Hallucinations. That’s exactly what tequila did to me on my 18th birthday. Friends faces swelled into distortions. Sounds became warbled. I laughed and laughed at the most serious sentences. It wasn’t pretty, just a warped, mysterious world inside my head. That’s when vomitius arrived. I never thought the cool touch of white porcelain against my cheek would feel so good. Anyway, ‘hallucinations’ stuck to my head like gum when I gobbled up Dalene Heck’s engrossing narrative. Please enjoy today’s kick-ass Summer Chick Tale.
It was a sunny day, but they all were. Living in the Caribbean means dealing with that fact – there is little reprieve from the intense heat unless sitting in the ocean every day is a real possibility. But even that gets boring after awhile.
And so instead, on a random Sunday afternoon, I found myself sitting on the hard wooden stands for a baseball game, thankfully under the cover of shade. Being one of the first to arrive, I had my choice of seats, and settled behind the back stop but near the players box for the home team. Perfect view of the infield, and a great line on the pitchers mound, which would enable me to take photos for when my husband took his turn on it.
I was excited to be there. We both were. Baseball in Central America is like hockey to Canada. This was the place to watch. And I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic about the experience. I was reminded of many weekends growing up where long summer days were spent watching my Dad man the first base for his team. Fans filtered in with beers in their hand, snacks were being sold nearby (exchange nuts for local baleadas, however). All I needed was to hear some Steve Earle filtering from a truck stereo beyond and it would have felt just like home.
As the crowd started to grow and the game began, the excitement among the players and in the stands was obvious. In a field of large men of local heritage, my husband was the lone white skinned player. Not a short man by any means, he still dwarfed in comparison to those around him. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous, but I sure was for him.
And my nerves grew as I quickly realized, this was nothing like home. Beers were not the only thing on tap, a full table of liquor opened up beside me as fans began to partake. The later into the day it got, the more “lively” the crowd became. Questionable calls by the ump would be met with a course of the vilest protest. An injured player was not met with the usual cheers upon his rise from the dirt, instead a lady beside me generously offered up her urine to clean the wound.
I tried to ignore it all and stay focused on the game. My husband was pitching well and at least no one in the stands had verbally attacked him yet.