another september night

September 28, 2019

I sat in the stands on

another September night

in another year with

more white hairs in my beard.

 

I looked up at the CN Tower,

at the 1973 concrete stain,

surrounded by a blue September sky

and empty blue seats:

 

The all too familiar baseball scene in Toronto.

 

I sat in the empty Upper Bowl that was once called the 500 Section. Still.

I looked at the old, rusted side of the 1989 blue, plastic, aisle seats.

 

And I remembered the SkyDome with its fresh paint that brought hope.

And I remembered sitting up there in the early nineties as a twelve-year-old 

freckle-faced kid with braces.

 

I looked up at the banners and then

I looked down at the chipped

white paint and the fading logo on the side of the blue, plastic, aisle seats

in the 500 Section. 

 

A small piece of yesterday. Chipped away.

 

June 3, 1989, was a long time ago. 

 

But there I sat in the stands on

another September night

in another year with

more white hairs in my beard.

 

And I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation I had with the older lady who worked concession. She sold over-priced glasses of wine and bottles of water.

 

I bought a $5.50 bottle of Dasani from her because I don’t drink much alcohol these days. I’ve flipped that aging page. It was heavy, but I managed...

 

It

weighed

me

down

for

a

long

time

though.

 

I spoke to that kind, older woman at the concession stand. 

 

Honest wrinkles on her face. 

 

She seemed lonely in that empty concourse. I asked her what her plans were for the Fall now that the baseball season is over. She told me that she works at the Scotiabank Arena, too. 

 

She is a hardworking mother.

 

She came to Canada from India back in 1970 – the CN Tower wasn’t built yet.

And there was no professional baseball in Toronto; no one working concession at a Blue Jays game.

 

She told me that she remembers watching the 1972 Canada-Russia series. She remembers Ken Dryden. 

 

I wasn’t alive yet.

 

She likes hockey now, but she didn’t know anything about the sport when she came here from India as a young girl. She told me that she is sad that the baseball season is over.

 

So am I.

 

When we finished talking, I walked back into my section and sat down. The game was about to start. And I looked around at the blue September sky and empty blue seats. I looked around at the all too familiar baseball scene in Toronto. 

 

I don’t keep score during these September games. I’m just there for the baseball and to say good-bye. Again.

 

I sat in the stands on

another September night

in another year with

more white hairs in my beard. Still.

 

And all I could think about was that conversation with the hardworking mother who sold over-priced wine and water.

 

I thought about her story. And her life.

 

…The Orioles beat the Blue Jays 11-4, but none of that matters.

 

 

 

Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Please reload

 bat flips are poetic
social media is weird
  • Facebook - Black Circle
  • Grey Instagram Icon
  • Twitter Basic Black
RSS Feed

March 26, 2020

September 28, 2019

August 15, 2019

July 24, 2019

July 8, 2019

Please reload

Please reload

We are not affiliated with the Toronto Blue Jays or MLB
2017 - forever JaysDroppings.com, All Rights Reserved