First Pitch

 “A guest of a Blue Jays team player will throw today’s first pitch. The announcer says. “That lucky person is Paula  Jimenez.”

My sister and I look up from our conversation.

“Paula come down to the field and throw that pitch.” He continues.

“They called your name.” Carmen says.

“Why would he do that?” I say and throw the remainder of my hot dog into a paper bag.

“You didn’t know?”

I shake my head.

“Smile.” She says

I do as instructed.

“Good. No food between your teeth.”

She hands me a lipstick. “This color will look great on you.”

 “Paula’s name was submitted by Blue Jays catcher Michael Suarez.” The announcer says.

“I already figured that out.” I face Carmen my portable mirror.

She scrunches her nose. “Your breath smells like onions. Let me look for a mint.” She says.

I allow her to do a final inspection before I unstick my thighs from the seat and stand. “Excuse me, excuse me. Sorry.” People move legs out of the way as I attempt to exit the row without stepping on feet or knocking food and drinks.

“Hey Paula, congratulations.” One of the attendants has spotted me and is ready to lead me to the field.

I notice his name tag. “Thanks, Phil.”

 Phil waves a team flag in the air. The camera people now know where I am and it takes no time for my Blue Jay jersey wearing self to appear on all the park’s video screens. In the flag waving frenzy, the fabric hits my face and I jerk back. My body and its center of gravity disengage and I become one with the bleacher steps. It’s all caught on camera and projected in high definition. I hear the sounds of the crowd feeling my pain. 

“Ouch.” The announcer says. “Hope you’re alright, Paula.”

The fans reacts to his remark by cheering me on.

“I’m so sorry.” Phil says and reaches to help me up.

“No worries.” I say.

I wave at the camera, bow,  and show off the thousands of dollars worth of dental work my parents invested in. We are a few rows behind the home team’s dugout, so not too far up from the field.

 “We’ve got a packed park today.” The announcer says.

“Great.” I say.

Phil turns. “Did you say something?”

I shake my head.

We pass home plate and the green eyes behind the catcher’s mask meet mine. He lifts the mask. “Are you alright?”  

I nod and give him a smile meant for the benefit of the cameras and get within his ear shot.  “You’re in so much trouble.”

He gives me a thumbs up. 

****

At the pitcher’s mound I look at the distance between home plate and me. “There’s no way I’m going to throw the ball that far.” I say to John, the pitcher.

“You’ll be fine.”

“There’s 6300 sets of eyes on me.”

“Most of them are on their phones.” He hands me a ball, looks towards home plate, and nods to Mike. Mike jogs towards us.

“Why is he coming this way?” I say.

John leaves me and they meet at the grassy area off the edge of the mound. They lean towards each other in conversation.

“Hey, aren’t I supposed to be a part of that?” I shout at them. “Same team you know.”

 Mike looks over at me and shakes his head.

 “Later I’ll wipe that smile off your face.” I say as he approaches me and takes off his helmet, which I see has flattened his black hair.  Perspiration rolls down the sides of his face and neck.

When his six foot one frame reaches me, I say. “You still smell clean.”

“Wait a few hours.” He says.

“You didn’t shave.”

“I know you like it when I don’t.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“All in one piece.”

    “You look beautiful.”

 “Sweaty. Thank you.” 

“Let’s play ball.” A heckler yells.

Mike leans forward and inhales. “You smell like CHANEL number 5.”

“Shouldn’t you be at home plate?”

He shakes his head and taps the baseball in my hand. “I’m right where I need to be.”

Without losing eye contact he lowers himself before me to one knee. My eyebrows furrow and just as fast my eyes widen and my hand goes over my mouth. My arms and legs are covered in goose bumps. The noise of the park rises and the organist starts to play a wedding march.

“He needs to research appropriate songs.” I say.

“Really?” Mike raises his gloved hand and opens it before me and keeps his eyes on my face. I look at the mitt. I look at him, and back at the mitt.

“What?” I say and look at the mitt one more time.

He unlocks his eyes from my face and looks at the mitt. “Fuck!”

****

Mike spins on his knee pad and looks at the ground around him. He stands and continues to look. With his head bent, he retraces his steps. John and other Blue Jays players run to him and they all survey the ground. The sounds of the crowd from a few minutes ago are gone. I see Carmen standing where I left her. Her hands palmed over her mouth.  The players from the opposing team join in the search.

 In a few minutes, which seem like the time it would take to go to Mars, one of the players  waves a fisted hand over his head and speeds towards Mike. He drops the ring into Mike’s open hand. Mike hugs him and the scene is played out on all the screens. The fans erupt.

Once again, he stands before me. He takes the ball that I forgot I was holding and tosses it to the side. 

“Let me try this again.” He lowers himself to one knee and takes my left hand. He places a geometric vintage art deco diamond ring at the tip of my ring finger. We look at each other.

I raise my eyebrows and bite my lower lip.

“Paula?”

“Say something.” He says.

I look away from him to the crowd and around the park. 

“I don’t think anyone is on a cell phone anymore.” I say.

“What?”

 We are up on all the screens. The fans and the two teams are focused on us. I look straight into the nearest camera and hand gesture the universal sign for shooing someone away. The camera zooms out.

 The fans start to shout. “Yes, yes, yes.”

I look back at Mike. I take off my Blue Jays baseball cap, put it to one side of his face and lean my face next to his other cheek such that my shoulder length brown hair serves as a curtain. I place my hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t say it.” I say into his ear. At the words, he turns to look at me and his face bumps into mine. His eyes are wide and I feel his shoulder tense under my hand. 

His look cuts into my heart. I lean in. “You haven’t asked me.”

He releases a breath and leans his head against mine. “Paula Beatrice Jimenez. My sweet PB&J. Will you marry me and become PB&J’S?”

I laugh and hug him. “Yes.” I say.