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.Theprospect wasn t appealing on any level of the pleasurescale.Other than the note, I hadn t had any contact withJude since fleeing in my car last Saturday morning.Andeven though I d cried in my bed every night since,feeling his phantom arms around me, it had been wortheight hours Saturday night.The pleasure then was worththe pain now.Sitting in the swivel chair, watching the coffee potpercolate, I knew I couldn t hang out in this emptyroom for another twenty-four hours like this.Rushing tomy closet before I could change my mind, I slid into apair of leggings, my boots, and debated what top to wear.The debate was over when my hand clutched theginormous orange sweatshirt folded on the top shelf.Ipulled it on and, after rearranging my hair and dabbingon a few smears of makeup, I was out of the door, mykeys and purse in hand.I headed north out of the parking lot, checking thefuel indicator to make sure I had a full tank.It wasgoing to be a long drive.Today was a big playoff game for Syracuse.Aday before Christmas Eve game that was expected tobe the game of the season.I couldn t miss it.I d missedJude s last couple home games and I couldn t missanother.We might have been taking a break, but I couldstill fade into the crowd of tens of thousands and enjoyhim playing the game that seemed created for him.Itwas a selfish thing what I was doing, but given I wasalone a day before Christmas, selfish seemed moreacceptable today.I passed the drive time listening to a few of myfavorite CDs, trying not to think about Jude, failing, and then giving myself an early Christmas present andwriting myself a hall pass to think about Jude as muchas I wanted to today.It was less than a half hour to kick off, whichmeant I had to park a mile away and trek in.I loved afootball game I always had.Even as a toddlerplucking grass on the sidelines at John s games, I dloved it.I loved the roar of the fans, I loved the clash ofhelmet hitting helmet, I loved the energy in the air, Iloved the hot dogs.I loved it all.But most of all, I loved watching Jude play.Heplayed with the heart of a player who truly loved thegame.He would have played every day even if it wasn tin exchange for a college scholarship or, one day soon,in exchange for millions of dollars a year.Jude played because he loved it.And I loved watching him play.Making my way up to the ticket window, Iimmediately wished I would have picked another. If you don t just get prettier every time I see you,young lady, the elderly man behind the desk said witha smile.His name was Lou, and he reminded me of mygrandpa. I haven t seen you the past couple games.Mr.Jude hasn t been messing things up with you, hashe now? I smiled back politely. No, Mr.Jude hasn t beendoing anything to mess things up, I said, folding myarms over the counter. That s good to hear, Miss Lucy.I wouldn t wantto have teach him a lesson on how a man s supposed totreat a woman. I don t think any of us would want that. I smiledand waited for Lou to wrap it up.The old man lovedbantering back and forth with me and I was usuallyhappy to play along, but this time was different.Idoubted that if he knew how I d hurt Jude, he d beteasing me good-naturedly now.Skimming through the stack of tickets, he pulledout two.Jude always left one for me and an extra incase I wanted to bring a friend. I was wondering if these tickets would go unclaimed again today, he said,sliding them through the window. If I wasn t certainMr.Jude would have marched off the field to physicallyremove me, I might have slipped into one of theseseats. Why don t you take them today, Lou? I said,pushing them back towards him. I just want a generaladmission ticket today. Why would you want a general admission whenyou ve got front row seats on the fifty, honey? Thefrown lines deepened on his face. Please, Lou? I asked, biting my lip.I didn t wantto explain to him what I couldn t quite explain to myself. Just one general admission ticket? He sighed, tapping his fingers over the counter. Okay, he said, but only because I can t say no to apretty face. Stacking a GA ticket on the other two Jude setaside for me every game, he slid them back through thewindow at me. It s on the house, but you have to takethese two with you.Mr.Jude would have my job if he found out you were here and I didn t at least give themto you. Thanks, Lou, I said, taking the tickets. Maybeone of these games you and I can use these together. Lou s brown eyes softened. That would be a realhonor, Miss Lucy. Tapping the tickets on the counter, I turned tohead inside the gates. Thanks again. He nodded his acknowledgement, looking at aloss for words.Weaving through the tunnel, the roar of the crowdamplified.Syracuse was taking the field.I hurried, notwanting to miss it.This was one of my favorite momentsof the game.When Jude came sprinting onto the field,leading an army of men, all of them looking like theywere as invincible as they believed they were, I gotgoose bumps every time.Jude was only at the twenty when I made it withinview of the field.Right then, watching him charge thefield with his teammates, I knew I d made the right decision in coming.The weight I d had strapped to myback broke loose the moment my eyes found him.Icould fill my lungs again, I could form a smile that didn tfeel forced, I could feel my heart beat like it wasn t achore any more.I stared at him until the team had settled into pregame warm-up before making my way to my seat.Squeezing by a very pregnant girl inspecting her ticketswith what I assumed was her husband dressed in anArmy uniform, I glanced back at them again.Gazing upinto the stands, their eyes fell into the back as she tookthe first step up.I stopped, watching her take a second step.Ifbeing pregnant meant stair climbing at one per fiveseconds, I wasn t sure I d enjoy it very much. Wanna trade? I asked suddenly.I couldn twatch her suck in another breath as she attemptedanother step. They re pretty good seats. The husband looked at me, confused, then studiedthe tickets I was holding out for them.His eyeswidened. Don t get me wrong, miss, because I d sell myfirst born for tickets like these, he shot his wife a slysmile as she smacked his arm but see that row, wayin the back, right where a few spectators noses arebleeding? Those are our seats. I liked these two already. How s the view fromup there? It sucks, he answered, helping his wife down thetwo stairs she d just scaled.Shoving the tickets into his hand, I smiled. Well,the view from these seats doesn t, I said, backingaway.Kick off wasn t going to wait for me to get mybutt into my seat. Just do me a favor and make sure togive number seventeen a hard time
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