Liz Cooper

    Balls come at me steady, even, and I envision thin arcs for them to follow as I crack them out into the sky. As my conscious mind drifts I start to see the back of your head in the center of the box, where the arc of the ball meets the arc of my swing. It makes me think of you. Do you remember that time I stole your phone and pretended to report you to the police for “penis fencing”? Or when I got everyone to tell you their Halloween plans so you knew you weren’t invited? Do you remember when I’d pretend to come onto you then lie until you thought you were the one who'd made a pass at me? Do you remember me at all? I remember you.

Eject. Tense. Swing. CRACK. just a hair above the base of the spine. Out of the fucking park, perfection. I can feel that millisecond of softness, of hair and dermis and flesh, before my bat hits bone. Then resistance, impact, a stump of meat at the end of your pale neck. You know I saw that in you whenever we spoke. It was in your eyes, this fleeting moment of tenderness. Like you thought maybe today, today he would be my friend. I loved that about you. Sure it disgusted me, but I loved it all the same. Like holding an egg in your hand, cold and smooth and perfect, before it cracks and oozes through your fingers.  

Eject. Tense. Swing. CRACK. Maybe an inch above the occipital bone. That’s gonna slam into the backstop. Gotta get under it. Those were the moments it felt like I really knew you. On your own you mostly looked like you were expecting G0d to punish you for something. And once I’d already betrayed you you’d just start sperging out and defending yourself like a retard. But in that moment, your watery blue eyes all soft and ready to be comforted. I knew you. I knew you all the way down to the bottom of your soul. 

I've had lots of opportunities to take without asking since we parted ways. Gold watches to smash. Pussy to fuck. But honestly? I still miss you. I will never again have what we had. You were my first open wound.