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.”