If I Lose Her by Greg Joseph Daily Read Free Book Online Page B

the shutter release.
     The player
on third crossed home. Click.
     The player
on second crossed home. Click click.
     The player
on first crossed home. Click click click.
     I counted
off each frame as Patty gleefully trotted his way across third, then I stopped.
I got the shot of the swing–at least I think I did, but did I still have
two or three frames for Patty crossing home? Shit! What if I shot
through my whole role and miscounted? God PLEASE let me have just two more
frames!
     I took a
deep breath, lined up the shot, set my focus and clicked a frame just as Patty
stepped on home. Oh thank God. But was that my last or did I have one
more?     Again I waited and watched intently through the lens.
     Patty walked
back to the dugout as all of his teammates ran out to great him. Hugs. High
fives. Patty turned with a smile so big you think he discovered Ireland
himself. Click.
     I looked at
the back of my camera and the numbers went yellow. That was the end of the
roll. I had just barely made it, but made it I had. “YES!” I screamed, jumping
in the air. Of course, my scream was drowned out by the cheers of everyone else
in the stands who were already on their feet cheering for Patty Irish.
     I looked
over at Jo, who was laughing and shaking her head.
     I walked
over to her and told her with excited speed how I was just trying to do
something creative by getting behind the batter and how I had worried about
running out of film. She didn’t say a word. She just listened to it all with
her head cocked and an authentic smile on her face like she cared more about me
talking than what I was saying. When I was done and I just looked at her.
     “What?” I
asked.
     “You’re
going to be a great photographer,” she told me.
     When Jo said
that it was like she knew something. Like she could see something in me beyond
what I could see.
     I pulled her
close and kissed her. Then, after the particularly passionate kiss, I pulled
back.
     “Are you
hungry?” I asked. “We could try to find some cookies or a sandwich or
something.”
     “I could go
for some nachos.”
     “God I love
you,” I said shaking my head and turning to put my camera back in my bag.
     And there it
was. Hanging in the air like a kite whose string had been cut but hadn’t had
the decency to fall back down to earth.
     My eyes grew
big and my heart pounded heavy realizing what I had just said. I took an extra
minute to make sure my camera was cleaner and better put away than it had ever
been before. Then I stood up and turned back around to her.
     “Do you mean
it?” She asked.
     Now, as an
adult you realize you can say “I love you” to numerous people in your life
without it causing an apocalyptic event. However, as a teenager, saying “I love
you” is tantamount to asking someone to marry you.
     I knew that
seconds counted, and I could either play it cool or I could jump in headfirst
and just be honest with her.
     Suddenly the
noise of the crowd was gone, and all I could see was her.
     “Of course I
mean it. I’ve loved you ever since that night at the gallery when I looked
through those windows and saw you laughing with those people about your photos.
I knew right then that if I could live in that smile until the end of time, I
would die a happy man.” Then she pulled me close again, but this time she
didn’t kiss me. Instead she leaned forward, on the tips of her toes, and
whispered in my ear. “I love you too.” I put my hand on the side of her neck
and leaned my forehead against hers. How free I felt, saying to her what I had
been feeling for months now. Piece by piece I was giving her everything I had.
     It was
between innings now and there were a few more minutes until the team would be
back on the field, so we went and found some nachos and a couple of large
sodas. She liked the jalapeños; I didn’t.
     Though my
mind was on Jo, I had to try and focus.
     There were a
few innings left and I had another roll of