PULSE [H.S]

107

"All baseball fans believe in miracles; the question is, how many do you get in a lifetime? It's the same with love, where every true connection feels miraculous." — Robert B. Parker

The baseball stadium is huge.

I haven't been to one since I was a little kid, and I forgot how big they are. I also forgot how crowded they can be before the game starts when everyone's walking around, getting food and drinks.

The last time I was at a baseball game was when I was 7 or 8, and my mom was on a long clean streak. She saved up enough money to take the three of us out to a game. To a normal family, going to a baseball game might not seem like much. To us, it was a rare occasion, and one of the best memories I have from my childhood.

Harry tells me I'm ridiculous for wanting to check out our seats before walking around prior to the game starting, but I drag us to the seats anyway.

He says, "Do you think they are going to grow legs and run away?"

"No, that would be absurd," I reply. "They already have legs."

He rolls his eyes at me, but his lips twitch. I like to know where we are supposed to be before we have to be there.

He got us good seats. Like, really good seats. We are so close to the baseball field, and we have a clear view of the entire area. When I came with my mom, we were as far away as we could've been. I learned that it doesn't matter where you are. All that matters is who you are with.

Being here with Harry feels like a dream come true. When I look at him, I see my entire world staring back at me. He's the missing piece in my life that I've been looking for for so long. Being with him makes me happier than I ever thought I could be.

After seeing our seats, we go back up to the main area and check out all of the food options. Harry's been saying that he's hungry since the second we got in the car, and he hasn't stopped reminding me that he wants food. He's like a little kid asking his mother for a cookie.

"What the fuck is that?" Harry says loudly.

I look up at him, caught off guard by his loud question. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he's staring at something intensely. I follow his line of sight, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary to warrant such a dramatic response.

I ask, "What's what?"

"The fucking popsicle made out of bread," he says as he points at a man standing on the side of the walkway, eating his meal.

I can't help the loud laugh that leaves my mouth. I look back at Harry, amused. I say, "You mean the corn dog?"

"Corn dog?" he repeats, rolling the sound of it over in his head. I fight back my urge to burst out laughing, biting my lip. We look back at the man eating the corn dog, and this time it's tilted in a way that you can see the middle of it. He says, "What the fuck is inside of it?"

The way he's talking about the corn dog would make you think the food did something to personally offend him. I stare at him, incredibly amused. He's so damn cute.

I say, "It's a hot dog, coated with batter, and deep-fried."

"Why?" he says flatly.

"What do you mean, why? It's a baseball arena staple. They always served these for lunch in elementary school," I say.

He shakes his head in disgust, saying, "That's gross."

"You can't say that when you've never tried it," I reply, grinning at him. I grab his hand, tugging him along with me as I walk through the crowd of people. I say, "Come on, let's get you one."