top of page

Not Quite Enough

Not sure what's going on here

As I was dropping Nat off for her trip back to the Lowlands, we lamented never having made it to the Modern for our customary late night cannoli, and then there were other things missed.

There's a particular feeling I have at the end of our day at the Newport men's tennis tournament, something we haven't missed since we began perhaps 15 years ago. Our routine is well-honed: Always go early rounds, never buy tickets until day of, hound Nat to get ready faster than she wants so we can be down there when things start, park two blocks away at the public housing project, stop at Empire for an iced tea or coffee which we then realize we can't bring in so gulp down, buy grandstand tickets but rarely sit there because that's where uninteresting games with big serves are, sit on the steps and be amazed what humans can do with their bodies, lunch at A Market across the street, sneak into the expensive, shaded seats, and as the day dies down, finish with dinner nearby at Pasta Beach, where we often see the pros eating with their people.

A long time ago

John Isner and his big serve, from the shaded seats

Leaving the restaurant, there are patches of golden light on the old orangey bricks of the ITHOF building, while the tournament folks prep for the next day when we won't be there, which feels heartless. As we near First Beach, taking in the early evening's silvery water, a feeling comes over me that is the opposite of being unfulfilled, yet it's not fulfilled, because I don't want this perfect day to end.

Once, we came back a second day. And it was good but felt a bit like eating too much candy.


bottom of page