Kern sneered at his fellow driver. "Bud Selig puts ketchup on his hot dogs. If it's good enough for the owner of the Brewers, it's good enough for me."
Henry snorted loudly and left to run his errand without another word. The next half inning had expired before he returned with his fleshy bounty and a fresh cup of beer.
Kern took a bite of his bratwurst and smiled broadly. "Nothing like a brat at the ballpark." He shoved the sausage in my face. "Want a bite, Count? It's real good."
I said no thank you, suddenly feeling nauseous. My well-practiced mental discipline had allowed me to filter out the sensory overload of this tightly packed mass of humanity, but suddenly it all came crashing inward. The sickening stench of charred animal flesh clashed violently with the sweet scent of sweat and living skin. And my eardrums seemed on the verge of rupturing from the suddenly intolerable symphony of clapping thunder as the thump, thump, thumping of several hundred hearts, loudly pumping sweet nectar through all those bodies, all beat as one.
I caught Nicole looking at me. "You look flushed," she whispered.
I nodded and excused myself, departing to get some air. Loitering in the spacious area behind the bleachers, between a concession stand and the water closets, I listened to my own labored breathing in an effort to regain my composure.
Soon, my breathing slowed, allowing me to relax, then the thumping echoed inside my skull once again, not the hammering of all those singing hearts, but instead the distinct beating of two hearts from within the men's water closet a mere few feet away.
I stepped inside and stood in front of a urinal, two urinals away from a man who was fortunately too oblivious to notice what I was not doing.
"Hey, Sven," the man said over his shoulder, zipping his trousers and stepping away from the urinal. "You pinch off that loaf yet?"
The man answered with the rapid staccato of violently passed gas. "In a fuckin' minute," he replied.
"I'm leaving," the first man said. "You better hurry up if you want a buddy. You heard the man. Don't go anywhere alone."
The fellow inside the stall laughed loudly between more passed gas. "Whatever. Catch you back out there."
The other man laughed then departed. More loud passed gas, silence, then the fellow inside the stall groaned loudly. A large, thick plop followed, as if an exceedingly heavy object had just fallen into the toilet bowl.
Just the two of us. No other heartbeats nearby.
Suddenly, the fellow was looking up from his seat, trousers down at his ankles. Before he knew what was happening, he knew not what was happening to him, knew nothing at all, as if he had fallen into a waking dream, not knowing, not even wondering what was making that queer sucking sound.
"Feeling better?" Nicole asked when I had returned to my seat.
"Yes. I just needed some air."
"Well, you look better." She smiled and moved a bit closer to me, her breath hot against my face. She whispered in my ear. "Your cheeks look nice and rosy, and I'll bet the farm it's not from this brisk early spring weather."
I simply nodded, savoring the warmth of her body, finding her ear with my mouth, the soft scent of her long hair washing into my nostrils. "A kind fellow I met in the lavatory," I whispered. "Kind and charitable. With no pain, no fear and no knowledge. And not even a pint short."
Nicole snuggled closer, not saying a single word.
More ritual: By the seventh inning, the visiting team had opened their lead to four scores, but the announcer was undaunted as he enthusiastically announced that it was time for "the seventh inning stretch."
The fans rose in unison and stretched.Leon turned and shouted, "Sing!" as he exhorted the crowd, waving his arms to and fro, just as a drunken conductor might. A recorded voice sang over the loudspeaker, and the crowd happily joined in: "Take me out to the ball game / Take me out with the crowd / Buy me some peanuts and Crackerjack / I don't care if I never come back / So, it's root, root, root for the Muskies / If they don't win it's a shame / 'Cuz it's one, two, three strikes yer out / At the old ball game."
The fans applauded wildly after shouting and punching fists into the air one, two, three, then remained standing and sang another song, one I knew - "Roll