Slugger
Benjamin Murray
George had never been to a sports outlet store, but he quickly found the section he was looking for: Baseball. In his hand was a solid wood bat, oak maybe, with the words Slugger burned in. It actually had a nice weight to it, as he switched it from his left to his right hand, admiring the sheen, paying carful attention to how he held it, as a family walked to the cash register in front of him.
A saleswoman had come up to him and offered help. He asked only one question: These good for knocking? She shrugged her shoulders. “You know,” he lifted one off a rack, pretended to smash a fastball out of the park, “could someone bang this against a tree and it’d hold?” She had nodded, said something like probably, before moving to another customer.
The family moved to the register. He rubbed his palms up and down the bat, thinking about his date later tonight. Was she being serious? Or, was she just fucking with him? Either way, she looked very attractive, at least her pictures did; one showed her in tight workout attire, black leggings and workout bra; another showed her leaning over a railing somewhere outdoors, smiling, her eyes staring at something beyond the camera. The family pointed at a pack of tennis balls, and then to the back of the store. The clerk shook his head.
Her name was Serena, and they had been chatting for awhile now.
She liked, according to her profile, the following activities and things, in no particular order: Skiing, hiking, rafting, kayaking, snowshoeing, birding, squatching, singing, and curling. There were other things, like her fondness of seashells, her apparent interest in the Pacific Northwest, wild beaches with few people. She had, at one time, years ago or perhaps earlier, spotted Orcas off the coast of Washington. All I can remember, she had messaged a couple of days ago, was a sense of smallness, a sense of how tiny we all are, ya know? Often, when she ended a message with “ya know” or some other form of it, his response was usually amicable, short: Yeah, I know what you mean.
The family, with bags and bags of whatever the hell one buys here left, retreated outside. He watched them huddle together like penguins on the icy parking lot. A car slid past them. One of them flipped off the driver, and he thought, as he put the bat on the counter, no one knows how to drive in the snow and ice. “Did you find everything okay?” the clerk already scanned the bat, typed on the keypad.
“Yes,” he said. He paid, walked out, let the cold air sting his throat, and wondered what she was doing now. Was she really going to show up tonight? This, as his friend had suggested, sounded like a joke. Who believes in sasquatches? And, who actually goes out into the woods to find one? He supposed, as he got into his Honda, throwing the bat in the backseat, if she didn’t show up, he could return the it. Or, maybe he could hold on to it; keep it next to the front door of his apartment, along with the two umbrellas, the rack holding scarves and hats—in case someone intruded.
His Honda’s studded snow tires cut currents through the snow filled parking lot. No one was there, and no one had been there. As he parked, he looked around and only found undisturbed snow; which, because there was little to no wind, pasted on the ground so heavily and easily, it appeared as if he was the lone cake topper, drug across the frosting, waiting for her to show. The bat had rolled to the floor on the drive over. It wasn’t a long drive, but it had given him the chance to admire, maybe for the first time this year, or perhaps at all, how beautiful the outside world seemed. Over Broad Bridge, he noticed the ice growing over the creek; he took in the glazed trees, and if there weren’t so unavoidably large, he’d have thought that someone had planted these fresh painted trees on the landscape by a gingerbread house. But, as the day faded away, and as his headlights started shouldering more duty, the land turned on him. He didn’t know if it was all the squatch research, since Serena had sent him multiple links to these weird sites with error-ridden content, or if the shadows became alive on the edges of his headlights, but he couldn’t wait to get to the trail head, this parking lot. And now he was alone. He kept the car running and listened to the radio so low that he could only hear the muffles of some song, vaguely familiar and alien. He checked his phone.
She hadn’t responded to his last message saying that he was here. Usually, over last couple days or so, she responded within the hour, if not sooner. He had the feeling that she was really in to him. It was nice, he admitted to himself. Condensation began to spread, so he turned the heat on high, until there was only a small patch in the corner of the windshield. He drew a smiley face, with a tongue sticking out.
Over the sound of the heater, he heard a branch snap. It wasn’t too far away, because he also heard it hit the ground in a hush. He checked his phone again. She still hadn’t replied. He scrolled back up to an earlier conversation:
Serena: I have always liked the unkown, ya know? Like, whats out there, beyond what we can see and feel. I’m not talking about religion or afterlife stuff, but like whats here, on this planet, that we’ve yet to discover, ya know?
George: Yeah, I know what you mean. When I was younger, not that I’m old now, I always wanted to sail, anywhere. Crabbing and fishing and anything to do with the ocean, that’s what I wanted to do.
Serena: I love the ocean! See, thats a perfect example of the unknown. Thats the place where there are for sure hidden stuff, animals, treasure. Ive been going to the woods around town this past month looking for. Well, don’t laugh, ive been looking for bigfoot. Do you believe in bigfoot? Sasquatch?
George: I think there is something out there, just beyond what we can identify. I wouldn’t rule out some kind of animal that looks like us. I mean, they find all sorts of new creatures in the rainforest and ocean. I don’t think that’s crazy.
Serena: So youre a skeptic.
George: I’m a realist.
George: A hopeful realist.
Serena: Listen, weve been chatting for days now, and you still haven’t asked me out on a date, so im going to just offer this now. do you want to go on a squatch date with me? I know this place outside of town. We could meet up and walk around the woods??
George: With you, that sounds wonderful.
Idiot, what an idiot, he thought, as he scrolled down to his last message telling her that he was here. What a dummy, what a dumbass. She still hadn’t responded. No bubbles, no missed calls. His friend was right. Darryl was right. He had taken one look at her profile picture while they ate lunch in the work truck, warming their freezing hands from all the shoveling and plowing, and he shook his head. “No way, that’s a scam or something. Or, it’s a guy, or some teen fucking with people.” He had said, turning the radio up, “I’m telling you, you need to let me hook you up. It’s been years now. Let me help. I know someone who would be perfect. Say the word.”
And here he was, getting colder by the minute, his heater giving out, in the middle of some trailhead, with no one around. Giant snowflakes piled on his windows. Eventually, his tracks would blend into the rest of the snow. It would look, if long enough time passed, that he had been here before the first snow, before he had met Serena online, before roads and cars, before signals and pulses of lights.
About an hour later, he decided to message her again: Hey, still here. Everything alright? He waited another five minutes. He waited until he couldn’t see outside at all; snow covered all his windows. It was as if he was buried, entombed in his car. The idea shook him. He got out.
Bringing the bat with him, he decided that he might as well enjoy the winter wonderland before him. He didn’t know exactly where to go, but there was a gap between the trees and bushes that he figured was the trail. It was amazing, he thought, as he dipped underneath a branch heavy with snow, how full the world fills up. His boot prints seemed so small. So small, he wondered if a child followed him, but turning around, glimpsing the last of the trail head, it was only him, his headlamp directing the way.
George: I guess I’m kinda new to this whole thing.
Serena: What do you mean? Online?
George: Well that, but also dating.
Serena: Well, I think youre doing okay. Im still chatting with you
George: I guess I asked for a report card of sorts!
Serena: Its okay. tell me about yourself. whats the real you the one thats not on your profile
George: What do you want to know?
Serena: Whats a memory? first one
George: When I was nine, I caught a garter snake. Kept him as a pet. Didn’t tell my parents. I named her Rosie. She had this red stripe near her mouth, and I thought it looked like a rose petal, all squished up. Of course, my parents found out. I hid her under my bed. I guess my mom was looking for some clothes. She took her outside and released her. I was so angry.
Serena: wow. did you get in trouble?
George: No, just got told to not take animals, especially wild ones. I think I was madder at myself than her. I felt like I had failed her. I hadn’t protected her. It’s funny looking back now. I would sneak out in the middle of the night and call out for Rosie. She never came back, of course.
Serena: So you like snakes?
George: Yeah. I mean, I like all kinds of animals. My favorite are bats. They have fascinating bone structure. Yours?
Serena: those that I haven’t found yet. bigfoot, sasquatch, yeti. there’re out there.
George: Really?
He stopped reading. She still hadn’t messaged him. He didn’t know how far he had walked. There was a frozen creek, that when he stepped on, cracked like gunshot. It echoed loud and fast, before dying abruptly. There had been ice. Lots of ice. Ice, he couldn’t see through the snow. He remembered putting both his feet on the brake; he remembered throwing his arms up. It was snowing, and the flakes fell through the branches and boughs, collecting on rocks and stone. The trail before him continued straight, before, another hundred feet or so, it ended in what looked like a clearing. Pushing on, breathing heavily, with the bat swinging by his side, he marched on. He was determined. He would make it to the end, whatever that looked like. He imagined it wasn’t very far, being so close to town.
It was a clearing. The trees broke in density; it was as if an asteroid struck here thousands of years ago, and nature slowly moved back in. In the center, where the trail left off, were some stumps, drowned in snow. Farther on, closer to the edge, where the trees resumed their control, were saplings; their branches drooped. They were like arrowheads, points, swords sheathed.
She still hadn’t responded. No call. Weary, and sweating from the hike, he took his outer shell off and placed it on the stump so he could sit. She wasn’t coming; she was probably home right now, watching a movie. Or she was out with friends, laughing together, at how stupid he was, about how idiotic the whole idea of squatching. He kicked a pile of snow to reveal a tiny tree. It had felt so real. Their conversation didn’t seem like two people who were trying to get to know each other; rather, there was something in the middle, between them, that pulled them together. But he must’ve imagined this. His friend was right. It was probably some dude, some asshole, fucking with people, with him. He threw the bat at a sapling across the clearing, causing the little tree to spring back and forth, shaking all the snow off, until it looked like it had never been snowed on.
George: What about you? What is a memory that you’d like to share?
Serena: I was camping a year back, about two or three hours from here. I had a nice spot on this mountain lake. no one was around. so I found a pile of boulders. one had this perfect seat shape, and I spent the whole afternoon watching and listening and feeling nature around me. it was the most peaceful thing ever. I saw bald eagles and sparrows and robins and squirrels. but that’s when I saw it= bigfoot.
George: So, you’ve seen bigfoot?
Serena: he was there, all brown. red eyes. across the lake. he came down from the ridge, walked up to the waters edge. stuck a toe in. then he dived in, and the waves rippled across, larger than any human. but I can’t believe he tested the water. I watched him bathe
George: Did you take pictures? Video?
Serena: I had my phone, but it was dead
George: Wow. That’s insane.
Serena: do you believe. me?
With the snow dumping, he worried it might cover up his tracks and he would be lost in the forest, but then he realized that there was only one way; the trail cut through everything. Leave the bat? Maybe someone would find it later, someone who would have a need of it. Then he thought about how much he spent on it, and if he didn’t bang it up too much, he could still return it. So, he stood, tussled across the deepening snow to where it had landed. He found it, about foot or two below the surface, like an exposed femur. Picking it up, he felt the weight again, tossed between his two hands. This had been a mistake. On one of the sites she had sent him, researchers and explores suggested doing knocks with a bat or a piece of wood. Bigfoot communicated through knocks. Or, they growled and howled to each other. Often, said one site, their howls could be heard up to ten miles away. Their lungs had tremendous capacity, and with their overall strength and size, hearing one would probably be the loudest thing you heard. He tapped a sapling with the bat, and all the snow slid off. He touched another one, and another, until five saplings looked brand new, fresh, alive, like a young family huddled together. Maybe, he thought, maybe he should do a knock. He was out here, in the cold.
He approached a pine, got underneath its laden extremities, and whacked, like a lumberjack. The bat jumped out of his hands; the crack broke through the air. He retrieved the bat, waited. This was what you are supposed to do: Listen. For how long? One of the articles said up to an hour, or however long it takes for bigfoot to respond.
There were no roads nearby, no trails other than the one he had walked, no farms or houses or driveways, utility tracks, or even telephone poles. That was what made this such a great place to squatch. It was squatchy, Serena had messaged.
Serena: They need a space that can support them, just like us. they need water and shelter and food.
George: What kind of food do they eat?
Serena: Anything a bear would eat. they eat deer and elk. they break their legs with their strong hands so they cant run away. they emote
George: They emote? What—they have feelings? Is that what you mean?
Serena: they love. they have babies. that’s why they howl and call and knock. to teach their young.
A breeze, sprang up, and the trees left their static poses, became animated. He stayed where he had struck the pine, crouched, deep in snow. In the breeze, he heard on edge of his perception, a thwack. And then, rhythmic thuds, coming from deep in the woods. Footsteps. Another minute passed, crouched, his legs tired from not moving, wondering if what he heard was true, if Serena wasn’t crazy at all, if there were actual beings beyond what he could sense, and then the sounds stopped.
Serena had messaged that a howl could elicit a response, pretend that you are one of them. He cleared his throat, held back the idea that this was stupid, and yelled into the night, into the snow and pines, felt his throat constrict, his lungs fold; felt his eyes swell behind their lids, his teeth numb and cold from the sound he emitted, the sound he poured. It sounded like it came from another close by, like a growl turned way up, held too long. This sound echoed like the knock, like when he cracked the ice—fast and furious before quickly dying. If it was a light, he thought, it would’ve change from green to red, with no colors in between.
Serena: what was your long term relationship? were you married or
George: I was married.
Serena: cheated on? or did you. cause I know what its like. I’ve been cheated on before. worst feeling ever. its all about trust, ya know? my ex, he used to get up early most mornings to work out, until I caught him. know what I did? waited till we had a fancy dinner with his friends from work, some corporate celebration, and we had a scene. lets just say, 2 weeks later, I see him at a coffee shop on his laptop filling out applications. serves him right. I hope that’s not what happened with you
Serena: sorry, you don’t have to answer, just want to get to know you
In the stillness that followed his call, he turned off his headlamp. In the dark, yards away, or longer, between two trees, he saw something; he saw it. Two red orbs. Eyes. He couldn’t tell if they belong to a deer or some other creature, but he saw them, floating in the air. They throbbed, like heartbeats. “Serena?” he said.
Nothing happened. Eventually, one disappeared; then the other. He heard branches breaking; it, whatever it was, moved away. He called out. He yelled. He yelled.
George: I’m not ready to really talk about it.
Serena: all good. no judgement. sometimes, though, I understand that talking about it, even to someone you don’t know real well can help. like, pretend you’re just talking to yourself, in the dark. act like this is a well that you can shout into.
George: What makes you think I haven’t talk about this? I have friends.
Serena: okay. but I know friends can be hard to talk to too.
George: I was married. We were married for four years. She had wanted to have kids, and I wasn’t so sure. But I loved her, so we tried for a long time.
Serena: so you two wanted different things?
George: She got pregnant. We got pregnant. I was scared. But I was also excited. I could feel it, ya know? We had created something together.
Serena: what happened?
George: About four months into the pregnancy, we were driving home from her parents in the country. Around this time. Except, it wasn’t snowing. It was freezing rain, ice. At the lone intersection on the highway before town, near the bridge, were it curves to meet the county road.
Serena: oh
George: We were both going too fast.
Serena: omg
George: The thing about it is
Serena:
He made it back to his Honda. Snow covered every inch, muffled all the sharp corners, became a pillow, safe and warm looking in the glow of the single lamppost. He got in, careful to not disturb any of the snow. Did he really see a bigfoot? He couldn’t say for sure. It was too dark. He felt calm, though. Serena must have been someone fucking with him. At least he got to hike in the woods, in the snow. It was dark in here too; he couldn’t even see his hands resting on the steering wheel.
He would drive home straight through town and admire all the streetlights. He would pass the sports store on main. Tomorrow, after sleeping in, he would get ready for his shift by packing a dinner and brewing some coffee. His friend would ask about the date; they would complain about how much dating had changed. His friend would say, what do you expect, she looked too good to be true and you’ve guys have only been talking for five days. And, as they warmed our hands on the heater in the work truck, taking a break from plowing, George told him where he had gone to meet up with her. Darryl would say at least it was a pretty squatchy area to try and find a squatch. With their hands warm, they went back to work, plowing and shoveling roads and sidewalks.
Benjamin Murray is a graduate of Eastern Washington University’s MFA program and an advisor for Transformation Tuesday, a poetry and performance event with a focus on marginalized voices. He enjoys roaming the woods of the PNW for Sasquatch and kayaking rivers. His work has been published or is forthcoming in Arkana, Cobalt, Rock & Sling, Pamplemousse, and Stone Coast Review.