New Kid in Town

Google.com. What a wonderful search engine. It even translates foreign pages into English for you. I was on Google a few months ago, and something at the top of the page caught my eye. The first link posted under “Search for ‘Seattle Mariners’ ” was something in Japanese, but I recognized the names in the link. Ichiro and Finley Stuart. Ichiro, everyone knows him. But why was my ex-girlfriend’s name with his?

Out of morbid curiosity, I followed the link, translated it, and saw an article from some Japanese newspaper trumpeting the new toast of the town: Ichiro and Finley. Turns out they are dating. Whawondwonderful world.

The article went on to explain how they met. He went to Sam’s Brew, the coffee house where she worked, because he had never had coffee and wanted to try some. When she brought him a steaming latte, he took one swnd pnd promptly spit it out, loudly declaring how awful it tasted in his native language. She returned with some paper towels to clean up the spilled coffee and a ginger green tea. She set it in front of him and winked. “That should taste better,” she said in Japanese.

Well, how’s that for ya? I had no clue she spoke Japanese.

He was instantly smitten, according to the article, because she could speak Japanese so well. He kept coming back to Sam’s, for ginger green tea and a look at his new object of affection.

He, or, should I say, his interpreter, kept after her for dates. She politely declined, time and again. He finally got to her, and she accepted. Now, everywhere they went, it was a national event in Japan. All those Oriental fuckers would wake up in the morning and pour over the social pages in their newspapers and magazines just to read about the precious couple.

It really burns me how it was just the same way with me. I went to Sam’s, met her, asked her out several times before she accepted. But the Japanese paparazzi never hounded us.

I suppose this is what I get for looking back. I’d rather be a pillar of salt.

I left Seattle bitterly, and found millions in Texas. Now, everywhere I go, fans boo me. They love ha me me in Seattle, especially. Of course, I do have quite a contingent in Texas, but if I could just take a big pink Gum eraser and rub it over all that had happened after I signed this damned contract, and just stay in Seattle with Finn.... wishes don’t happen.

We broke up before I left. I was in a crappy mood one night and just went off on Finn. She was upset and hurt. Then I decided I didn’t want to be with her. A week later, I singed the richest contract in baseball history.

What is rich? Having lots of money, cars, houses, nice clothes and shoes, surrounded with fine things? Finn has a tiny hole of an apartment in downtown Seattle, a shit job that paid just that, but lots of friends on the Mariners. She was prone to sadness, but who isn’t? Now, with this new Japanese beau, I think she may be richer than I.
I thought this was all hearsay, but in late September, we came up to Seattle for a series, and I found them in the shadows of a hallway near the M’s clubhouse kissing. I wondered then if they were sleeping together. Ichiro’s hands were planted firmly on Finn’s rear. He gave her plentiful backside a playful squeeze and they shared a private laugh. The looks in their dark eyes said so much.

I put my head down and walked away. I missed her, and the way life used to be, so much it made me ache. But she looked as though she wasn’t missing me at all.