Sunday morning I woke up with the sun, but lay in bed reading a comic book and playing with the cat I’m watching this summer (Kingdom Come with artwork by Alex Ross; my friend Alan’s grey Persian Akeru while he’s in Vermont performing in The King and I).
Around 9:30 my phone rang, caller ID clearly showing it was my friends in New Jersey, Luswin and Fritz. For whatever reason, Fritz had acquired a faux-English accent and claimed to be Mayor Bloomberg. I played along and we agreed that the city was in a fine state, but the nation could use a late entry independent candidate into the presidential race. And then he asked me what my plans were for the day. “I’ll probably go to Target and buy a cookie jar,” I said. “Well,” he said, “what would you think about slapping on some sun screen, grabbing your Yankees cap, and meeting us downstairs in two hours?”
True to his word, two hours later Fritz, Luswin, and Kathy pulled up. Forgoing the Yankees cap (I don’t own one), we headed to the Bronx and Yankee Stadium. Not being sports fans, Luswin and I passed the day discussing which players filled out their jerseys the best and who near us in the stands could do without the extra Michelob. Being sports fans, Fritz and Kathy spent the day discussing the line up and the infield’s batting average.
Luswin, a transplant from Colombia, single handedly setback immigration reform by talking through the Star Spangled Banner. “Do I have to stand if I’m not American?” “Who’s singing?” “Look at that guy over there.” “Did I show you my new cell phone?” ”I like how the pin stripes cling to their curves.” “We went to the beach last weekend and there was a family of sea lions down a ways and when I said we should get closer to them Fritz said that we should leave them alone and I convinced him that we should get close enough to take some pictures, but they were further away than they looked and so we got ice cream instead.”
As we settled into out seats, Kathy had the misguided notion that she could make me understand the nuances of the game. She explained to me how batting averages are calculated and who was who on both teams. Fritz knew better and brought hot dogs and beer without the expectation that I’d leave the day a greater man. I was happy to be with friends out in the sun.
After the 7th inning stretch, with our sunscreen wearing thin and the Jerseyites facing a long journey through four boroughs and a length of the turnpike, we dusted off the peanut shells and headed back to the car. Where we sat waiting our turn to exit the parking garage. Luswin fell asleep, Fritz theorized on what the new stadium’s parking will be like, Kathy littered the car, and I tried to figure out exactly where we were in the Bronx.
Arriving back at 250, I said good-bye and thank you to my friends, and they drove off, leaving Brooklyn and heading for the bridge and tunnel that would take them home.
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