Ten.Two Thousand & Fifty-Five
It’s so freaking hot.
3:32 a.m. There’s no way I can go back to sleep now.
Yoga day.
The hours move too quickly. I can’t quite finish all of the bathrooms before we have to leave. It’s hot.
I eat my regular order: a kid’s PB & J from Sunshine. Torres Iberico chips this time. A vintage all-star jersey. A little sweaty. It’s hot.
She gets me down from the stands and tells me to look at my child. He looks like he’s about to cry. He’s trying not to make a big deal out of it. Cold and clammy in 90-something degrees. I know they think they need him. I know he shouldn’t play.
When you make someone eat, you call it a “force feed.” What do you call it when you force someone to drink?
Well, if there was a game to sit out, it’s this one.
She sends me the videos of memories her phone made. Us on a plane. Us at the ranch. Us as the winery. It will be us again in September.
Tomorrow is another day.
