The Ball Situation

Let me set the scene for you.

It is 3:47 in the afternoon. The light is perfect — that golden, low-angled autumn light that hits the yard just right and makes everything look like a painting. I have settled myself on the back porch in my preferred spot: sun-warmed concrete, slight breeze from the northeast, excellent sightlines to both the fence and the gate. I have arranged myself with intention. I have plans. There is a squirrel I have been monitoring for eleven consecutive days and today, I felt certain, would yield a breakthrough.

And then Gerald threw the ball.

I want to be very precise about what happens when Gerald throws the ball, because I think the full picture is important. He winds up — which takes a genuinely alarming amount of effort for someone simply launching a tennis ball across a modest suburban yard — and he lets it fly with this expression on his face. This expression. I have studied it. It is the look of a man who believes he has done something. He has not done something. He has thrown an object and is now standing there, breathing, waiting for me to retrieve it.

And here is the thing. Here is the part nobody talks about. I am doing all of the work. I see the ball leave his hand. I track it through the air — my processing speed, by the way, is extraordinary; Gerald cannot begin to comprehend the calculations happening in real time — I sprint across the yard, I collect the ball, and I bring it back. I have done the full round trip. I have covered, by my estimation, forty-two yards. Gerald has taken two steps to the left.

He is, by every measurable standard, a passenger in this activity. And yet.

And yet he stands there looking pleased with himself. Hands on his hips. Chest slightly out. The posture of a man who feels he has accomplished something. He has accomplished nothing. I have accomplished everything. The physics of this situation are not ambiguous.

I brought the ball back. Of course I brought it back. I always bring it back. Not because I am obligated to — I want to be clear that I am participating in this arrangement by choice — but because the look on Gerald’s face when the ball lands at his feet is one of the most purely delighted expressions I have ever witnessed on a human being, and despite everything I am about to say, I find that I cannot resist it. He looks like a child. He looks like the happiest, most uncomplicated creature on the planet. It is embarrassing how much I enjoy producing that expression.

But we are on throw seventeen, and I need him to understand that this is not sustainable.

I have things to do. I have a squirrel situation developing at the northeast corner that requires my full attention. I have a nap scheduled for 4:15 that I have been looking forward to since noon. And American Idol starts at seven — I realize Gerald does not know that I watch this, and I would prefer to keep it that way, but I have a genuine emotional investment in the current season and I need at least forty minutes of preparatory rest beforehand.

We cannot be throwing the ball at 4:45, Gerald. We simply cannot.

I sat down at throw seventeen. I sat down deliberately, squarely, with the ball still in my mouth, and I looked at him. I held eye contact for a full eight seconds. I was communicating. I was being as clear as I am capable of being without access to human language, which, for the record, I have always felt is a design flaw in this whole arrangement.

He said, “You tired, buddy?”

Gerald. My love. My human. The person I have chosen, against all rational evidence, to devote my life to. You are the tired one. You are the one who is exhausted by the demands of standing in one place and moving your arm. I am fine. I am an athlete. I am telling you that we need to re-examine the terms of this relationship.

He threw it again. I went and got it.

We will revisit this conversation tomorrow.

Dapper Dan is the resident observer and self-appointed household analyst at an undisclosed address in Springfield, Missouri. He is groomed regularly at Dapper Doodle Grooming and believes the quality of his coat speaks for itself. Gerald remains unaware of this diary.Follow along: @417DapperDoodle · #DapperDan · #DapperDoodle