FAST Fiction: Fall Classic Dream State #12

• Posted — January 2023

“I still have a dream … I have a dream today.”
— Martin Luther King Jr.

Missing message in a hollow tree,
Hidden deep inside a memory —
And the memory seems like dreams,
Hundreds of hopes in the past,
Nevertheless it was never the last,
Hold on strong or you fade out fast —
And only one, only one…
— James Taylor song — Only One

So come lose your life for a carpenter’s son,
For a madman who died for a dream…
— Michael Card song — God’s Own Fool

• Fall Classic Dream State:
Part 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11

Once upon a couch, I was home watching the pregame show before the decisive game of the 2000 World Series — the Mets-Yankees Subway Series — but I fell asleep just before the first pitch, and soon I began to dream…

In this lucid dream, I’ve been watching a strange parade in New York City’s Canyon of Heroes, and now the second parade float is in view, with a sign that reads — 2004: Red Sox rout Yankees in Game 7, finish historic comeback •

The faint strains of a familiar song waft in the coal-dark atmosphere — the organ accompaniment is unmistakable as “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” plays — and suddenly I’m in the Bronx at Yankee Stadium.

As I approach the stadium, I absent-mindedly glance down. On the ground, staring up at me and gleaming from some undetected light source, is a coin. I pick it up with my left hand, bending down from my waist, mindful of stretching my hamstrings, like when I tie my shoes, since that’s a natural way to stretch those key muscles — a least-I can-do training exercise in my office-bound ESPN career existence.

When I straighten again and look up — oh my, I’m no longer at Yankee Stadium. Somehow I’ve been transported to a farm field with a view of a barn, and I’m able to see through the walls. This is no ordinary barn, for wooden pews fill the rustic inside and a large cross hangs from the ceiling. The barn has been converted into a church.

Walking across the farm property, I arrive at a sylvan outdoor sanctuary that holds a hundred souls in attendance at a wedding beside a holy stream and forest wise.

Instantly, I recognize the venue and occasion — this is my wedding day, and I clearly see myself the Yankee fan and my bride the Red Sox fan standing side-by-side facing a trio of pastors as strains of the triumphant hymn “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee” waft through the humid 95-degree August air.

My hands are closed as I view this scene in wonder and amazement, and when I open my left hand there is nothing in my palm — as if a magic trick has caused the coin I picked up at Yankee Stadium to disappear. But when I open my right hand, I see a quarter — inspecting it more closely, it’s a New Jersey state quarter, hearkening back to my home-state roots.

When I look up again, my bride and I have inexplicably vanished from the serene woodland sanctuary — but beyond the pastor trio is someone else I’d missed before. On a wooden podium stands a man who looks like Miracle Max of “Princess Bride” fame, who had been at the parade earlier. His ancient face is framed in sadness, yet his eyes twinkle hopefully as he calls out a clear question: “What’s so important — what you got here that’s worth living for?”

A breeze rustles the trees surrounding the outdoor sanctuary, and blowing in that wind a voice from an unseen speaker replies: “True love” — and then in a flash I’m suddenly back at Yankee Stadium, coin in hand.

Looking once more at the quarter, I see the words “New Jersey” and “Crossroads of the Revolution” and “E Pluribus Unum” — the Latin motto of the United States, meaning “out of many, one” — and two inscribed silver numerals: 1787 and 1999.

A man in an Easter-egg-blue three-piece suit walks past me and declares, “That quarter was produced in 1787 and New Jersey was established in 1999” — utter confidence oozing from his voice — and right on his heels a man wearing a tattered maroon sweater says softly, “That quarter was made in 1999 and New Jersey was founded in 1787.”

So there is a significant interpretation difference related to this coin — two drastically different takes on how to understand what the numbers on this state quarter mean and how those dates are to be accurately construed and understood and explained.

In another flash, I’m taken back to the tranquil outdoor sanctuary, except the seasons have changed and a winter’s day reigns over frozen snow-covered farm fields. My bride and I are still nowhere in sight, and on the snow-covered ground, right where we had been standing, are three dark-blue baseball caps: a Boston Red Sox cap with the iconic red B and a New York Yankees cap with the interlocking white N and Y — and a third cap in-between with the interlocking NY and the B joined as one.

Beneath the three caps, a heart-shaped crimson stain seeps into the once-pristine snow.

To be continued

© Bruce William Deckert 2023

Tags: 2000 World Series, Fall Classic Dream State, Miracle Max, The Princess Bride