Tickets

“Where are we going?” she asked with an ever-so-slight bit of concern in her voice.

“You’ll see,” I replied. “The point of this trip is for you to trust someone, right? That’s what we agreed on.”

She frown-smiled at my answer to her query. I wasn’t about to tell her where we were headed. I felt a bit of a rush in knowing that I was in control. It’s said now, thinking back on it, but not really.

The miles flew by as we talked about work, about Dean Martin, about bad television shows, about how neither of us had been to Maine. We also talked about death. I didn’t really understand what death can do to a person. It’s one of those things you have to experience, and I had not experienced it to the degree she had. Both her parents died within two years of each other. One in a long, drawn out battle with cancer that ended with her and her mom alone in a room together. Her dad died suddenly of a heart attack, trying to live a different life with a different woman.

The only people in my life who had died up to that point were my dad’s dad, who I share a name with but not much else, and my dad’s sister who I was too young to even remember. Since then, only one other person has died – my mom’s dad. That one hurt, but I wasn’t around. I still feel pain thinking of him and me not being there towards the end.

As we drew closer and closer to our destination, I was shocked that she had no idea still where we were going. No clue. And her guesses were way off.

New Jersey is an ugly state. The industrial complex of our dying nation crumbling everywhere amongst swampy land and sadness. She genuinely enjoyed the sights. It made me happy just watching her bounce around in the seat of my Toyota Celica. A car that to this day I miss. Set on fire in a parking lot years later, and replaced by an Acura – 1988 model – from her via her uncle.

Finally, as darkness started to settle around us, we pulled into a Super 8 motel. It wasn’t too bad of a place. I checked in and took our bags – hers much heavier than mine – and we got into our room. Separate beds, of course, as we were not dating. At least not yet.

Just took off her shoes and jumped on one of the beds. She hopped up and down with so much glee that I had to just simply watch her to feel the same way. However, I’m assuming it didn’t show on my face quite as much.

“You having fun?” I asked as she finally stopped by landing on her butt with a thud.

Winded and still grinning wildly, she replied “Yes sir!”

I laughed out a bit at her answer and sat on my bed, turning on the television.

The room was a dirty vanilla color. The comforters on the beds had a red paisley pattern. They looked clean, but of course were not. But this was long before I started throwing those infested pieces of cloth to the floor. I still used them and probably was infected by them at this point of my on-going journey.

The next 45 minutes were spent me staring at the television news and her taking a shower and singing. Her voice was almost angelic in sound. I don’t know now if it was just my crush on her that made me feel that way. I can’t hear that voice in my head anymore. One of the many ravages of time that disturb me the most. You take for granted those type of sounds, as you expect to hear them forever. But, like everything, they go away and while you remember how great it must have sounded, you can’t hear it anymore.

She came out of the bathroom in a towel. She quickly grabbed her bag of clothes and dashed back into the bathroom. I couldn’t help but stare, and I think she wanted it that way.

A moment later, she was dressed and smiling. She was younger than me, by a good 7 or 8 years, and didn’t need makeup. Her beauty was pure still.

“What are you doing?” she asked, after catching me staring a bit too long.

I stumbled for an answer before finally blurting out: “Thinking about tomorrow and how much fun you’re going to have!”

Her eyes squinted at me.

“You know, I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight. Not knowing.”

“Not knowing what?” I playfully responded.

“Stop that.”

“What? Do you not trust me yet? You just drove almost nine hours with me in a car to a place you don’t know the final destination. And now we’re in a Super 8 in the middle of New Jersey.”

“I know,” she said. “You could cut me up tonight and leave me in a field.”

“Damn, how’d you guess?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Who said I was joking?” I smirked as I went to pee.

I came out, making sure to wash my hands to keep up good impressions, and she was under the covers. Looking a little sleepy.

“I thought you couldn’t sleep, not knowing and all…”

“I can be sleepy and not A-Sleep,” she said, sounding like a 10 year old.

I went to my bag and pulled out a blank white envelope. I put in on her bed near her feet.

“If you must know, the answer is in this,” I said pointing at the envelope.

She burst out from under her blanket and grabbed the envelope.

“Really? You’ll tell me?”

“If you have to know, open it up.”

She wasted no time, ripping it open. I was disappointed for a fraction of a second. And only that short of a time period because it was all the time I had to be that way.

She was now holding them. The prize I had got off of E-bay a few days earlier.

They were blue and orange, the tickets.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” she kept saying.

Then she sprung to her feet and starting bouncing on the bed again.

“Opening Day tickets! How’d you get these!”

“I’ve got my ways,” I said, trying to be mysterious.

I watched her jumping and it made me happy.

Finally, she jumped down and gave me a hug. I was startled. As much as we’d gotten to know each other, this was the first real physical contact. I hugged back, just a little as her jumping up and down made it tough.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said.

“This is why you should trust folks more,” I said. “Good things happen.”

She smiled, but did not respond to that.

And good things did happen. Starting with Shea Stadium the next day, and lasting for nearly six years after.