“What took you so long?” John asks when we reach him and his decked out scooter. People are looking at him funny and a few have stopped to take pictures of it. A couple of kids come up to me, asking for my autograph when they see me standing with John, but security is quick to provide us an escort into the park. Once we’re inside, only the fans behind the plate will have access to me. We’re talking under about a hundred people, and I have a feeling they’ll leave us alone.
I make John stop at the t-shirt stand. I know he’s not a fan of the Mets, but he is a fan of baseball and sometimes you need something to commemorate your visit. The great Jackie Robinson played for the Brooklyn Dodgers who the Mets replaced back in the sixties. While Robinson never played here, the park is dedicated to him.
The store is somewhat cramped, but people make way for the scooter. I’m praying he’s not hitting anyone in the back of the heels with that thing, at least I haven’t seen anyone try and beat him up yet. I follow him around while Daisy is off looking at the girly things and pick up whatever he puts down. I know he’s not going to buy anything and that’s why I’m here, to make sure today is the best day he’s had in a long time.
“Well, I don’t see anything I like,” he says with his back facing me. I’m sensing that he’s not exactly telling the truth because everything that he’s picked up and put back down again is all retro league wear – the throw designs – from the earlier years. I’m not a Mets fan, but I do love the old stuff.
“I’ll go grab Daisy and meet you by the entrance,” I tell him, thankful he never turned around to see what I was holding in my hand. Part of me thinks that he already knows, but I’m hoping the element of surprise is in my favor today.
“Are you ready?” I ask Daisy, who is posing with a Mets shirt in front of the mirror. Thankfully it’s generic and only has their logo and not the name of one of their players.
“What are you buying?” she asks, while looking at me through the mirror as her eyes go from mine to the pile in my arm.
“Stuff your grandfather took off the rack and probably wished he could buy. He left the store empty handed.”
“You knew he would,” she says with a smile as she turns around. “Can I get this?”
I hate that she feels that she has to ask and doesn’t feel comfortable enough to put it in the pile I’m already holding. I’ve told her repeatedly that she can have anything she wants, anytime she wants. I know the words are easier for me to say then they are for her to believe or follow through with, but she has to trust that I’m being genuine here.
“You know you can.”
“I thought I’d sleep in it,” she says, stepping closer. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and has a wicked glint in her.
“You’re evil.”
“You love it.”
“I do and I lo –” I quickly shut my mouth before those words sneak out. I have no doubt that I’m in love with her, but telling her in the middle of the Mets’ Team Store isn’t exactly how I see myself spilling the beans. I have no doubt it’s going to happen because every time I’m with her, especially when I know I won’t see her for a while, the words are right there threatening to come out.
We’re back to facing the Orioles and they’re kicking our ass. I’m so sick of losing. I know our team is better than what the standings show, but damn if we can’t prove them wrong. The number of fans in the stands is starting to dwindle. There are more important things going on right now than to come and watch your hometown team lose, although the faithful’s are here telling us exactly what they think of us.
The one fan I can count on is Daisy, even though she doesn’t stroke my ego or sugarcoat how poorly we’re doing. She does tell me what I need to work on. I take her criticism seriously because she’s usually saying the same shit my dad is. Her knowledge of baseball is a serious turn on. She’s like my own personal aphrodisiac.