Here's a short, short story I wrote in the first week of my fiction writing class at UA's Osher Lifelong Learning Institute, another community bright spot!
Stadium Story 5/12
Though the sun is tilting into the West, the light is still
bright as we get off the Phoenix light rail at the baseball stadium plaza. Fast trip on this new urban train and I am
glad for it. The cast on my right wrist
itches and it’s a heck of a hot night for me to pull this off. Just proof that I am a guy, crazy in
love. Does my girl, April, have any idea
of what I’ve set up?
I almost thought so this afternoon when I picked her up at
her apartment. She was cute as usual,
her hair freshly washed, hanging down behind those soft ears I love to brush
with my mouth, hair smelling like—what did she tell me it was the last time I
asked—oh, yeah, lavender, sweet and soothing like her. But what I thought was a
bit different was that extra pink blush on her cheek. Since she’s naturally pretty, I didn’t think
it was make-up, but maybe she was more than just happy to go to the game. Maybe she was expecting something else to
happen. Well, I’ll know if she is
surprised soon enough.
So, walking past the bars on the west side of the stadium
plaza, already bustling with early beer conversations and the sound system
blasting a familiar tune by Adele, a song I used to hate until April sat me
down one night and made me listen to this song all the way through and said,
her eyes brimming with tears, “Dan, this is how I’d feel if you ever left
me.” And I knew I wouldn’t ever leave
her, but the fear that she had slammed me so hard that my wrist started to throb
like it does when I’m stressed out and I knew it was time for my next step.
So, we go past the bars and I’m glad I’m done with that scene for a lifetime, I hope. And we pass through security and the ticket
checker and go into the stadium lobby—sunlight streaming unto the shiny
concrete floor. I see lots of families
here as well as the usual Dbacks fans and since the team is playing the Giants,
I expect there will be a big crowd. But
for me, the game isn’t what has my heart beating to a salsa rhythm. Nope, tonight I ask April to marry me and
when I get down on my knees, my casted hand awkwardly reaching for the little
black box now tucked into my t-shirt pocket, the picture of us should be on the
high definition stadium big screen for the fans to see. And if the thousands clap and roar with
approval, all I will be hearing—or hoping to hear—is one word from April’s
cherry-colored lips: “Yes.”