based on the writing prompt: Prompt: “The way they said good night…”
by F. G. Baker
She knew that there was going to be trouble when they separated last night. It had been a big day at the Super Bowl and they had had a wonderful time with all the excitement just to be there, with all the partying. They had way too much to drink and things seemed really good until the game started. Then where was that ball flying into the wrong end zone and things went downhill from there. After all the cost and arrangements just to get to the stadium with the crowds and everything. Well, it had been a hectic few days. Then they couldn’t park at the stadium because of the security concerns, so no tail gate party. That was a letdown in itself.
They watched the world change right before their eyes as bad plays and missed tackles turned their good time into a nightmare. After the game they were swept along by the crowd of stunned Broncos fans and reveling Seahawks with their bird heads on their jerseys and hats. Some Seattle fans had little tomahawks with the Seahawks logo on them and they shook them at Broncos fans as they walked by. It was humiliating at best to see their team go down in flames of shame.
And then on top of it all, the light rail station was way too overloaded to handle the fans trying to get back to their hotels to party or just crawl away to lick their wounds. They had waited in line for what seemed like hours as train after train came and went, packed to the gills with brightly colored humanity. At last they got close enough so that Harry had been able to push her physically into a rail car but he didn’t fit. His butt apparently didn’t make it in the door so a mechanical voice started to complain and some fans tried to pull him in and at least one Seahawk fan tried to peck him with a mock tomahawk. When the next level of admonishment came and a buzzer started to go off, Harry just let go and fell back onto the station platform. The doors closed and her last view of him was of people helping him up as he looked at her on the other side of the glass as she was swept away in the train. Their eyes were locked on each other as the distance grew and the light faded.
She got back to the hotel room and assumed he would get on the next train and join her soon. She ordered some chicken wings and two Blue Moons from room service. Then she took a shower to get the grime off, put on her orange Broncos nighty and crawled into bed. When the food came she signed for it, sat in bed with one of the beers and watched some of the depressing coverage of the game on TV. She even laid out Harry’s favorite Broncos stallion boxers on his side of the bed.
She knew better than to date a sports super fan. Her girlfriends had warned her but she didn’t
listen. No, Harry wasn’t like that. He was just a down to earth guy who happened to really like football. Broncos football that is. And Peyton Manning. And anything orange. He went to every game and they had some fun at the tailgate parties and rallies. She was a little worried though when Harry had announced they were going to the Super Bowl. He had to borrow against his 401k plan to raise the money for the tickets since they were so damn expensive. Then he signed up for the super fan sports package to come out to the game. I guess that was a warning sign that this was getting out of hand. Then when his credit card was rejected for the restaurant yesterday and she had to pay, well that was just bad luck, wasn’t it?
She dreamed that she was lying on the beach in her Broncos nighty and the warm tide was washing over her. Angry birds were swooping down on her with their big beaks getting closer and closer to her head. The birds looked like eagles or something, but dark colored, blue with green feathers. Then they looked like… She screamed and realized they were Seahawks with those Indian carved heads on them and she was now a lone white pony on the beach with an orange mane.
The next thing she knew it was morning and the boxers were still lying there on the bed. No Harry. She felt warm and wet as she lay there in a small pool of Blue Moon while the local weather girl with big blond hair was telling all New Yorkers that the airports were closed and the big snow shit storm was about to hit the whole region. You football fans can kiss your flights goodbye!
She got up and got herself ready to brave the approaching maelstrom to look for Harry. She went downstairs and searched under the tables in the cocktail lounge where there were actually a few partiers still sleeping off the victory/disaster of their choice. After she checked at the desk for any news, she went to the disheveled remains of the light rail station and took the ride over to the Stadium. She asked at the stadium gate about Harry and found out that a bevy of New Jersey’s best trash trucks were now loading and compacting the tons of chip bags, candy wrappers, paper cups and other debris that results from a major sports blow out. The stadium was closed and she was assured that security had made damn sure no one remained in the stadium overnight. She wandered aimlessly, asking everyone she met if they had seen a pudgy, balding man in orange of all shades with a white and orange horse head hat anywhere. They had not. She was directed to a police sergeant who had not slept all night but who was taking names for missing persons. He was manning a room under the stadium where various lost souls were sleeping it off in one area and where the rounded up working girls were huddled together for warmth in another room. No luck there.
She sat on a steel bench and sipped some coffee that someone had put in her hand. After a half hour or so a thin black man came up to her and asked if she was looking for a lost Broncos fan? She told him she was and he asked her to follow him on a little search and rescue mission. She noted he had on a faded Marines field jacket of some kind with a patch that said “RECON” on the shoulder. She went along holding her coffee as they sidled past the vendor’s trailers in the parking lot. He led her through a hole in the cyclone fence that surrounded the park and down a now wet and snowy path toward the freeway bridge that crossed the river, what-ever-it-was.
They could hear them before they saw anything as they climbed down the embankment that led under the bridge. They saw maybe five or six dozen men scattered around a couple of steel barrels that were alight with wood fires inside. Under the bridge they were out of the worst of the increasing snowfall, talking and carrying on as if they were having a Frat party or something. Some of the men had on old Army coats or wool jackets, but most were clad in the bright orange and blue of the lost Broncos tribe. A few Seahawk diehards were scattered among them. A few large beer coolers were parked around the perimeter of this congregation and other inebriating products were also being consumed.
She heard them say things like “better luck next year”, “fricking defense”, “Peyton Manning”, “frickin’ Seahawks”, the occasional “Tebow” and then a cheer would go up “Go Broncos!” And there sitting on a cooler next to a frickin” Seahawks fan was Harry. He had a Coors light in one hand and a Seahawks tomahawk in the other. He looked up and saw her standing there in disbelief.
“Hi honey! You made it! Isn’t this the best damn Super Bowl party you’ve ever seen? This is George here by me. He’s from frickin’ Seattle, but he’s alright. Here let me get you a beer, Ok? George, slide down a bit so Jenny can squeeze in, OK? Honey? Honey, are you OK?”
