Before I can say or do anything else, the Asian Invasion begins chanting louder: “Baskett! Baskett! Baskett!” The fat men pick me up above their heads and carry me out of the auditorium, past the fountain full of fish, out of the Plaza Hotel, and onto the streets of Philadelphia. And then I am in the Asian Invasion bus, drinking a beer and singing, “Fly, Eagles, fly! On the road to victory …”
In South Philadelphia, we stop at Pat’s for cheesesteaks—which take a long time to prepare, as there are sixty or so of us, and no one would dare go next door to Geno’s Steaks, because Geno’s steaks are inferior—and then we are at the Wachovia parking lot, parked just outside the gate so we will be the first vehicle admitted in the morning and therefore will be guaranteed the lucky parking spot. We drink, sing, throw a few footballs, and run around on the concrete; we roll out the Astroturf and play a few Kubb games under the streetlights, and even though I have only had two or three beers, I begin to tell everyone I love them because they came to my dance recital, and I also tell them I’m sorry for abandoning the Eagles mid-season and that it was for a good reason, but I just can’t say what—and then I am on a bus seat and Cliff is waking me up, saying, “You forgot to take your night meds.”
When I wake up the next morning, my head is on Jake’s shoulder, and it feels good to be so close to my brother, who is still asleep. Quietly I stand and look around and realize that everyone—Scott, the fat men, Cliff, all fifty or so Asian Invasion members—is asleep on the bus. Two or three men are sleeping in every seat, with their heads on each other’s shoulders. Everywhere brothers.
I tiptoe to the front of the bus, past Ashwini, who—in the driver’s seat—is asleep with his mouth wide open.
Once outside, on the small patch of grass between the street and the sidewalk, I begin the same push-up and sit-up routine I used to do back in the bad place, before I had access to free weights and a stationary bike and the Stomach Master 6000.
After an hour or so, first light comes.
As I finish the last set of sit-ups, I feel as though I have burned off my cheesesteak and the beers I drank the night before, but I can’t help feeling like I should go for a run, so I run a few miles, and when I return, my friends are still sleeping.
As I stand next to Ashwini and watch my boys sleep, I feel happy because I have so many friends—a whole busful.
I realize that I left the Plaza Hotel without saying goodbye to Tiffany, and I feel a little bad about that, even though she said I could do whatever I wanted after we performed so well. Also I am very eager to write my first letter to Nikki. But there is Eagles football to think about now, and I know that an Eagles victory is just about the only thing that will smooth things over with my father, so I begin to hope, and I even say a little prayer to God, who I bet was pretty impressed with my dance routine last night, so maybe He will cut me a break today. Looking at all those sleeping faces, I realize I have missed my green-shirted brothers, and I begin to anticipate the day.
Letter #2-November 15, 2006
Dear Pat,
First, let me say it’s good to hear from you. It’s been a long time, which has been strange for me. I mean, when you are married to someone for years and then you don’t see that person for almost as many years, it’s strange, right? I don’t know how to explain it, especially since our marriage ended so abruptly and scandalously. We never got a chance to talk things over—one-on-one—like civilized adults. Because of this, sometimes I think maybe it’s almost as if I’m not really sure the multiple “Pat-less” years have truly transpired, but maybe it’s been only a brief separation that feels like years. Like a solo car ride that takes all night but feels like a lifetime. Watching all those highway dashes flying by at seventy miles an hour, your eyes becoming lazy slits and your mind wandering over the memory of a whole lifetime—past and future, childhood memories to thoughts of your own death—until the numbers on the dashboard clock do not mean anything anymore. And then the sun comes up and you get to your destination and the ride becomes the thing that is no longer real, because that surreal feeling has vanished and time has become meaningful again.