Personal Narrative: Baseball Rules

The following morning, I skip bike practice again, but Doris goes anyway. At the office, Megan caters to me. On her way in, she stopped at Trader Joe’s to buy me a protein drink with antioxidants from Trader Joe’s, a bottle of chewable Vitamin C and a whole grain carrot muffin. I drink half the bottle and listen as she tells me, “Thom cancelled the development meeting, since he met with you the other day.” I’m grateful to have the morning free. And, thrilled, when Business Affairs calls to say they have received Doug Conway’s signed contract. Right away, I have Megan phone his agent to set a date/time to meet with him this week. When that’s done, I find Doug’s screenplay, “Baseball Rules” and my notes. I want to review them and have Thom
When we enter the front door, Elena greets me with a giant hug. We tear up, and she walks with me into the dining room. Where, she had set the table with soup bowls, cutlery, glasses filled with iced-tea and light pink cotton napkins. Thom and I take a seat and she pours the hot, spicy, thick liquid into our bowls. “Enjoy,” she says, and leaves us to eat lunch in private. We eat with no talk of work or cell phones present. When he brings up my bike trip, I merely say, “I’m determined to give it my best shot.” He excuses himself and goes into the living room. When he returns, he hands me a letter sized envelope with his accountant’s firm and return address on the upper left corner. I open it, and inside is a check made out to “Elizabeth’s Ride Charity.” When I see the amount, I can barely speak. “Why are you so generous and kind to me… when I hurt you?” “Because… unlike everybody else, you never ask me for anything. You even gave me back your engagement ring. Most women would have kept it.” “It was the honorable thing to do. I didn’t keep my commitment to
His appreciation my story of survival in the wilderness tickles me. Until he says, “Let’s bike on Saturday to Malibu and if you’re up for it, all the way to Manhattan Beach.” “We can try,” Doris says. Not to disappoint, I go along with it. But when alone, I check out the route to Santa Barbara on the map again. The trip worries me, so I phone Malcolm for advice. I mention my fever, and extreme fatigue. Also emphasize, “We’re novice cyclists, not ready to bicycle 100 miles on unfamiliar roads. When, we haven’t biked farther than Santa Monica to Venice.” “Who says you have to bike all the way?” Malcolm says. “Nobody… except… how can we not?” He explains that Carpinteria is an hour away from L.A. by car. Rather than bike there, we drive. There’s a State Park and beach off the 101 Freeway where we can find a location to park our car. And from there, it’s only twelve miles to Santa Barbara. “Once you get to the finish line. We’ll eat dinner, celebrate and I’ll drive you back to your car.” “Wow, why didn’t I come up with that?” I