Soft apocalypse

From our seats in the upper deck the Phillies players looked like tissues dropped in the grass, yet it was so quiet I could hear the shortstop scuff his foot on the infield dirt, smoothing an invisible divot.

I fished for a peanut. Even the crackle of the cellophane bag seemed loud, as if we were in a movie theater. I half-expected someone to shush me as I cracked the peanut under my thumb, peeled off the top half of the shell, popped one red-skinned peanut into my mouth, reached over and fed the second to Maya. She closed her lips over my fingers, grinned when I glanced over at her.

The pitcher wound, threw a high fastball. The lanky batter swung and missed, and the inning was over. No one clapped.

The Mets took the field, and the pitcher began his warmup tosses.

"Whatever's in the atmosphere, it sure makes the sunsets pretty," Maya said.

"Mmm," I said. The sun was setting over the left field fence; the clouds were a gorgeous pastel of pink, peach, indigo, violet.

On the first pitch the Philly batter yanked the ball into the right field corner. The right fielder took a few listless steps after it, then gave up. He squatted on his haunches and watched it roll. He covered his face in his hands as the ball rolled to a stop on the warning track. The center fielder trotted over to him, put a hand on his shoulder, said something to him. The right fielder shook his head.

The batter trotted to second base and stopped, probably figuring that's where he would've ended up if the play had been made. Winning didn't mean as much with so many people dying.

I fished around in my pack and pulled out a camera, snapped a photo of Maya.

"Now let me take one of you," Maya said. I was starting to get used to her paralysis humor.

I smiled big and pointed the camera at myself--

Over the left field wall, there was a flash, and a hot boom. People in the stands screamed, leapt to their feet. The ballplayers sprinted for the dugouts, looking back over their shoulders at the explosion, which was a good twenty blocks away. It looked like an expanding rainbow of colors, like ripples in a candy pond.

I looked at Maya. She smiled, lifted her fingers as much as she was able. I took her hand in mine.

It could be anything--chemical, biological, nuclear, or an accident at a crayon factory.

We waited. I was not afraid.