The overcast day may have fit the occasion. It was the second game of the season, and optimism reigned in Baltimore, but the tragic event from earlier in the week cast a shadow over such a frivolous event. The temperature was a mild upper 50s with no perceptible breeze, but the clouds hung low, like it might rain at any moment. I think my family felt its own personal version of this contradictory mood. Only two weeks had passed since my mom had died. We were processing, pusing forward, and hoping for moments of lightness. I was grateful that Nancy and Sarah had pushed for this break.
The game had started well for the home team, as last year’s rookie of the year, Gunnar Henderson, led off the home half of the first inning with a line drive home run.to right center. But it was something that happened in the sixth inning that stands out for me as I look back.
It started in the center field bleachers, I think. They had been making lots of noise all game long, led by a shirtless man who seemed the self-appointed cheerleader of the entire section. At some point in the inning, I’m not exactly sure of the moment, the cheer man decided to start “the wave,” that stadium tradition that began back in the 80s.
I was never a huge fan of the wave. For one thing, it was distracting. For another, it was usually such a letdown. Some people were super excited about it, while others treated it as off-handedly as Billy Crystal and his friend in When Harry Met Sally. Then there were the others who just refused to go along or got bored after the first go round. That fading out part just seemed so anticlimactic.
This day in Baltimore, though, was different. For one thing, the Orioles were in the midst of an epic nine-run inning that had the home crowd almost delirious. For another, the process followed a different pattern. When that centerfield contingent tried to get it going, they let out a burst of a cheer and began the motion, arms thrown high as they rose from their seats, arms dropped low as they reseated themselves, hoping to pass it down to the fans in right field. That part of the crowd was apparently more interested in the game or their beer, because the wave just faded out in the right field corner.
But the centerfield folks were undeterred. They let out another whoop that seemed to grab the attention of the whole crowd. This time the right field crew set aside their brew, and climbed on board. They passed the wave to the right field corner and then down the first baseline. Again, though, it trailed off as it reached the box seats behind the Orioles’ dugout. Maybe the rich folks couldn’t be bothered to stand up for a second. Maybe they (like me?) looked down their noses at a ritual like this. By the time the wave got to the seats behind home plate, only a handful of fans participated.
This is how most waves seemed to end, just petering out (an expression I never liked, but now seem compelled to use).
Persistent or just stubborn, the centerfield crowd kept at it. Fortunate that the inning seemed destined to continue for hours, with runs scoring with every at-bat, they launched yet another attempt. This one caught on. From center to right, past the foul pole and down the first base line, the noise and the motion swelled. This time the box seaters joined the movement, and a much mightier wave approached and then rolled through our section on the third base line. It roared into the left field corner and through the rowdy splash zone. By the time it got back to where it had begun, the whole stadium had tuned in to the wave. Now it gained strength and speed as it rolled around for a second lap. As Henderson tripled in another run to make the score 9 to 1, the crowd was riding the euphoria of the game and its mighty wave. Instead of dying out, this wave grew to tidal proportions. While most wave attempts that I’d seen in recent times seemed to reflect an apathetic audience, a lack of cooperation or commitment, this one felt the opposite. From a disinterested and disconnected birth, it grew to an energized youth, and then a full-grown interconnected supersonic orange and black behemoth.
And it didn’t stop. Each time it completed a lap, the wave seemed to gather strength. “Look, it’s in the upper decks, too!” someone shouted, and sure enough, the entire bowl had become one undulating roar…with no beach on which to crash. A day that had seemed muted and even somber as the crowd filed in, had transformed into a crazy communal dancefest.
For me, who entered the park mixing feelings of grief, nostalgia, and a longing for escape, this felt like a fitting wrap to my March.
Yes, farewell to March, a month of ups and downs, ebbs and flows, and back and forths. I began the month describing moments from our family’s trip to Costa Rica, a week so eventful that I imagined pulling a story for each day in the month. Those moments mostly represented ups, not downs, though the climate and the weather in Costa Rica provided some remarkable contrasts. A week that began in the dense forests with rainy hikes and waterlogged shoes, ended on parched beaches with sunburnt feet. It turned out, though, that I couldn’t write vacation memories for an entire month.
Around the Ides of March, the tide turned, and reality returned. My mom finally ran out of the energy that had characterized most of her life. She receded from this world, gradually and quietly, more like an ebb than a sudden stop. And with that passing, my writing switched from recent memories to more distant ones, as I sifted through her belongings and tried to recall the more vital years instead of the later frail times.
As my mom had weakened this winter, the back and forths between Connecticut and Maryland began. Tedious drives on congested roads, with too little time between. Nine tos and fros between Christmas and Easter have made the weeks and weekends pass quickly, but have left me longing for the waves to settle so I could have more idle times at home.
I’ve missed a significant part of the writing challenge, too, the reading of other writers’ stories, the feeling of learning their styles, their struggles and their triumphs. My limited commenting made me feel like I was cheating on the challenge. I was receiving, but not giving, a back and forth that didn’t happen. I’m determined to go back and read the slices from some of my old friends. I’ll content myself with “better late than never.”
In the meantime, I’m grateful for this challenge, the supportive community and those faithful (though neglected) commenters. My writing was more schmaltzy or pitiful than I would have liked, but it helped me process and preserve the ups and downs. For now, as I close an eventful month, I’ll ride the feeling of standing and cheering with my family, of living inside and observing from a distance, that boisterous, sustained, and sustaining wave that rippled through this March.
FiveHundredaDay 