We'd have to go home. I was carrying all the money, and wiring home for cash was out of the question. (Her father thought she was at the Jersey Shore with girlfriends.) The fifth inning passed, then the sixth. As I sat among the Fenway faithful with my head in my hands, she finally returned and sat down.
"Here," she said, handing me the wallet, as if it were change from a five.
"Wha ... how ... ?" I began.
"I walked around and started asking people, and then I heard somebody say he had found a wallet, and he made me answer a few questions about what was in there and...."
"I think I might marry you," I said, more than half-seriously.
Which, a few years later, I did.
We never went back, not together at least. But we'll always have Fenway.
By Dave Gabel