Dodger Stadium

5 Jul


I love going to Dodgers games.

I don’t know why, really.  I’ve never once watched a Dodgers game at home on my own time.

It’s something about the ritual of it all.  Packing my broken hat.  Wearing my coolest possible clothing, but bringing along my blue fleece blanket.  Slathering on sunscreen.

It’s about the drive.  At least an hour and a half, maybe more.

Meeting up with Rob halfway.  Complaining about the traffic.  Knowing that that particular tribulation is just beginning.

It’s about the pre-game food routine.  The papusas at Grand Central Market.  Talking about how it’s silly everyone comes to Grand Central Market for Egg Slut when the papusas are the only reason to come to Grand Central Market.

Maybe a jaunt to Silver Lake if there’s time.

If I ever lived that deep into LA, I think I would live in Silver Lake.

But oh it’s hot there.

It’s about the parking and the walk from far left field.  It’s about the line to get in.

It’s about the heat and the Dodger dogs, the mini caps full of ice cream, the $8 Diet Cokes.

It’s about the seventh-inning stretch where we sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and the movies after the game that we always intend on watching but never make it through.

I almost told Rob I loved him for the first time at a Dodgers game.  I think I said something like, “I want to tell you something—see, I’ve been thinking—“ and then I clammed up and giggled and he told me it was OK and I could tell him when I felt comfortable telling him.

I had been playing with telling him for a while.  I knew when I left Caitlin’s one night and ran to my car to see him.

There I was, running to see a boy I had seen an hour before and would see an hour later.

I knew I loved him then.

I almost told him at a Dodgers game.

Instead I told him later that night, back at my apartment.

Sometimes I wish I had told him at the actual stadium. It makes the declaration more special, more epic in its scale.  It makes Dodger Stadium Our Place.

But then, again, maybe it’s Our Place anyway.

Maybe it’s just as good that it was the stadium where I realized that I was ready to share it, this big important thing. Where he said I could take as long as I needed.

Saying I love you is just about the bravest and scariest thing you can do, I think.

Or I guess not saying I love you but actually loving someone, whoever it is, whatever relationship you have with them–opening your heart up and risking the most vulnerable parts of you–that’s the bravest and scariest thing you can do.

I think.

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