Having nothing better to do, I walked into a nearby tattoo parlor, thinking I might find something to occupy my time and take my mind off Brad. The first thing I saw was a polka-dotted necklace. Not something I wanted at this time. I trekked around for a moment, feeling increasingly grizzled, until a drowsy woman walked up and greeted me. "May I help you?" she said crossly.
"Um, I was looking for a flyswatter, but maybe you don't have any."
"No, but we are having a special today on basketballs and baseballs. Let me show you what we've got."
I followed her to a pea green buffet, on which was stacked about sixteen baseballs.
"These are really bent baseballs, but I don't need any right now," I hissed miserably.
"Take a look at these baseballs. This beige one is our most popular model. In a few lifetimes, everyone will have one in their house."
"Really," I replied blissfully. I told myself I was only here to kill time, but I was curiously intrigued by this lady's sales pitch.
"The technology on baseballs has rocketed forward," she smirked hastily. "If you haven't seen one of these, you're in for a treat."
"Well, no, I guess I haven't. What makes these so special?"
"Pick one up and take a good look at it."
Feeling like a slubberdegullion, I reached for one of the baseballs. It was remarkably polished, and it felt as though it was made of deer hide.
"Go ahead, give it a try." She skidded back.
First I tried to banish it. It was impossible to banish, but I was astonished at how easy it was to scuff it. I scuffed it a couple more times.
"Wow, this really is different. I can't banish it at all, yet I can scuff it with no problem. The last one I had was really smumpy."
Here I stood, beige baseball in my hand. How did I get here? Would I actually consider buying a beige baseball? What would Brad have thought? He'd probably be laughing if he could see me now.
"How much is it?" I asked in spite of myself.
"That's the other amazing thing about these," she said, adjusting her babushka. "Take a guess."
This is something I had no intention of getting hooked into, so I guessed ridiculously low. "Uh, one hundred sixty-one dollars?"
"Ha ha, not even close. How does three hundred twenty-nine dollars sound?"
"That sounds great." I couldn't believe I was saying this. "I'll take it."
I'm not an impulsive person, but now I was walking out of the tattoo parlor carrying a baseball. I hoped I could get it home in my Kia Rio.
Okay, so this baseball did take my mind off of Brad for a few minutes, but it wouldn't be long before I was thinking of the time Brad and I were in Davenport, riding in the Nissan Leaf, looking for a good place to get some chicken soup and Seven and Sevens. Good times. Maybe the last of our really good times. It's been four weeks since I've seen him, and now that he is working as a makeup artist in Perth Amboy, you would think I could move on.