“That guy was a prick.”
The jersey rippled in the breeze as it hung from the City Hall eaves, shrouding the Roman Columns that stood guard on either side of the double-doored entrance. Bureaucrats shuffled underneath, tilting their heads to avoid the double-knit polyester that ran just shy of three stories. “HAMILTON” it read in block lettering above a number 3 the size of a sedan. The steel wiring tethered at the collar and sleeves kept it from swaying. Pete wondered who’d you have to call to get a jersey that big.
“A real prick,” he reiterated.
“He wasn’t that bad,” Alex said at Pete’s shoulder. “He was nice to me in chemistry, let me borrow a pencil a couple times when mine broke.”
“You nuts? He was a stone-cold asshole. Total jerk.”
Alex shrugged. “Eh, I guess.”
“What he’d do to you?” Jared asked from Pete’s other side.
“Guy never said two words to me,” Pete said. “All those years and nothing. Like I didn’t exist.”
“It was a big school.”
“What do you mean, big? We only had a hundred fifty kids in our class. Me and him had the same teacher in third and fifth grade. He hit me in the face with a dodgeball.”
“I was there for that,” Alex said. “He said he was sorry.”
“Only after the teacher made him,” Pete said. “I had a mark on my cheek the whole day.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So, he did say something to you,” Jared said.
The serried trio balanced on the lip of the sidewalk, necks craned and hands shielding their eyes from the morning sun as they gazed upon the scene across the street. Up and down the block utility workers hung banners and decorations in preparation of the arrival of the prodigal son. Grady Hamilton had been inducted into the baseball Hall of Fame and was coming home to celebrate.
“I don’t get you two,” Pete said. “Come on, I can’t look at this anymore.”
Pete stuffed his hands into his pockets and spun on his heel. He marched toward the Center Street Diner — the greasy spoon the three congregated at most mornings — without caution for passersby on either side. The bell above chimed as Pete yanked the door open. He was the only customer that wasn’t collecting Social Security. The counter was full and most of the handful of tables were taken, but their usual booth just inside the entryway was open. The table had not yet been cleared, but Pete staked his claim regardless. Alex slid in on the vacant side, Jared next to him. Pete always got a bench to himself – he muttered when he had to share.
Janey looked up from the mug she had filled at the counter and held up an index finger. She sent a busboy over to collect the dishes and continued down the line, pouring until each mug was filled to its owner’s delight. She returned the now-empty pot to its stainless steel perch and shuffled over with a pad and pencil she dug out of her faded pink apron.
“Gonna be an exciting day, huh fellas?” she said.
“Christ, not you too,” Pete said.
“Oh, get over yourself. Stuff like this doesn’t happen often. Embrace the pageantry.”
Pete looked up from the straw wrapper he had been folding into a cube to find bejeweled baseballs dangling from Janey’s earlobes and a shade of eyeshadow he had never seen in a decade as a regular.
“Not for that guy.”
“What do you have against him?”
“He’s annoying. We had to listen to him do the announcements every morning in school. I’ve had enough of him to last a lifetime.”
“Well, I think he’s a nice guy. Looks good, too.”
She winked at Jared.
“Just get us the usual,” Pete said.
“Actually, I’d like the corn beef today,” Alex piped up.
Pete looked at Alex, bewildered that he would eschew the morning ritual of two eggs over easy, sausage links, hashbrowns and a side of rye toast.
“What?” Alex said. “I’ve never tried it.”
Janey smiled as she scribbled and said she’d be back with coffee. Pete ripped the paper wrapping off his napkin and unspooled his silverware. All around the talk was of Grady Hamilton. Pete grew annoyed at his fellow diners as they chittered.
“It’s just so nice that after all the hubbub over the weekend, he still makes time to come home,” a woman said from the booth at Pete’s back.
“He lives half an hour away,” Pete grumbled. “It ain’t like he’s going out of his way.”
“So, are we going today?” Jared said.
“I’d like to,” Alex said. “It’ll be cool. Pretty much everyone I know’s going.”
“Yeah, and who do you know?” Pete said. “Everyone you know is in this booth.”
“The guys at the office are bringing their kids.”
“Did they tell you that, or did you just overhear it?”
Alex looked down at the sugar he stirred into his coffee. The steam fogged his glasses.
“Alright, take it easy Pete,” Jared said. “Let’s talk about something else.”
They fell silent. Pete slurped his mug as he combed through his mental rolodex for an anecdote. He had already complained about his hours at the hardware store, and the lady who got mad at him because the fuchsia paint had looked different on her wall than it did in the can. His cat was sick, but she was always sick and it didn’t warrant a conversation. Instead, he cataloged the condiments on the table as he waited for his food.
“Well, if we’re going, we should find something to do to kill a couple hours,” Jared said with a mouthful of a belatedly-ordered side of bacon — another deviation from the norm.
“Record store’s having a sale,” Alex said. “I was thinking of picking up a few.”
“Let’s hit the library too. I got a few books in my bag I need to get back.”
“We wanna grab lunch before? Starts at twelve-thirty, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ll eat after. I don’t like eating lunch before one.”
Pete shoveled yolk-soaked toast into his mouth, irritated at the blossoming itinerary. His small social media circle had plastered his feed with clips of Grady’s speech the day before in Cooperstown, and he could think of a thousand things he would rather do than huddle with his fellow citizens in ninety-eight percent humidity while Grady dished out platitudes.
“I gotta pick up my check,” Pete said. “I haven’t been in since payday.”
“You don’t have direct deposit?” Jared asked.
“They got enough info on me. They don’t need my bank account too.”
Pete finished his meal while he half-listened to Alex gripe about the myriad chores his mother assigned him. He bit down the urge to tell him to grow up and move out already – for Christ’s sake, you’re almost forty – since he had been enough of a dick to that point.
Janey came back with the check once the plates were cleaned and mugs drained. Pete slid it over for the other two to sort out. He had paid the day before. Alex and Jared bickered for a few minutes about whose turn it was, and eventually Alex put down a few bills. They rose from the booth in agreement that Jared was up next.
Pete pulled rank and herded the group to the hardware store since it was only a few doors down. Alex and Jared waited outside. Pete liked to keep his worlds siloed and didn’t want to have to make any introductions. He grimaced when he saw Ralph at the register. Ralph was chatty, and any interaction with him that lasted less than five minutes was a minor miracle. The store was otherwise empty and Pete considered turning back but Ralph was already waving at him.
“Grady in town yet?” Ralph said. “I keep looking for a limo to pass by.”
“I got enough to worry about to know the location of others. I’m here for my check.”
Ralph ducked down and rummaged through the cubby holes beneath the counter.
“I’m looking to get a ball signed,” Ralph said from below. “My nephew loves him. Wants to be a third baseman just like Grady Hamilton. He watches his old highlights on YouTube.”
Pete tapped his fingers on the counter. “That’s nice.”
“You ever watch Grady play in the majors?”
“Can’t say that I did.”
“I’ll tell ya, it was something special. Everyone talks about him with the bat, but his defense was a thing of beauty. Look up a video of him starting a double play. I can’t describe it. It’s poetry.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Pete turned and leaned against the counter. He scanned the Craftsman display he had assembled earlier that week. It was yardwork season and they were offering new models of weed whackers, reciprocating saws, and leaf blowers. It took half a day to set up plus an extra half hour after a customer lost track of his kid who knocked it all over.
Ralph slapped down an envelope. “Here it is. Hey, did I hear you were in Grady’s class? That must’ve been something.”
“Yeah, a real honor,” Pete said.
“What was he like?”
Some heat crept up Pete’s neck.
“Same as he is now, everyone’s favorite.”
“Oh, I bet. You hang out at all?”
“I had a group project with him in social studies about Prohibition in middle school. He claimed he was too busy with baseball to do the work, which was bullshit. He stood with us during the presentation and took the credit just the same. Guy was a pain in the ass.”
Pete swiped the check and left before Ralph could get another word in. Alex and Jared were in disagreement on their next stop. The record store wasn’t open for another fifteen minutes, but the small crowd at the door up the block was making Alex anxious. Pete sided with Jared since the library was just across the street. They stood at a crosswalk and watched the crowd forming on the City Hall lawn.
“Must be almost a hundred people already,” Jared said.
“Weren’t you in the school play with Grady?” Alex said
“Sure was, Oklahoma, senior year. He was Curly McLain. I was an extra at the dance and helped build the set. Grady had a real good voice. Projected it well.”
“I heard he was getting handjobs from Becca Partridge backstage,” Pete said.
“That was just a rumor,” Jared said. “Zach Byington spread it to get Grady and Jackie Edwards to break up so he could take a shot at her.”
The sign gave the all-clear and they made their way across Main Street. Pete glared at the tinted windshield of a BMW that edged forward to get a jump for when the light changed. The library was crowded with those taking shelter in the air conditioning. Jared dumped his books in the metal receptacle and was overruled after he suggested a quick browse.
They retreated to the record shop, which was now open and bustling with activity. Alex grew tense with each patron he noticed inside. He was a car length ahead of Pete and Jared when he entered the store.
John Fogerty’s Centerfield played overhead. The septum-pierced cashier was having PTSD flashbacks to when his father forced him to play a season of Little League. Pete and Jared broke off on their own while Alex was already clutching half a dozen records. After a cursory stroll down a pair of aisles, Pete retreated for the door.
The crowd across the street had doubled in size. A few industrious souls went around selling water bottles and novelty ice creams from coolers they dragged up and down the block. Some in the audience wore the red road jersey, while most opted for the clean home whites, but they all said “Hamilton” on the back.
“You interested in a Grady card, sir?”
Pete turned to find an old man in a sweaty T-shirt pushing a cart full of Grady Hamilton memorabilia at his elbow.
“I hear he’ll be signing autographs,” the man said. “Good time to get something if you’re empty-handed.”
“No thanks.”
“Come on, you gotta get something. How often do you get a chance like this?”
“Exactly, how often? The guy left town the second he could and didn’t come back until his time in the spotlight was done. And the rest of us who stuck around for twenty years have to pretend he’s some hero on the rare occasion he graces us with his presence.”
“That’s not fair. He’s given quite a bit to the Boys & Girls Club, and he’s invested in a lot of the businesses downtown. He’s doing his part.”
“Yeah, well I remember him giving a book report in English. It was on Dune – one of my favorite books. The guy only read the first few chapters but made up everything else. The idiot teacher didn’t even notice and gave him an A.”
The man nodded and pushed his cart over to a nearby father and son. Pete meandered on the sidewalk, shuffling the same five or six steps back and forth until Alex and Jared came out a few minutes later.
“Let’s hurry up and get over there,” Alex said. “Looks like the good spots will be gone soon.”
The yard was half the size of a football field and filled with onlookers parked in lawn chairs. There was no place to stand in the grass that wouldn’t obstruct the view, so the trio found a spot in the front row along a roped-off cobblestone path that ran from the base of the City Hall steps around to a side entrance. They waited twenty minutes past the scheduled start time – Pete made a show of tapping his watch – until Grady Hamilton emerged and descended the stairs, flanked by the ranking city council member and the mayor, who carried an oversized key coated in gold in both hands.
“Jesus, finally,” Pete said as the crowd came to life.
The politicians gave speeches extolling Grady’s myriad feats and service to the community. Pete glanced at Jared and made a jerk-off motion. At one o’clock, when the event had been slated to conclude, Grady took the podium.
“I can’t begin to describe how honored I am to be here today with members of the community I hold so dear,” he began. “Today is not about Grady Hamilton. I’ve been blessed to have my accomplishments recognized by so many people this weekend, but it is impossible for me to have achieved them on my own. Today is about celebrating those who made it possible. I’m fortunate to have so many friends, family, and other familiar faces here today, but this isn’t just about them. This is about my hometown. Whether you’ve lived here for forty years or forty seconds, you are the reason I’m here today. And for that, I thank you.”
A tidal wave of applause halted the proceedings for three full minutes. Grady attempted to trudge through but was overruled. He dabbed a knuckle to his eye. Things got back on track and Grady continued thanking each and every person who had ever lived in the zip code. He acknowledged his teachers, his coaches, his neighbors, and just when he had the crowd in the palm of his hand, his mother. Pete remembered her. She was an off-putting woman who rarely spoke to anyone she didn’t need to. Pete worked at the grocery store in high school and once watched Mrs. Hamilton leave her cart in an empty parking spot one over from the carriage return.
It was just shy of one-thirty when the mayor handed over the key. It was the first time a key had been bestowed upon a native son in over eighty years. A local novelist and screenwriter were the last recipient just before World War II, but it was rescinded after his name was named to the House Un-American Activities Committee. The ensuing embarrassment dissuaded generations of elected officials from risking another until the mayor was satisfied with Grady Hamilton’s clean bill of background health.
As Grady descended toward the crowd Pete felt pressure on his back. The horde had forced itself forward, arms skyward and waving hats, jerseys, pennants, baseballs, or whatever else they hoped to grace with Grady’s signature. Alex and Jared each dug in their bags to find something. Grady pulled a Sharpie from his breast pocket and signed blindly, giving and taking items from anonymous arms. He shook the hands extended to him and posed for selfies with those who had their phones ready when their turns arrived. He moved six inches in five minutes.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Pete said as he tugged on Jared’s sleeve.
Jared couldn’t hear. He was hoisting his cap forward for a signature. As Grady passed, Pete kept his hands in his pockets and looked at his shoes.
“Oh my God, Pete?”
Pete’s head snapped up.
“Pete Donahue, is that you?” Grady said.
“Uh, yeah it is.”
“Wow it is so good to see you, man. Is your mom still teaching music class?”
“Uh, she retired last year.”
“Good for her. Really is great to see you. Glad to see you’re looking good. You want to get a picture?”
“Absolutely, man.”
