Anne and Harry arrived at my apartment a few minutes after 5 pm. The ride up to Cleveland took several hours, during which Harry and Anne pointed out the various places along the way which held importance to one or both of them. Both had lived in central Ohio for most of their lives and, as one might imagine, the region held lots of memories for both of them.
I felt somewhat left out during their trip down memory lane. I had grown up in central New York and had never previously been to Ohio. So none of the places Anne and Harry talked about had any significance to me.
We arrived at the ballpark at seven o’clock. There was a warm breeze blowing. Indians fans were decked out in their jerseys and hats. Spring was in the air. We parked the car and followed the hoards of fans toward the gate. I hadn’t been to a Major League baseball game since high school, and it felt wonderful to be back. Everywhere I looked I saw ten-year-old boys with caps and gloves, eagerly walking ahead of dads and families. Ah, the ballpark in the spring.
Just before we arrived at the gate, an apparently homeless man caught our attention as we passed by and asked if we could spare some change. Anne and I paid him little attention, smiling politely as we walked past but making no effort to give him any money. Harry, however, stopped and walked over to him.
Anne and I stopped walking and turned back toward Harry. “Oh, great,” Anne said with a sigh. “Harry’s been hooked.”
I nodded.
We watched as Harry walked over to the man and squatted down next to him. Anne shook her head. “I hope he doesn’t give him any money.”
"Why?” I asked her.
“Oh, come on,” she answered. “You know he’s just going to spend it on booze.”
I nodded again. I did know that. Everyone knew that.
After a brief exchange, Harry stood up, smiled, patted the man on the shoulder, and walked toward us. “All set,” he said.
The three of us continued on toward the gate.
“What was that all about?” I asked Harry.
Harry smiled. “Just connecting with one of my lost brothers.”
“Lost brothers?” Anne asked. “Homeless men are your lost brothers?”
“No,” Harry answered. “All men are my lost brothers. But some are more lost than others.”
Anne and I exchanged puzzled glances but said nothing. We arrived at the gate, I handed them their tickets, and in we went.
Our seats were excellent, on the right field line just beyond first base. We stopped and picked up hot dogs and beer on the way to our seats, and with ten minutes to spare we were comfortable and ready to watch a little baseball.
“This place is beautiful,” Anne said. Harry and I agreed.
“I was up for a playoff game five or six years ago,” Harry said. “The fans were great. I do love this park.”
The home team took the field and the first batter for the visitors strolled out to home plate. The Boston Red Sox were in town, a team I had seen play in Fenway Park up in Boston on numerous occasions. I had an uncle who was a huge Red Sox fan, and he used to take me to games every summer until he died when I was in tenth grade. I hadn’t been to a game since then.
The sounds and smells of the ballpark brought me right back. I guess most Major League ballparks have similar sounds and smells.The game itself was relatively uneventful. There were a few runs scored by each team in the first few innings, then things slowed down and we ended up talking as much as we watched. Every few innings either Harry or myself would walk up to the causeway for another round of beers and something else to eat. The park was almost full, but the lines weren’t too long.
By the sixth inning, the three of us were feeling jovial and talkative. Anne in particular had more to say than usual. She seemed to be feeling the lagers and the spring air even more than I was. She was seated in the middle, and at one point she put an arm around each of us and thanked us for being such wonderful friends. I smiled and wondered whether or not she would be okay to make the two-hour drive home. I glanced over at Harry and could see that he was thinking the same thing.
But we were having a wonderful time, and there was no place else I would have rather been at that moment. I sat watching the Indians bat in the bottom of the sixth and thought to myself how lucky I was to have met such incredible people in the short time I had lived in Ohio. It had only been several months since I had met Harry in Murphy’s after my first day of work. And there I was, attending a baseball game with two people who felt like old friends. Like we had always known each other.
By the seventh inning stretch, we agreed that we would need one more round of beers. Harry volunteered to pick up the last round and walked back up the stairs. After a rousing version of Take Me Out To The Ball Game, Anne and I sat back down and waited for the bottom of the inning to start. At one point, I felt Anne’s head come to rest on my left shoulder.
I froze. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, not wanting to move. I felt like a teenager, adrenalin surging through me. I was tempted to lean my head against hers, but thought better of it. And before I had any more time to think about it, she lifted her head off my shoulder and turned toward me.
“Know what?” she asked.
“What?”
“I’m having a great time.”
“Me too,” I agreed.
“Thanks for the ticket,” she said smiling.
I was about to answer when suddenly the crowd around us leapt to their feet. Anne and I looked up in time to see the ball fly over the left field fence. The Indians had just hit the go-ahead home run.
We jumped to our feet and threw our hands in the air. The ballpark was in pandemonium, and then something happened that has remained vivid in my mind every since. I turned toward Anne, and as I did she threw her arms around me. I returned the hug and the two of us embraced for the very first time.
Then we pulled back and looked at one another. Perhaps it was the beer we had drank (in fact, I know it was the beer we had drank). She looked almost serious for a moment, and then a smile spread across her face. And without warming she leaned in and kissed me.
It wasn’t a quick little kiss, either. It was a real kiss. I don’t know how long it lasted, but for a second or two the ballpark disappeared, the sights and sounds disappeared. My eyes closed, and we were all alone. And then a familiar voice brought me back to reality.
“Well, I certainly didn’t see that one coming.” It was Harry.
Anne quickly pulled back, and the two of us turned to see Harry walking down the last few steps to our row, three beers in his hands.
Anne didn’t seemed the least bit fazed. “We hit a home run!” she yelled, taking two beers from Harry and handing one of them to me.
“I know! I saw it as I came out of the tunnel!” Harry said joyfully.
I was totally disoriented, and I remember being surprised at how quickly Anne and Harry moved on. Apparently, Anne didn’t feel at all awkward about Harry having seen our kiss. And Harry didn’t give any indication that he did, either. In fact, it seemed as though it hadn’t even happened. Just like that, they were back in their seats and their attention was on the next batter.
I sat down slowly, trying to figure out what had just happened. Maybe it was no big deal to Anne. She didn’t act any differently, nor did Harry. But I was in a completely different place. I kept reviewing the hug and the kiss over and over in my mind. But each time I looked over at Harry and Anne, it was as if none of it had happened.
I spent the rest of the game in a somewhat bewildered state, caught between the euphoria of having been kissed by the woman I now fully admitted I was in love with and confusion stemming from the fact that she was acting as though it hadn’t happened. Maybe it really was no big deal to her. Or maybe she was covering up whatever she was feeling. Either way, I was in a daze for the rest of the game.
The Indians ended up winning the game, 5-4. On the way back to the car, we once again passed the homeless man we had seen before the game. And once again, Harry walked over to him, this time producing a soft pretzel he had apparently stuffed in his jacket pocket. Harry then reached into his other jacket pocket and handed the man what looked like dollar bills. Then he stood up and walked back over to us. None of us said anything, and soon we were back at Anne’s car.
Anne announced that she was too tired to drive, so Harry took the keys and got in on the driver’s side. Anne climbed in the back seat and I sat up front with Harry. There wasn’t much conversation on the way home. I think we were fairly well worn out by the game, the food and drinks, and the excitement of the evening.
Half way home, I looked back and saw that Anne had fallen asleep. Harry and I talked for a while about his teaching days, and I shared some memories of my college years. It was an uneventful two-hour drive, but we had had enough excitement for one evening. I, for one, had plenty to think about.
By the time Harry dropped me off after midnight, I was half falling asleep. I had to be up early the next morning for a breakfast meeting at work, and I was looking forward to my bed and my soft pillow. Anne woke up enough to smile and say goodnight, then let her head fall back against the seat.
It had been a wonderful night, one to remember. As Harry drove away, I waved and turned toward my apartment door. But deep in the back of my mind, I was struggling to figure out what had happened between Anne and myself. Did it mean anything? Would she even remember it?
Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was the beginning of something. Once again, I felt like a teenager.
As I finally climbed into bed, I stumbled at last upon a thought that felt good: It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what Anne was thinking, and it didn’t matter if anything ever came of it.
It occurred to me, as I lay there in the dark, that Harry was beginning to rub off on me. It was the kind of thing Harry would say - it didn’t really matter how things ended up playing out. They would play out however they played out, and there was truthfully nothing to do about it. Just let things unfold, and enjoy the experience. Harry had said that to me more than once, and now, for the first time, such advice was actually helpful.
The moment I realized that it didn’t really matter how things played out, I felt better. The stress dissipated, and I was free to reminisce about the wonderful moment I had shared with Anne that night. I no longer struggled to figure out what it meant. It didn’t mean anything. It just was.
And that felt wonderful.
