Baseball, love, and fate

Tandem-div

Meanwhile, in the lower section above the first base dugout sat Faith and Gary. As Cal Ripken had come to the plate, Faith had started to rummage through her purse in order to find enough singles to buy each of them one last beer. Ah, but the winds of fate are fickle and precocious. If Cal Ripken’s timing had been a bit better, if Jacob had not been able to hang on to the stinging fly ball, had the beer vendor come but a few minutes earlier, had Gary not been eyeing the giant screen in order to point out egregious fashion faux pas to Faith, the world as they eventually came to know it, the life to which they became accustomed without ever thinking of how it almost never came to be, all of this simply would not have existed, for better or for worse.
Because Faith had, in fact, written Jacob off. As it was, however, Gary grabbed her thin, bony arm and pointed excitedly. “Hey, isn’t that your boy from the bar up there?”
At first only casually interested, she looked up and noted, “Yes, I think it is.”
Then she saw the unsolicited gesture, and something awoke inside of her like the bright blooms of spring coming to life. She knew that her first impression had been right.
“Maybe he’s not a douche bag after all,” said Gary.
“Maybe not.”

That night, when Jacob got home, there were two messages waiting for him on the answering machine. The first was from Faith. It said, “Hi. This is Faith from Woody’s before the game tonight. I saw you on the big screen giving that ball to the boy behind you. That might be the sweetest thing I have seen from another person in a long time. Call me. I don’t want to sound like a freak or anything, but I think…I think I might have fallen for you at that moment. Well, anyway, call me, ok? Ok, bye.”
The second message was also from her, “Oh, um, I’m sorry, but the number I gave you after your friend called me a ‘fag hag’- yeah, that was a fake number. My real number is…”

2 comments on “Baseball, love, and fate

  1. I feel fairly confident suggesting that this and the novel’s ending are my two favorite scenes in the novel. And no, it’s not because it involves baseball. And no, it’s not because it is based on a real-life situation. In fact, I think part of what I love about it is that it is purely from the imagination.

    Ok, mostly imagination. I had always thought it wildly romantic that my cousin met her eventual husband at a bar before a baseball game and then met up with him afterwards in the stands. I can cop to that.

    But I wanted Faith and Jacob’s meeting to be something that was idyllic and inspiring yet organic. It was the fates conspiring to create a great love for the world to see but in terms that were simple and relatable. I wanted the scene to be tear-jerking but funny.

    The beauty of writing is the ability to shape the details so that they perfectly match what we wish to occur. As author, the action transpires exactly as I envision it. Fiction is, however, a mere reflection of real life, a mirror that allows us to ignore or highlight the blemishes as we so choose. What are your great love stories? What are the moments that will make you glow even as you fade into your later years? I have one from a night I spent in Florence, but I have never seen her since…

  2. I feel fairly confident suggesting that this and the novel’s ending are my two favorite scenes in the novel. And no, it’s not because it involves baseball. And no, it’s not because it is based on a real-life situation. In fact, I think part of what I love about it is that it is purely from the imagination.

    Ok, mostly imagination. I had always thought it wildly romantic that my cousin met her eventual husband at a bar before a baseball game and then met up with him afterwards in the stands. I can cop to that.

    But I wanted Faith and Jacob’s meeting to be something that was idyllic and inspiring yet organic. It was the fates conspiring to create a great love for the world to see but in terms that were simple and relatable. I wanted the scene to be tear-jerking but funny.

    The beauty of writing is the ability to shape the details so that they perfectly match what we wish to occur. As author, the action transpires exactly as I envision it. Fiction is, however, a mere reflection of real life, a mirror that allows us to ignore or highlight the blemishes as we so choose. What are your great love stories? What are the moments that will make you glow even as you fade into your later years? I have one from a night I spent in Florence, but I have never seen her since…

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