All of us ate tin foil dinners and S’mores with nutella instead of chocolate. Most of us just ate nutella on graham crackers, without the marshmallows.
I met a libero who majors in physics who explained the String Theory to me and how we’d have to have at least 11 dimensions for it to work and how all you need is a good blow to make a perfect fire.
I watched an almost 7 foot tall “middle” hold a girl about as tall as his forearm in his lap and how the fire glowed on both of their brown and white faces.
I saw Coach’s baby boy’s famous blue eyes which really were as big as golf balls. (All night long, the baby smiled at the fire and kicked at the smoke.)
Three players behind me talked about the girls they missed in other states. One of them admitted he was in love. Another one admitted he had just broken up with his girlfriend, but if it isn’t meant to be, it isn’t meant to be, right?
I met the loyal volleyball fan, who used to play football for BYU–“All-American” he told me, then pro for 5 years, before he got injured. “But you’re white,” I said, “How were you a wide receiver?” He asked me where I went to high school and how long I was married to that goof wearing the flannel jacket from Wal-Mart. A month and a half is all, I told him.
An outside hitter said his favorite pie shake was the apple cobbler pie shake and everyone burst into an argument around the fire about pie and cobbler and how a cobbler can’t be a pie–even if the cobbler is in a pie shake. Ryan then added, “But rhubarb….” and then lost his train of thought, and we all laughed.
We talked about girls I could set them up with but they said Ryan couldn’t sugar coat how pretty or cool they are, like Ryan usually does with people. I told them Ryan doesn’t sugar coat, he just sees everyone sugar coated. Even you, I said.
We talked about the stars and how you can’t get these kinds of stars in southern California, but perhaps in Montana, where the land mass is the 4th biggest, but the population is the 47th biggest of the 50 states. Ryan said can we have a bidet and a pool table and I said if we live in Montana and he said, “Really?” and I said, “Really?” and he put his arms around me and we laughed about rhubarb pie, which could be a cobbler if you wanted it to be, and we thought about our future home in Montana, with the pool table and the bidet and how I would make cobblers and pies every day if we could live in Montana with stars brighter than these ones and trees with slapping leaves, like these ones, and mountains bluer than these ones that canvased the stars and the leaves and the trees and the white smoke (even in the dark) floating to the sky from a perfect fire.