Yankee Doodle

The Yankees played the Rangers last night. I was there. I sat in the bleachers in left field. There were two old men sitting in front of my friend and me. Each time a ball was hit well into the air, one old man screamed, "Popcorn." The popcorn man wore braces on each wrist. One brace wore a golden watch. We left our seats to purchase a memento, and, of course, we missed a homerun hit in our direction.

After we watched 7 innings, the Rangers led 10-5. We decided to leave the game early to avoid the crowd. After we emerged from an elevator to the elevated subway platform (most people use the stairs), we waited impatiently in the heat and humidity of The Bronx. The green line in New York (4,5,6 trains) had been running slow for the past week or so. This night was no exception.

Two feminine men sitting below me on the train spoke freely about their tennis match prior that day. One was reminiscing about winning most of his service games. The other tennis player looked at his watch as he wondered out loud how long their three sets took to complete.

Another man stood behind me and stuck his hind into my lower back several times as we approached our stop, 125th Street. He and his party were estimating their approximate time of arrival to a hotel in midtown. He lifted his arm to check the time. His sweaty hind once again caressed my lower back.

We arrived to my apartment in East Harlem. I undressed, readied myself for bed, and ate some ice cream. My friend did the same. The ice cream was cold. I enjoyed the game and wondered about the final score. The TV turned on and the Rangers led 10-7. It was the bottom of the 9th, the bases were loaded, and there were no outs. The Yankees still managed to lose.

More important to me, I reaffirmed a theory I've longtime held: Time does not stand still. In fact, it pops up and screams popcorn, it hits homeruns when no one is watching, and it serves the past. Sometimes, if you're very lucky, it will caress your back.