After three and a half hours in the car, the last thirty minutes of which were spent in a two-mile long construction detour, I finally make it to the street in front of Shelley’s apartment. It’s a red brick student housing unit that looks a little worn down, but the surrounding neighborhood seems nice, judging by the community playground and cafes with bistro tables on the sidewalks. I want to walk up to her door to get her,but there doesn’t seem to be anywhere to park. As I circle the block at a snail’s pace for the second time, a tap on the passenger window startles me. Shelley opens the back door as I slam on the brakes, and she tosses in her suitcase. The car was hardly moving, so the actual act of stopping isn’t as dramatic as the thumping in my chest makes it feel.
“Jesus. You scared me. Do you still have all your toes over there?”
“All little piggies intact. Thanks for doing this,” Shelley says as she climbs into the front seat. The car behind us honks, and she turns around and smiles, flashing them a peace sign, which makes me laugh.
“No problem.”
The click of her seatbelt echoes through the car, and I maneuver my way back onto the crowded streets. An uncomfortable silence tries to settle over us, but I clear my throat, not wanting to let it.
“Have you had lunch yet? I wouldn’t mind making a pit stop.”
“Sorry. I should’ve thought to invite you up, but I know parking around here is a nightmare.”
“It’s all good. But are you hungry?”
“I can always eat.” She shrugs. “Burgers? They’re my favorite. I know a pretty great little local shop hidden out of the way.”
“That works.”
She directs me down some side roads, and we find street parking in a back alley just a few buildings down from the tiny shack serving food out of its front window. It looks like someone converted an old shed stuck between two townhouses. I follow her lead, and we stand close together waiting for our turn to order. There’s a line of about a dozen people ahead of us, but it’s moving quickly.
“I should warn you, they only have one option. It’s a three-pack of sliders, and they don’t take custom orders, so you have to take it or leave it. But trust me, as long as you don’t mind diced onion, they’re fantastic,” Shelley tells me.
It already smells amazing. “That’s cool, I’m not picky. I’m sure whatever we’re about to get will be infinitely better than some of the struggle meals I’ve forced down over the years.”
She nods and says, “I think you’ll like these. I’m a little bit picky about other things, but not food. My favorite competitive eater came here once and ate forty-three of these little burgers in an hour. I’ve never been able to eat more than six.” The disappointment in her voice makes me chuckle at her admission.
“Six is still pretty impressive,” I reassure her, and she shrugs.
It’s refreshing how Shelley is so unapologetically herself. I should’ve known today wouldn’t be a problem. She’s easy to be around, and she makes me laugh.
“I don’t think I would’ve pegged you as a competitive eater, but I have to say, I’m intrigued,” I say.
“Oh, I’m nowhere close to competitive, just a spectator. But I love watching it. Especially Stacy Haverson. There’s something so fascinating about people pushing their bodies to the limit. I guess it’s true for any sport, but I like that it’s something just about anyone with any body type can train themselves to do. You don’t need fancy equipment or expensive trainers.” Her face lights up while she talks, and she’s so animated that she needs to pause to take a deep breath after her sentence before launching into another one.
She goes on, “Imagine a woman who is like five-foot-two. She might never have a shot at the NBA, but she absolutely could train her body to take on any one of those same seven-foot-tall guys in an eating competition. And she could win. It evens outeveryone in terms of endurance, level of play, et cetera.” Her golden hair is pulled up into a high ponytail that bounces as she speaks, using her hands for emphasis. It’s kind of cute.
There’s a small smile forming on my face as I listen, but inwardly I remind myself I shouldn’t be looking at her like this.
“I think I get it.” I nod. “I do like the idea that the effort someone put into their training is more important than the body they were born into. When it comes to baseball, I can train as much as I want, but I still might never measure up to someone who was born with a taller, leaner body, better eyesight, and more natural talent. You’re saying this is more of a level playing field.”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe I should train for competitive eating after I’m done with baseball?”
“Yeah? Let me know when that happens, and I’ll take you on.” She nudges me playfully.
We find ourselves at the front of the line, and Shelley orders two packages and two sodas to go. She pulls out her wallet, but I step in and hand over the cash before she can take out her card. Shelley gives me a quizzical look, but when I subtly shake my head at her, she seems to accept that I’m not taking no for an answer on this one.
If I have an opportunity to feed someone, I’m always going to do it. That’s not negotiable for me. There was a long time in my life when I had no choice but to rely on the generosity of the people around me. Back then I promised myself that when I grew up, whenever I was in the position to be the one providing a meal for someone, I always would.
The cashier hands over a greasy paper bag. We didn’t order them, but apparently we didn’t have to, because every order also comes topped with a scoop of loose French fries.
“Thank you for lunch,” Shelley says as we head back to my car. “You really didn’t have to do that. I’m already putting you out by crashing at your place. I’ll pay for gas, and I’ve got dinner later.”
Other than another shake of my head, I chose to ignore her last comment and launch back into our previous discussion. “So, that’s why you like Stacy Haverson? The athleticism?”
Shelley opens the bag to take out a fry and pops it in her mouth while she gives me an impressed look. There’s already a second fry in her hand, which she points at me when she says, “You remember her name.”
