*Author's Note: After saying I was stuck and unable to finish a story, I remembered this one was nearly complete and managed to grind it out. As I reread it, I teared up a couple of times. If you're an emotional reader, grab a tissue!
*****
"Logan! Can you give us a statement? Is it true you're retiring at the end of this season?"
"Logan? Is it true you and your wife have separated? Do you have any comment on that?"
Logan Benson had been a major league baseball player for twelve years. It had taken him ten years to work his way through the minor-league farm system, something no one else he 'came up' with had done. One after the other, he watched his former peers fall by the wayside as they realized they'd never be 'going to the show' (baseball slang for making it to the big leagues.) But Benson had persevered and after a huge year in Triple-A ball in 2005, had been called up to the Seattle Mariners and had stayed with them ever since.
His numbers had fallen off sharply a year ago, and this year they were so dismal he found himself on the bench watching most of the Mariners' games getting into the lineup only as an occasional pinch hitter or when someone was injured. He was in the last year of a reasonably lucrative three-year contract, but he, like his agent, knew there wasn't going to be a renewal—not even for a single season. In fact, the way he'd been playing, he was lucky to be staying with the team. Then again, there were only six more weeks until the end of the season, and there was zero chance Seattle was making the playoffs, so management had no reason to cut him and bring someone new up from the minors.
Benson would spend the rest of his final season 'riding the pine' as players often called sitting on the bench. It was hard enough having to sit there and watch the young turks take his place. It was even harder to admit he'd passed his prime and could no longer compete at the highest levels. He often wondered whether or not he could even compete at the Triple-A level anymore, something he vowed to never do again if the Mariners ever did let him go.
No, he'd mark time until the season ended in September then turn the page on this chapter of his life and try and find some other new passion to give his life meaning. On the surface, that didn't seem so hard. Just go out and find something else; something new. The problem was baseball had been his entire life since his father put a ball in his hand when he was three years old. He'd been the best player on every team he'd played on from sandlot through Little League and then into high school and the minor leagues. From there, the competition was so fierce he wasn't necessarily the best player, but he was always the most dedicated and the hardest working and those ethics had paid off handsomely.
Benson drove himself mentally and physically to his limits and until two years ago, that had always returned huge dividends. Now he was at the point of diminishing returns where no amount of hard work made any difference. His reflexes were a fraction of a second slower now and that meant striking out more often. It meant being slightly slower and getting thrown out on close plays. It meant not quite getting there when a fly ball was hit to his position in left field. In a word, it meant being taken out of the lineup and the end of his career. Like all players, Logan Benson had reached the end of the line.
He couldn't really complain, though. As he knew, most guys never even got called up. Of those who did, very few stayed. Of those who stayed, very few became starting players. And out of that tiny percent that did, even fewer put up the kinds of numbers Benson had that let him stick around for twelve full years. He'd never made the all-star team, but he was a very solid major league player. On top of that, he'd been very lucky never having been seriously injured. All in all, he'd had a pretty good run.
He ignored the reporters and headed into the clubhouse with his team after another disappointing loss at home. He didn't really even need to shower, but old habits were hard to break, so he lathered up and rinsed off before getting dressed and heading home.
In the old days, he'd have spent five or ten minutes patiently answering the press's endless questions, but he was at a point where he had no patience left. Yes, he planned on retiring in six more weeks, and yes, his wife had recently walked out on him. So yes, his life was basically a disaster and the last thing he felt like doing was airing his dirty laundry to a celebrity-crazed bunch of fans who either didn't really know him or no longer even gave a damn how he was doing.
Baseball had afforded him the ability to live a life he'd only dreamed of growing up dirt poor in rural southwest Oregon in the city of Eugene. He had all of the trappings of a relatively successful professional athlete to include a gorgeous home in a gated community, several very expensive cars, and all the toys and gadgets a man could want.
Logan Benson had it all except for the one thing he was beginning to realize really mattered to him—true love. He and his wife, Bridgett, had been married for ten years. Looking back, it was now very clear her interest in him started and stopped with his ability to bring a big, fat paycheck. She'd been a fan but had never been a 'groupie'. He'd met her through a fellow team member and although Benson was good looking enough to have pretty much any woman he wanted (and he'd had plenty of them), he was turning 30 and found himself head-over-heels smitten by this gorgeous woman who said (and did) all the right things. Back then, he'd been so sure she loved him and yet there was always this 'still small voice' in the back of his head that set of warning bells. Until recently, he'd managed to ignore it.
Yes, she'd been materialistic; perhaps even extremely so. But he was making so much money, it didn't matter to him how much or how fast she was spending it. What difference did it make that the house she wanted cost two years worth of his hefty salary? What difference did it make that she had several hundred pairs of designer shoes she may have worn once if at all? It didn't matter that she could drop fifty grand on jewelry and another fifty on designer clothes in a a given month. He still had more than enough to buy the things he wanted and could even put some away.
Now, of course, all that was changing. Bridgett wanted the house even though she couldn't even afford to pay the taxes on it, so he'd have to sell it and divide the profits. She'd take all of her stuff plus half of theirs and he'd be left with whatever remained.
He should have been angry, but he couldn't gin up the emotion. He just felt...drained. He was exhausted and he needed time to find find himself again. Benson didn't even know what life without baseball looked like and having to find out was the one thing that really scared him. No, that wasn't true. Living alone in a world without love scared him, too, and quite possibly even more than not being Logan Benson, left fielder for the Seattle Mariners.
As he pulled into his six-car garage, he was looking forward to the one thing he still had that made him feel alive. The one 'thing' that still loved him unconditionally.
He opened the door and as always, standing in the hallway, was his dog, Rusty, a four-year old yellow Labrador retriever Bridgett had bought from an AKC-registered breeder. Initially, Benson had little interest in the tiny puppy, but as that season ended, he found himself playing with the dog more and more. By the time the following season started, he found it very difficult to go on the road and leave Rusty behind; a lot more difficult than leaving Bridgett, who was already becoming more of a roommate than a wife.
Things went from bad to worse just under two years ago when he was having such a terrible season. By the time it was over, she could see the handwriting was on the wall and the gravy train was about to leave the station.
She hung around until a couple of months ago when she let him know she'd 'found' someone new. This 'someone' just happened to be a younger, new player for the Los Angeles Dodgers who'd just signed a huge two-year contract. Benson didn't even care to ask how she'd gotten to know him let alone well enough to leave her husband to be with him. He'd calmly told her to have her lawyer call his then proceeded to get falling-down drunk that night and barely able to drag himself to the ballpark the next day.
He'd continued doing that until just three days ago when he realized the only person he was hurting with his self-destructive behavior was Logan Benson. He poured all of the booze he had in the house down the drain and vowed never to touch it again.
Bridgett, baseball, and booze were gone. But Rusty was there. Rusty was always there. He was crazy happy to see his owner every time he came home whether he'd been gone for a week-long road trip or a quick ride to the store.
As always, Rusty heard the garage door open and went to the door and waited. The moment Benson walked in, his tail went into overdrive as he wagged, sniffed, and rubbed up against his human friend.
"Oh, Mr. Benson. I didn't hear you come home," his housekeeper said. "I should have known when Rusty bolted for the door it was you. Can I get you anything?"
"No thanks, Corrine," he told her. "I think I'm gonna take the big guy here to the park and just do some thinking."
