Last night Lynnette and I lay in darkness as we usually do a few minutes before bed. Our faces are illuminated by our phones and sometimes we make conversation about our day or whatever pressing concern has arisen in the time since we’ve last seen each other. Last night was a little different.

"Are you taking pictures of me?"

“Are you taking pictures of me?”

"You better not be taking pictures of me."

“You better not be taking pictures of me.”

“Ho, Senior Night for the Maryknoll Baseball team, April 19th, Les Murakami Stadium. You like go?” she asked. “I am going… to ruin it,” I said. “You sure about that?” Lynnette said. Maryknoll is, as yet, the lone team we have not defeated this season. Lynnette knows this. “I like go now,” she said, of course implying that she had no desire to attend the game before hand.

“I still get my Maryknoll PE shorts,” she said. Lynnette breaks out the moke accent when she’s screwing around or ordering food from various local eateries. “You wouldn’t wear those in public,” I said. “Just watch me,” she replied. I put my phone down. “If you go to that game for any other reason than to support me and my team, I will be pissed,” I said. I watched her smile illuminate her phone. “I no more one Damien shirt,” Mokerella said. “You just wear purple and Mad wears purple, and that’s that,” I replied. “Ahhh!” she said.

I knew she was joking, but damn it, I take every single loss personally and Maryknoll ten-run-ruled us last time out. “Damn it, I rep you above repping Damien,” I exclaimed. I sat up. Perhaps I break out the gangsta rap accent when I am flustered. Forgive me. “I watched Maryknoll in the state championship with you last year!” I said. “And I hate Maryknoll!” Note: When I say that “I hate Maryknoll,” I mean it in the same way as when I say “I hate Derek Jeter!” I don’t really hate Jeter, I actually respect him, but it’s a whole lot easier to say “I hate Maryknoll!” than “I am frustrated by the fact that we cannot beat Maryknoll and am somewhat jealous that maroon and gold looks better on athletic wear than purple and gold.”

“I no like go, already,” Lynnette said. “You like scrap, yeah?” I said, giving in to the power of mokelecular context. “Little bit,” she said. I couldn’t stop laughing.


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