Old News

I’ve noticed a funny pattern in my life lately. Nik and I have been dating for over two years and, you know, sometimes I like to try to fool myself into thinking he’s old news. Those blue eyes and easy smile have no power over me I say. He’s tall and handsome and dreamy (a co-worker used that term, I am not biased). So what? Big deal. But you know, every night when I walk into the stadium lamenting to myself, another day, another baseball game, I stop short. Because as soon as I see that guy leaning on the dugout rail my heart just absolutely melts. I light up inside—I can actually feel it, like the beast’s transformation back to his princely self, I know streams of luminosity (great word) will start shooting out of my appendages at any moment. I smile and watch him WAY more than the game. I get happy when he smiles, interested when he’s deep in conversation, a little weirded out when he slaps people’s butts. And the game never ends soon enough.

I like to think I still play everything so cool. This is contradicted by the almost frantic way I grab my phone every time it dings with the expectation that he’s sent me a text. And the way I sometimes wait at the edge of my driveway when he’s on his way over. And, for good measure, the way I latch onto him like one of those creepy sloths when he tries to leave (actually, that only happened last night but I thought it might be a fun image for everyone). So much for old news, huh?

Not that I’m mad. I’m over the moon that Nik still makes me swoon. I expect it to continue forever. But I think a little credit is due to baseball. People often say you don’t know what you got til it’s gone (at least the Counting Crows say that and maybe John Mayer and also Joni Mitchell?). Anyway, Nik and I are very aware of what it’s like when we’re gone. Baseball gives us a lot of grief but it also constantly gives us a chance to miss each other. Every stolen second is treasured because they’re so sporadic and unplanned—at least for seven months out of the year. And even in the offseason, I feel like I have to soak in every minute and record every feeling and memory so I can play them back when he’s gone. It’s hard to be apart but it makes being together so much sweeter. So thanks, baseball, for not letting my man become old news.