The Color of Goodbye

Marcus sat on the metal bleachers, the early autumn sun glinting off his whiskey in a discreet travel mug. His son Leo was at bat, shoulders tense, the way Marcus's used to be before everything fell apart. The baseball diamond stretched before him like an altar where dreams went to die or be resurrected.

Seven years ago, Arizona. The desert air had been dry enough to crack lips, hope still fragile between them. They'd spotted a fox near their rented cabin—sleek, cunning, alive in a way they'd both forgotten how to be. Elena had grabbed his hand, fingers lacing through his, and for a moment, Marcus had believed they might survive each other.

"I want to be like that," she'd whispered. "Wild. Unapologetic."

Now she was something else entirely. The antidepressants had turned her into something between herself and a stranger, moving through their shared life like a zombie from a film she'd fallen asleep watching. Marcus didn't know which was worse—the screaming matches or the silence that followed, heavy and suffocating.

Leo struck out swinging. The bat clattered against home plate, a lonely sound that made Marcus's chest ache. His son walked toward the dugout, head down, and Marcus remembered the pool behind their first apartment, the way Elena would float on that ridiculous orange inflatable, hair fanning out like dark water, laughing at nothing in particular.

He'd bought her a similar one last month, trying to summon something that had been dead for years. She'd just looked at it, then at him, with eyes that saw everything and nothing at all.

"You can't fix things with pool floats, Marcus."

No, he couldn't. But he could sit here and watch his son learn that striking out was part of the game, that sometimes the bat connected and sometimes you just watched the ball pass by, knowing you'd swung at the wrong moment. The fox had known when to run and when to wait. Marcus was still learning.

He raised his travel mug to the field, to the failed marriages and disappointed children, to all the beautiful things that rotted from the inside out. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, and Marcus thought that maybe this was just what being an adult felt like—showing up for the game even when you knew you'd probably strike out.