The Batboy

by Terry O'Reilly

  * * * *

  By Tuesday of that week Thad was a bit of a wreck. Keeping his vow of purity had not been ultra successful.

  To ease his guilt and worries, Thad had talked himself into concluding God couldn’t possibly mean that a healthy teenage boy had to keep his hands to himself one-hundred percent of the time.

  However, he had a bit more trouble convincing himself that thoughts of Iggy while his hands were busy would be okay. It seemed to him that not only God, but the world in general, wasn’t too keen on sex between guys. Yet he just couldn’t seem to keep images of the shortstop out of his head, especially when he was giving in to the desires of his flesh. Even worrying about making the batboy squad sometimes took a back seat to worrying about whether or not these thoughts might mean he was gay.

  He hadn’t heard from the Buzzards, and he kept checking in with Dale and Link to see if they had. About eight that evening Thad was working on his physics homework when the phone rang. He jumped up from his desk, raced down the stairs and into the living room. His father had answered it.

  “Yes, he’s here. Just a minute,” he said as Thad skidded to a halt beside him.

  Once he was handed the phone, his heart pounding in his throat, Thad all but yelled, “Hello!”

  “Hey, man!” Link said.

  “Hey,” Thad replied, feeling let down.

  “I made it!” Link yelled. “They just called. We’re supposed to be at the stadium at nine on Saturday to start training.”

  “That’s great,” Thad said, feeling nervous that he hadn’t received a call.

  “How about you? They call you yet?”

  “No.”

  “How about Dale?”

  “I haven’t heard from him,” Thad said. “Let’s get off the phone in case they’re trying.”

  The boys said a quick goodbye. Thad sat on the couch next to the telephone, staring at it, willing it to ring. The minutes went by. When nothing happened, he picked up the receiver just to make sure there was a dial tone.

  Geez! His mother was on the extension, talking to his Aunt Betty. Damn! Why the hell wouldn’t his father come into the twenty-first century and let them get cell phones?!”

  He sprinted to the kitchen, got his mother’s attention, pointed to himself, held his hand to his ear in the phone sign, and then pretended to swing a bat.

  Mrs. Stevens wrinkled her brow, shrugged her shoulders, and kept talking.

  “Mom!” Thad said in a strained whisper. “The Buzzards called Link! They may be calling me!”

  “Just a minute, Betty. Thad’s trying to tell me something.” She covered the receiver and asked, “What is it, dear?”

  Exasperated, Thad said, “The Buzzards called Link. He made the squad. They could be trying to call me!”

  “Oh, how nice, dear. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  Thad rolled his eyes.

  “Betty dear. Thad needs the phone. You remember that I told you about his trying out for that batboy thing? Yes, that’s right. Oh, I didn’t know that his uncle Don was a batboy when he was younger. He’ll have to tell Thad all about it.”

  “Mom! For gah-gosh sake!” Thad said, more loudly than he meant to.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” his mother said. “Betty, I have to go. Yes, I’ll call tomorrow. My love to the family.”

  “What’s going on in here?” Thad’s father came into the room. “Did I hear you shout at your mother?”

  The phone started ringing. Thad went to answer it.

  “Thad, I asked you a question.”

  The phone continued to ring.

  “It’s all right dear,” his mother said.

  The phone rang a third time. Thad started to sweat.

  “He’s waiting for a call from the Buzzards.”

  A fourth ring.

  “Well then why doesn’t someone answer the phone?” Mr. Stevens asked.

  Thad did just that. “Hello. This is Thad!”

  * * * *

  Saturday found Link, Dale, and Thad—as well as five other boys and two girls—sitting in the stands at Buzzard stadium, waiting for their first day of batboy training to start. Roy Dickenson had just been re-introduced as their trainer by Mr. Granville. Roy Dickenson was a former batboy and had been training the squad for some twenty-five years.

  Schedules for training and Buzzards’ games were handed out. Thad was relieved. Training was on Saturdays, and the season didn’t start with home games until Memorial Day weekend. That meant he wouldn’t miss any school or his school team’s ballgames. The full schedule for semi-pro teams would begin in June when school would be out—Mr. Stevens had hesitated signing his permission until he examined every paper and was sure about the June date.

  With that worry put aside, Thad turned his attention to the trainer. He had been going over batboy duties and responsibilities. Thad remembered most of what he said from Mr. Granville’s speech at the tryouts, so was more interested in the players who were on the field practicing. Ignacio Hernandez was among them.

  Thad felt the now familiar yet disturbing excitement that went beyond hero worship as he watched his idol scooping up ground balls and throwing them to the first baseman. He knew his feelings for the man were somehow wrong in God’s eyes, but he couldn’t help having them. He’d tried not to, but they kept intruding nonetheless.

  God must not have been too upset with him as Thad had made the batboy squad, despite not being able to keep Iggy out of his mind. Nor had he been able to keep his vow of stopping his hands from roaming below his belt when he did think of him. That gave him a measure of relief. At least he wouldn’t be headed for hell.

  Link poked Thad in the ribs. “Come on. Dickenson said to go down onto the field.”

  Thad shook off the thoughts he’d been mulling over in his mind, got up, and headed for the field with the others. Once there, Roy (Mr. Dickenson had insisted they call him by his first name) had the squad introduce themselves to one another. Two of the guys and one of the girls had been on the batboy roster before. Carl, Jay, and Tracey would act as Roy’s assistants for the training sessions.

  After two hours of practice, the batboys were taken on a tour of the stadium. They visited the clubhouse—a fancy lounge where players could hang out together. When Thad was a little kid, he thought the players all lived in the clubhouse. He never thought they had homes or wives or anything like that. He thought the game ended and they all went inside the dugout and back into the clubhouse, where they all lived happily together. He used to try to imagine what it would be like to be part of that family. Even when he was older and knew his childish ideas about the clubhouse weren’t true, he liked to think that was the way the team lived. He found it exciting in some way.

  Several of the players were in the clubhouse watching a major league game on the big-screen TV. They got up and acknowledged the visitors—shaking their hands and congratulating them on being on the batboy team. The squad then went up to the press box, the manager’s offices, down to the equipment lockers, and finally to the locker rooms.

  Roy knocked on the door, opened it a crack and called out. “Everybody decent?” Since the players had finished practice sometime before, there was no answer.

  “All right,” Roy said as they walked into the room. “For you girls this will probably be your only time in here. The guys may have to come in here for equipment that the players didn’t return, get cleats for cleaning or other things. Take a few minutes to look around, but please don’t touch anything in the players’ cubbies.”

  Thad, Dale, and Link poked their heads into the showers. They reminded Thad of the ones at the high school. For a moment he let himself imagine what it would be like to see the players taking showers after the game. When he felt himself responding to those fantasies he quickly looked away.

  The three boys went into the training room to see the whirlpools, hot tub, sauna, and treatment tables. Beyond that was the workout room with weights and exercise machines. All in all, the three
boys agreed it was a pretty nice setup.

  On their way back through the main room they checked out the players’ cubbies. At the very top was a shelf with a door that could be locked. Thad surmised that was for personal belongings like wallets and stuff. Under that was a shelf with shaving things and deodorant, then a space for hanging uniforms and clothes, and, at the bottom, a shelf for shoes.

  Each cubby had the player’s name and number on the locked door. Thad wanted to find Iggy’s. He, Link, and Dale walked along the wall of lockers until he saw it. Ignacio Hernandez #17. He stopped and went up to it and looked at the toiletries stored on the top shelf. There was no razor, just a small battery-powered clipper, as Iggy had a scruffy five o’clock shadow that was so popular with so many young guys. Thad thought Iggy’s was very sexy as he had black hair and the scruff showed up well. He considered letting his own beard grow like that. But even if I could, dad probably wouldn’t let me anyway, he thought.

  Besides sunscreen and deodorant, the only other thing on that shelf was a cologne called Polo Blue. Thad made a mental note of the name. If he couldn’t grow a beard like Iggy’s, maybe he could wear the same cologne.

  As he looked through the clothes hanging in the cubby, his heart stopped. Hanging on a hook in the back behind Iggy’s practice uniform was a jockstrap. He looked around. No one was watching. Dale and Link had moved on to look at the lockers of other players. Impulsively Thad grabbed the strap and stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Thad?’ came a voice from behind him.

  Thad froze. Panic swept over him. His heart pounded in his chest. He turned around, thrusting his hand into his pocket and closing his fingers around the stolen athletic supporter, panicking, and wondering just how he would explain how it got there.

  “Roy says it’s time to go.”

  It was Jay, one of the guys who was on the squad the previous year.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

  Relieved he hadn’t been caught, Thad released his grip on his contraband and followed the group out of the locker room.

  That night at home Thad stood in his room in his pajamas in front of his dresser, holding the stolen jockstrap.

  Crap, why did I take this?Am I some sort of pervert?

  Yet even as he asked himself these questions about the article of clothing that had been so intimately in contact with his idol, he began to feel the tell-tale signs of excitement. He walked to his bed, lay down and gave in, once again, to the temptation to jerk off, this time holding the forbidden fruit against him, thinking of the man who wore it, thinking of him wearing it.

  When he was done, Thad got up, went into his bathroom to clean up, and then, hesitating at first, put the jockstrap on and went to bed.

  For the next few weeks Thad wore the stolen supporter every day. He wore it to school, to baseball practice, and slept in it. When he figured it was ripe enough that it needed washing he threw it in with his underwear, hoping his mom would think it was the one that belonged to him. She evidently did, as she never mentioned it.

  * * * *

  School was over for the summer and Thad was working regularly at the ballpark. He loved his job as batboy. It was all he dreamed it would be. Being on the field during games and hanging out with the players before and after was the high point of every day. He volunteered to work extra duty every chance he could. He didn’t even mind as much as he thought he would when he was assigned to be the batboy for the visiting team.

  Of course, the most exciting part of it all was being in such close contact with Iggy. The player seemed to have taken a real liking to Thad. When Thad was working a game, Iggy spent a lot of time talking with him—calling him over to sit with him in the dugout when there was a lull in the action, buying him a Coke or some other treat as a thank-you after a game. Once Iggy had defended him when one of the other players got on his case when Thad had given him the wrong bat. Iggy had come out of the dugout and got in the guy’s face, telling him to back off and take his frustrations out on the ball, not the kid. Thad had fairly glowed with happiness at being looked after that way by the man he idolized.

  The downside of all this was that the more time Thad spent with Iggy, the stronger his attraction to the man became. Because of that, and his increasing appreciation for the other players he’d seen in the locker room taking showers and dressing, Thad had pretty much come to the conclusion that he very well could be gay. He struggled with the reality of what that might mean for him and his life. His religious upbringing made for some uncomfortable moments. Thad felt shame over his apparent sexual orientation. Feelings of guilt and dread of eternal damnation still overcame him immediately following jerk-off sessions. Although, as soon as his libido recovered and his horniness returned, these reactions faded into the background and his biggest fear, that of being found out, came to the fore. If Dale or Link ever knew he had stolen and was wearing Iggy’s jock, or if they discovered the way he felt about Iggy, or caught him staring at some hunky player’s crotch, he didn’t know what he would do. He knew what they thought about guys who liked guys: fags, queers, homos, and perverts he’d heard them call guys they thought were gay. He’d seen what bullying had done to the two guys who’d been caught at school and to other kids who were even suspected of being gay. He didn’t want anything like that to happen to him.

  He wished he had someone to talk to, someone who would understand. Link and Dale sure weren’t an option. He couldn’t go to his father or his minister—no way! He’d heard too many times from the church about such dangers as same-sex marriage, anti-discrimination laws, adoption by gay couples, and electing true Christian conservatives to get the country back on the road to righteousness. Thad couldn’t understand how any of these things were threats to civilization. But he kept his silence, knowing what the reaction would be to any admission on his part that he feared he was gay.

  One night Thad had to stay especially late after a game by himself to clean out players’ cleats and wash the batting helmets. Link, the other batboy assigned that day, had to leave early to go to dinner with his family. Thad walked from the equipment room into the locker room to return the cleats he’d been working on. Although it was still early evening, the room had no windows and was only dimly lit by the after-hours security lights. He noticed the door to the training area was ajar and the lights were on. He figured he should turn them off. As he approached the door he heard voices. One he recognized immediately. It was Iggy’s deep, rich baritone. He was laughing.

  Thad peeked through the opening. He could see Iggy standing next to the hot tub, with his back to him. Iggy was naked. Thad took a deep breath as he felt a swoop of excitement go through his body. He couldn’t see the person Iggy was talking to. Then he heard the whirr of the hot-tub motors and the sound of swishing water as the tub bubbled to life.

  Then Danny Otis, the right fielder, came into view. He was also undressed. Iggy turned around. Danny walked right up to him and put his arms around Iggy’s neck. Iggy in turn encircled Danny’s waist with those strong arms that Thad admired so much.

  Thad stood frozen to the spot—his eyes riveted to the scene before him. His heart pounded in his chest so loudly he was sure the men could hear.

  Damn! Iggy’s going to kiss him!

  Thad couldn’t believe his eyes. The two men kissed and held each other close. Two hunky, masculine, baseball players were making out—not some swishy, wimpy kids, but grown, mature men!

  When they broke apart, Danny disappeared from view, but Thad could hear him say, “Oh, man, this water feels good,” as he apparently got into the hot tub. Then he said, “Close the door.”

  “Nobody’s gonna be here this late,” Iggy replied.

  “Just in case,” Danny’s voice came again.

  “No one’s gonna think anything about us being in the hot tub together,” Iggy replied once more.

  “Well, Mr. Hernandez,” Danny said in a low, sexy voice, “who says we’re just gonna be in the
hot tub. I got plans for us, mah man. So close the door and get in here with me.”

  “All right, worrywart,” Iggy said with a chuckle.

  Iggy turned and walked toward Thad, who pulled back just in time, flattening himself against the wall and holding his breath. His heart was still pounding wildly, his mouth dry. The door closed and once again Thad was surrounded by the dim light of the locker room. He could still hear the water in the hot tub swirling and bubbling, but nothing else.

  Trembling, he made his way out of the locker room to the parking lot and drove home.

  * * * *

  “You’re very quiet, dear,” his mother said in that way which made it sound more like a question than a statement. They were sitting at the table eating dinner that night.

  The thought Iggy’s gay kept churning in Thad’s head. Iggy’s gay. Iggy’s gay.

  “Thad!” His father’s voice cut through the fog of thoughts.

  “Huh?” he said, blinking and focusing on the forkful of spaghetti that was poised over his plate. He put it in his mouth and looked at his dad.

  “Your mother’s waiting for an explanation,” he said sternly.

  Thad sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom. What did you say?”

  “I asked you why you were so quiet. Is everything all right? Did something happen at the ballpark today?”

  An image of Iggy kissing Danny flashed through his mind. Memories of Danny’s invitation to Iggy to close the door and get in the tub with him echoed in his head.

  Shit yeah, something happened.

  “No,” he lied. “Just a normal day.”

  Thad pushed his meal around on his plate with his fork.

  “You got home pretty late,” his father said.

  Imagined pictures of Iggy and Danny in the hot tub continued to run through Thad’s mind. With effort he thrust them aside and shrugged.

  “I had to clean up the helmets and stuff. Link couldn’t stay so I had to do it all by myself. Um, I’m not very hungry. Had a couple of leftover dogs while I was doing the helmets. Is it okay if I go up to my room?” He looked up at his parents.