At the end of the major street that split the subdivision, was a lake. Next to the lake, were ball parks, a playground with picnic areas, a golf course and a sailing club. When school was out, ball was on. So, being healthy 15 and 16 year-old girls, we climbed in Mikayla’s massive family wagon (In my new color block top that had the tie on the side.) and headed down to the ball park.
All the usual suspects were there. And someone new to me.
He was taking our dollar at the gate and selling the cokes. Red hair,
exceptional medium build. Eyes. Eyes forever. My heart still squeezes.
We hadn’t even been seated in the bleachers for five minutes, when someone told Mikayla he wanted to talk to me.
Being so young and so unused to that kind of attention, I didn’t leap right up and run over.
The game had barely gotten underway, but Mikayla was soooooo boy-crazy, she wouldn’t even leave me alone. So it was get up the nerve or be gnawed to death by Mik, I had my choice. I went with getting up and walking over there.
I went to the concession stand and waited quietly; while a BUNCH of our friends bought candy, interspersed with people who weren’t nosy; they wanted a snack.
Then some people came and needed to pay their dollars to get in.
Then he had to go unlock something.
Finally, he was free to chat a bit.
I stood there in the shade of the concession stand. Our eyes met and held. It felt promise-y and comfortable as broken in jeans. Not silly or self-conscious. Seen.
We’d barely started to talk, when Mikayla had to leave.
When we got in the car, she jabbered away in her usual style. Completely unaware. You didn’t tell her anything remotely confidential.
His family was moving.
I guess they must have.
That was 1982.