"I like hats." That's what Donald said the day before he killed Sally.
Sally, who had never worn a hat in her life. Sally, who had no time for silliness. Sally who was so serious, she could out-serious the pope. Sally, who was deadly serious.
He loved Sally. He loved her seriousness the way a spider loves weaving a web. It was natural to him. It was special and unique, but just instinctual. He walked with her to classes every day. He found her at lunch in the quad, and they talked about Kant and Nietzsche and all the things that life meant, and the unlikelihood of religious afterlives.
"I like hats" he said. Somewhat out of nowhere, this comment came. Just, "Is life meaningless?" "I like hats." Was it a betrayal of some sort? Did their shared contemplation of the unusual nuances of philosophy mean that they could have mundane preferences and disdains? Did everything have to be sort of... deep?
"I like hats." He said, watching as the frat jerks, for that was what they called those boys who played frisbee in the quad, though for all they know these boys were quite friendly. Deep, maybe? But frisbee is such a frivolous pursuit.
Until you dive deeper...
But "I like hats." he said as he watched one boy, goofing around, trade the frisbee for his cap, newsboy style and fling it to the next, who in turn put on that cap, took of his own baseball cap and threw it back, until it was an odd juggling show of caps and frisbees. This all happened the day before he killed Sally.
She found him in the Terminal Bar and Grill. He was sober for a change.
Ironic, considering how it would end, that it was a Terminal bar and grill. She sat down beside him for the first time. She didn't know that he-
Whoops Baby Break interrupted the flow. Where was I?
She didn't know that he was an alcoholic or that he lived just a few blocks from the university she would soon be attending, just that he was a handsome stranger in a boring airport, and she was ready for adventures. He drank his Tonic water with lime, and seemed just the kind of young fella who might fly off with her to Copenhagen without thinking too hard about it. He was. But neither of them had the money to do it. So they sat there and he told her about how often he was drunk and she helped him find a 12-step program, and then they figured out that he lived just north of campus, and he offered to give her a tour of campus, and when he eventually did, the cherry blossoms fell, and they talked about what life might have had to offer if she wasn't in constant physical pain from the skin disease that she hadn't told anyone else about since starting at university. Boy oh boy, did he start wondering about the meaningfulness of everything then.
The time he caught a flyball, was the time he killed Sally. She was standing at the plate, catcher's mitt open, but not wearing any gear. They'd not even considered safety gear. That day that they talked about hats, they'd finally talked to the frat jerks. And lo and behold, the frat jerks were friendly goofs who needed two more to play some baseball the next day. Really, they needed 9 more, to make proper teams. But it was just a friendly bit of fun, with 4 batters who rotated with the fielders so that it was always everyone's turn to bat, and also everyone's turn to field. Just some fun. And the new guy always pitches, and his friend always catches, so no one can be mad at a stranger. What pitcher catches a fly ball? A joyous one. One that never, not once, had caught a ball before. These frat jerks were having a grand old time, lightly bunting each slow, way outside the strike zone lofted ball he tossed at them.
It was a good time. And then a frat... let's say goof, because jerk clearly didn't apply, hit a soaring ball straight up into the air, and lo and behold, he put his glove up and caught it. and because no frat goof believed that would happen, it took a little longer for the one on third to tag up, but he still went for the run, because why wouldn't you take chances when it's all just for fun? And so,
And so
And so.
Donald threw the ball as hard as he could to Sally, the catcher without safety gear. She didn't expect that. The ball hit her in the throat. It crushed her wind pipe. and no one could do anything to save her.
That was what happened on the day that Donald killed Sally. Sally who took everything so seriously, who was trying to make space in her life for frivolous fun. Sally who thought about Nietzsche for fun and didn't believe in liking frivolous things, but who was ready for adventure. Sally who experienced great pain, but was having a pain free day. you know, she'd probably just learned that there was a cure for her condition. Because this is a sad story. And the only thing that makes a sad story sadder, is knowing that it could have been a happy story so easily/ But you knew at the start that Donald killed Sally.
And he did. Not metaphorically, like we were hoping, where he kills just that part of her that doesn't experience joy. That tiny part that she thought of as "Sally" so she could be reborn as a joy who was still her, but changed.
That's not what he killed. He killed her by having fun and throwing a ball.