Page 78 of Choke Up

It’s not that I’m not interested, I’m just not an art guy. I can look at something and say it’s great, or I hated it, but not actually have anything to back up those opinions other than it’s what I thought. I know I love everything I’ve ever seen in Ellis’ sketchbooks, but that could just be because it’s Ellis. It could also be that half his drawings these days are of us in various stages of undress. And I love his paintings, but maybe it’s just because I love watching him work.

It takes me a minute to realize that the first piece of art that really grabs me is his. A dark depiction of a faceless man, who at first glance seems to be eating a second, smaller figure. The more I look at it, the more I think maybe he’s breathing life into the other figure, or kissing him? Or maybe it’s all three.

Walking along the stretch of wall that is all Ellis’ work is surreal. It hits me in the gut just how fucking talented he is. I mean, I know he is, but seeing it hung up like this makes me realize just how realistic pursuing art could be for him.

I smile when I see a black and white self portrait of Ellis’ face and upper torso, a smear of vibrant blue paint stretching up from a splash along the bottom of the canvas. The smear turns into a hand that wraps around his neck. It’s not even overtly sexual, but I know what else is mixed in with those paints, and I recognize that look in his eye. I have to put my hands in my pockets to detract from the interest my cock has suddenly taken in art.

Each piece is something really special, showing us pieces of who Ellis is on the inside. I even blush at the depiction of a shadow wrapped around a pale body wearing nothing but white briefs, a blindfold covering his eyes and mouth open in what could be ecstasy or pain.

There’s even an actual portrait of me, which I knew nothing about. It’s in the reflection of an eye, showing me sitting in the dugout, elbows on my knees, looking out toward the horizon. The title of the piece is, “All I See Is Him.”

But the largest canvas in the middle of the wall is what’s attracting so much attention, and it’s what takes my breath away.

The canvas is taller than I am, and probably five feet wide. The background is layers of black and grey interspersed with tiny peeks of color. A rainbow stretches from the bottom left corner of the canvas, stretching across to the other side. It’s faded or broken in some places, small symbols of all the times in his life he felt knocked down or invisible.

Slightly off center is another self-portrait. He’s looking up at the rainbow, a tear that looks so real I want to wipe it off the canvas rolls off the edge of his eye. He’s biting his lip, and it’s hard to read the expression on his face. Somehow, I can see happiness, strength, the same look he gives me when he’s flirting, hunger, self-consciousness, pain, and fear all at once. It seems impossible that someone could capture that much emotion in one expression.

And in his hand, he’s holding a black blindfold.

Ellis’ warm hand slips into mine, and he leans his head against my shoulder.

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m glad you removed the blindfold. From both our eyes.”

EPILOGUE

GABE

Five years later.

"Ready for this?"

"Born ready, brother."

"Let's do it then."

I grin as Elliot holds his fist out to me. I bring my fist down on his, then bump it from the bottom before our knuckles meet. Our hands fly back, fingers splayed, both of us making the little sounds of an explosion. Our fingers merge again and wiggle together before knotting our hands together and coming together in a bro hug. Our foreheads press together, and my free hand slaps against Elliot's back. We stay there for an extra moment.

"This is it," he whispers. "I’ve got a good feeling."

"We've got this. Bring the heat, show them what you're made of."

He smacks against my helmet before shooing me off to home plate, pantomiming kicking me as I walk away from the pitcher's mound. The crowd loves it. It's been fun playing for the Durham Bulls with my best friend, and I'm lucky to have had this extra time with him before he makes it big. It took two years of playing in the minors for me to talk him out of his insistence that we're a package deal. He's holding himself back by clinging to me, because it's not likely that a major league team is going to need both a pitcher and a catcher. It just doesn't work that way.

Tonight, the VIP booth is full of reps from the Tampa Bay Rays. They're in the market for a pitcher, and I'm determined that Elliot Hope is going to be on their roster. I've already got a six-pack of his favorite local craft brew chilling, and a box full of Tampa Bay merch to celebrate when he gets the call.

The truth is, I'm perfectly happy setting down roots and staying in the minors. I've even started daydreaming about what I might do if I wasn't playing baseball. I think it's important to have a backup plan, because things don't always go the way you want them to. The therapist I've been seeing since my mother passed away last year suggested that I think about the future in terms of the multiple opportunities that have potential, instead of focusing on just one outcome. I'm more than just this game. I have talents and abilities beyond squatting behind home plate and hitting a ball. It's still something I love, but it doesn't have to be everything. If the MLB isn't in my stars, it doesn't make me a failure. I might do more with my kinesiology degree and go into sports medicine, or I might go into coaching like Ellis' friend Sean. Or maybe I can take some time to follow Ellis around and make his dreams come true the way he has for us.

The one constant in every version of my future is him.

Ellis has been my biggest fan, most steadfast supporter, and shoulder to cry on. Because we've known each other for so long, he doesn't shy away from my lows or my highs. He accepts and loves every part of me, even the stubborn, difficult parts. Over the years, he and Elliot have helped me take care of my mother and come to terms with the fact that I might have more in common with her than just the shape of our smiles. Thankfully, I've not experienced lows as deep as hers, but I can recognize now that the potential is there. After we lost her to the worst of her lows, I've started taking my mental health a lot more seriously. I'm especially grateful for the support of Ellis and Elliot's parents, who still treat me like one of their own.

They're all sitting in the stands now, cheering us on for the last game of the season. A lot has changed over the past six years, and a lot more is about to change. Next season, Elliot will be playing in the big leagues. Ellis is thinking about starting his own gallery and graphic design company. He's been saving every penny of the commissions he's made selling his art, which has amassed quite an online following, especially after a portrait of a certain high-fashion model went viral. Antoni's famous fashion designer boyfriend even designed an entire line off the portrait and hired Ellis to paint directly on his models’ skin for a major runway show during fashion week. Since then, he's been overwhelmed with requests for gallery showings, prints, and commissions. His moment in the art world has arrived, and I'm so excited to watch him flourish.

As I reach home plate and put on my catcher's mitt, I catch his eye in the stands behind me. Those electric blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment nothing else exists but him.

"I love you," I mouth, before pulling my mask down and getting ready for the game of our lives.

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