the game

When they were, well, younger, he was on the field and she was in the stands, watching him, hoping for him, hoping with him. It seemed so much simpler, then, because it was so much simpler. Everything seemed to be right in front of you, she thought. Now, things circled about, whispered around, snuck in under the cover of darkness, sprang on or upon when you least expected it. Now, things were different. She couldn’t help think that, as she sat in the stands, today, now, wondering just what had happened to them. Maybe they’d just been too young. Maybe they’d just dreamed too much. Maybe they’d not known enough to work at it, or been willing enough to work at it. The man next to her, he dressed in the team’s colors, yelled, “Kill ‘em; c’mon, kill ‘em,” and she remembered when they would yell that at him. She felt a need to leave, but she didn’t. There was a need to stay, also. So, she did. Her name was Grace. She had a dog named Waldo. She was resigned to living the rest of her life alone.