living room, cable TV glowing with financial news he didn't care about. The baseball glove felt good in his hand. Real. Something he could hold onto, something that hadn't left.

Tuesday was five days away. He'd go. Maybe he'd even check out the YMCA pool. But first, he needed to buy a bed.