It is summer, I am fourteen years old. Instead of going to church on Sundays I begin to go to Golden Gate Park by myself to watch baseball games. Aunt Merleen always said, "God gives you two eyes, one to keep on what you have, and one to keep on what you want." The whole month of July I keep both my eyes on the back gate at Golden Park looking for number twenty-two, my lucky number according to the psychic who sits in the window on Fourth Street. I don't know what I am thinking. Maybe I hope that he will notice me out of all the other girls waiting around after the baseball game looking for a number. Dark hair, dark eyes in a beautiful face. Lips that speak Spanish. I imagine that he will teach me things, give me things, take me away from it all. He is the one to stain me with passion.