From JuJu with Love

The night before the world changed, we were at a baseball game.

Roger had driven down from Toronto to meet Mike, Marybeth, and me at Comerica Park for a Tigers game. Just four friends on a late summer night, living our best lives without knowing how precious ordinary nights can be.

Roger brought his dog, Hey You, with him to Windsor but, oddly, didn’t bring him across the border. Normally, when Roger was in town, Hey You stayed with me. For some reason, this time, he didn’t.

Funny the little details that stick with you.

We spent the evening doing exactly what you do at a Tigers game — beers in hand, laughing, posing for pictures by the statues in the outfield, soaking in the end-of-summer air. Roger had even brought a pint of whiskey from Canada to mix with soda at the stadium, which felt rebellious and hilarious at the time.

After the game, we all headed our separate ways. Roger and Mike went back toward Windsor (Canada). Marybeth went home. I headed back to my place.

And because Roger didn’t want to cross the border with an open bottle, I tossed the half-finished pint into my purse to take home.

No big deal.

Until, of course, I got pulled over on the way home.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I am painfully rule-abiding. I don’t jaywalk. I don’t speed. I color inside the lines. So sitting there with flashing lights behind me and an open bottle in my purse, I was absolutely terrified.

Surely this was how my life of crime would begin.

Instead, the officer gave me a ticket and sent me on my way. No arrest. No drama. Just a very rattled, very relieved me driving home and going to bed, thinking it was just another funny story.

And then the next morning, we woke up to the news.

Planes had hit the World Trade Center.

Everything stopped. Air travel shut down. Borders tightened. The world felt uncertain and frightening in a way we hadn’t experienced before.

And it hit me later — if Roger and Hey You had stayed at my place or with Marybeth that night, he might not have been able to get back to Canada for days. Maybe longer. Crossing the border suddenly wasn’t simple anymore.

All because of one ordinary night at a baseball game.

Sometimes history doesn’t announce itself. Sometimes it slips in quietly while you’re laughing with friends, holding a beer, posing for photos, arguing about who’s buying the next round.

One normal night.

The last normal night.

And none of us had any idea.

From Juju with love 💙