Rock-N-Roll

Mom and dad were training for a marathon since April. It was supposed to be a family thing. My aunts, cousin, parents and myself were all going to participate.

We were going to run in honor of my aunt who passed away from cancer last year. And when my brother passed away, my parents wanted to run for him too, even though his death wasn't cancer related. 

A few of us stopped training, but my folks kept on running their miles every day. On Nov. 17 they completed their first half marathon, wearing my brother's scholarship button the whole way.

I saw them off at the starting line, amid the crazy costumes and various team shirts. Words of inspiration lined the streets.

"I run for my brother."

"I believe in you, random stranger!"

"I beat cancer and now I'm beating you."

The roads were full of runners and bikers participating in their respective courses for the San Antonio Rock-N-Roll marathon. 

I met my folks at the end. They looked tired and were drenched in sweat as they held hands crossing the finish line. But they finished what they set out to do and I couldn't have been more proud. 

Fender bender

It was production night and Norma and I decided to make a food run. 

The night began to sprinkle. 

I was more focused on my stomach and our conversation about boys to notice the truck backing out behind me. But I could have sworn I checked all my mirrors and blind spots as I reversed my way out of the parking spot.

The music was bumping in my black Chevy Cruze and all I wanted to do was get to Subway.

I was mid-sentence when I heard a thud in the back an my car jerked a little.

"Shit."

I managed to only get in two minor fender benders twice before without leaving more than a scuff on my car, but this sounded worse, much worse. 

I exited my vehicle and made way to the rear, only to find the glass around my right taillight broken. My heart sank.

The sprinkle turned into a drizzle. 

The driver of the truck who was on the other end of the thud, was inspecting her truck as well.

My eyes fell upon a somewhat large dent in her bumper. I was oddly proud that my little Cruze caused such a dent to larger dual-cab truck.

We exchange information and decided it was a mutual accident and went our separate ways.

"My dad is going to kill me," I told Norma as I once again put my car into reverse.

And I pulled out of the lot and into the night, still debating how to satisfy my stomach, the drizzle turning into heavier rain. 

World Series Champs

I sat in the newsroom with my friends and coworkers, watching the Red Sox and the Cardinals duke it out for the title of World Series Champs Oct. 31.

My heart raced with every pitch as if I were a member of the team standing on Fenway Field with the rest of them.

With the final pitch of the final out, I jumped up with my fist in the air, hugging the person nearest me, celebrating along with the Sox on-screen. For whatever reason, the Red Sox winning meant so much more to me this year than other years.

I grew up a Red Sox fan because my brother's city league team always donned the name on the front of their jerseys; my dad was the coach. Poppa text me almost instantly. He was watching the game at home with Mom.

"GO REDSOX!!! WE WON...Champions Baby!!! Just like we used to win with Aaron."

I looked at my phone, slowly sinking back into my chair and my eyes glued to the glowing screen in my hand. In my head I read the words over and over, my eyes steadily welling up with tears.

"Just like we used to win with Aaron."

I hadn't had such a rapid shift of emotions in months and almost forgot how striking the feeling is.

It stops you in your tracks, like getting the wind knocked out of you, and somewhere between smiles, tears break through and it's hard to breathe.

After regaining my composure, I continued a silent celebration with myself, images of the night's  game intermittent with memories of 13-year-old Aaron celebrating with his little league Red Sox.