Hometown Heroes

by Joe Gribble

okay.”

  “Good,” Kepler says. “Of course, you know great players win games, but it takes great teams to win championships.”

  Bob nods. “Yeah, I’ve heard that. We’re getting better, but I’m not sure we’ll have it all together before the first game. Championship may be out of the picture. We’ll see.”

  “If you need a motivator, I have one.” Kepler says. “I just found out the Dragons are offering walk-on tryouts to the team that wins the playoffs.”

  Bob looks at Major Kepler. “The Dayton Dragons?”

  Kepler nods. “Yeah. Those Dragons. In fact, the playoffs are at Fifth Third Field.”

  “Tryouts for the whole team?” Bob asks. “Wow. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Reds have scouts there. The Dragons are a Reds farm team.”

  Kepler nods. “That’s possible.”

  “That would be a good motivator,” Bob says. “Honestly, though, I don’t think we have much of a chance to win the playoffs.”

  “Maybe,” Kepler says. “But don’t underestimate America’s team.”

  “America’s team?” Bob asks.

  Kepler waves his hand at the baseball players in the field. “Can’t you see it? Black. Hispanic. Asian. I think Santini is Italian. Where else can you find that much diversity?”

  Bob smiles. “Diversity, sure. Skill... maybe not so much.”

  “I see some skill,” Kepler says. “I think you do, too. Just need to hone it.”

  “Working on it,” Bob says.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” Kepler says, standing.

  “Yes, sir,” Bob says.

  As Major Kepler leaves, Bob walks out to the field, waves the team in. They jog in and crowd around their coach. “Okay, guys. I don't want you to get your hopes up, but after the final playoffs, the Dragons are going to hold open tryouts for the winning team.”

  The Bandits go crazy, jumping up and down.

  “All right,” Pauli hollers.

  “We got this, Coach,” Q says.

  JJ pumps his fist into the air. “I'm gonna play baseball!”

  ---

  Government Office Building

  Bob steps out of the elevator and through the doors into the Immigration Office. He walks up to the receptionist behind the half-wall.

  “Is Ms. Kuznieski in?” Bob asks. He hadn’t been able to get Julie off his mind since he first met her. The fact that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring was a positive, but Bob struggled with tons of self-doubt. Why would anyone as attractive as Julie consider going out with a one-armed sergeant?

  The receptionist seems annoyed by the interruption as she looks up from a magazine. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No,” Bob says. “I met with her a few days ago and was just stopping by to see if she’s made any progress on a problem she offered to help me with.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Just a sec.” The receptionist picks up her phone and punches in two numbers.

  “Julie, there's a Mister...” She reads his name-tape. ”A Mr. Williams here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment.”

  She listens a moment. “Sure.” She hangs up the phone and points at the plastic chairs in the lobby. “Just take a ....”

  Before the receptionist can finish her sentence, Julie rounds the corner. She spots Bob in the reception area.

  “Bob?”

  “Julie, I hope you don't mind... we just finished practice...”

  “I’m guessing you want an update on your friend?” Julie asks.

  “Yeah, that... and I thought... was wondering...” Bob searches for the words. Fortunately, Julie’s cell phone rings, saving him.

  Julie pulls her phone out of her slacks pocket. She holds up a finger to Bob... one moment. She listens for a few seconds, then replies into the phone, “I’m so sorry, I'm on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  She closes the connection. “I have to pick up my daughter. I'm late. Tell you what, let me get my purse and I'll update you on the way down.”

  Julie turns to go back to her office.

  Bob calls after her. “How about dinner?”

  Julie stops, turns back. Considers. Smiles. “You like chicken nuggets? I promised my daughter.”

  Bob grimaces, forces a fake smile. “Love ‘em.”

  “Okay, then.” Julie smiles. “I’ll be right back.”

  Bob only has to wait a moment before Julie returns with her purse. He holds the door for her as they step into the hall and he pushes the button for the elevator.

  “I’m sorry, Bob,” she says. “I almost forgot I was supposed to pick up my daughter early today.”

  “How old is she?” Bob asks.

  “Eight. Her school’s just a few blocks away. I promised her chicken nuggets tonight. I don’t let her have fast food often, so tonight’s a treat.”

  The elevator doors open and they step inside. Julie pushes the button for the bottom floor.

  “Any word on Ramiro?” Bob asks.

  “Nothing specific,” Julie says. “I have a few discrete queries in to the State Department. I hope to know something in a week or two.”

  An awkward silence hangs over the pair as they ride the elevator down the two floors to the building entrance. Bob keeps looking at Julie, embracing her beauty. She spots him checking her out and he glances quickly away, but not before noticing her smile back at him.

  They exit the elevator and Bob holds the door for Julie as they step into the bright sunshine.

  “Mind if I drive?” Bob asks. Hoping to… no, needing to show Julie he’s capable of doing most things with just one arm.

  “Not at all,” Julie says.

  Bob leads her to his truck parked near the curb. He opens the passenger door, and helps Julie in.

  Bob goes around to the driver's side and climbs in. He pulls his seat belt tight and reaches around with his left hand to put the keys in the ignition.

  Julie curls up her nose. “Now, that's a familiar smell. You've been shooting?”

  “Sorry,” Bob says. “I didn't have a chance to clean up before going to ball practice.”

  Bob shifts into gear and slides into traffic.

  “Turn right,” Julie says. “It's not far. How'd you shoot?”

  Bob shakes his head. “Not too well. It’s pretty tough for a right-handed guy to shoot lefty.

  “Not if you know what you're doing,” Julie tells him.

  “Huh? You know something about shooting?”

  ”A little,” she says. “I can give you a few pointers if you’d like.”

  Bob smiles broadly. “You can? Right.”

  “Dad was a Marine,” Julie says. “I’ve been shooting since the first grade, competitively since high school.”

  “Wow... yeah,” Bob says. “I’ll take all the help I can get. I have to re-qualify before I can get back to work.”

  Julie points at the private school coming up on their right. A few cars are parked along the curb, but there is space for several more. “Right here.”

  Bob pulls into one of the empty spaces.

  Julie opens her door. “I’ll go in and get her. Be just a minute.”

  Bob climbs out and walks around to wait on the sidewalk, leaning against his truck. He watches as parents come out with their children. He always wanted children, eventually. But now? He wondered what it’d be like, having a child, raising a child with just one arm. Would it make any difference?

  Bob sees Julie step out of the school. Holding her hand is a cute little red-headed girl.

  They walk up to Bob.

  “Sarah, this is Mr. Williams.”

  Sarah looks up at Bob.

  “Where's your arm?” she asks, innocently.

  “Sarah, hush...” Julie says.

  “It's okay,” Bob says. “People ask me that all the time.” He holds out his left hand. “It's right here.”

  Sarah shakes her head and points at his right side.“ No. I mean that arm.”

  “Oh,” Bob says, smiling. “That arm
. It's about halfway around the world.”

  “Don't you miss it?” Sarah asks.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I miss it a lot.”

  Sarah shrivels up her nose, thinking. “How do you tie your shoes?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Bob says. He squats down in front of her and points at the zipper on his boot. He runs the zipper down and then back up. “See?”

  “Enough questions, Sarah,” Julie says.

  “Watch this,” Sarah says. She squats down and peels the Velcro back on her own shoe. “I can tie my shoes, but this is a lot easier.”

  “Kind of like my shoes,” Bob grins widely. This is a sharp little girl, he thinks to himself. “Do you want something to eat?”

  Sarah nods and smiles. “Chicken nuggets.”

  “All right, then,“ Bob says. “Let's go.”

  ---

  Tigers Baseball Field

  Bob has a slight case of first-game jitters. The Tigers’ ballpark, though not grand, at least has grass in the infield and some wooden shelters that serve as ”dugouts.” The Bandits have taken their first at bat with no hits. Three up and three down.

  The Bandits grab their gloves and head into the field as Josh Santini comes over and tosses his bat against the fence. He comes down into the dugout. The team encourages him with, “It’s okay, Josh. Next time!” Ramiro slaps him on the butt. “You almost connected on that last swing.”

  The Bandits wait outside the dugout. Bob joins them. “Okay, Bandits,” he says, “let's take the game to them.”

  The Bandits form a circle. Bob sticks his hand out, palm down. The rest of the Bandits crowd around and stick their hands in as well.

  Ramiro sounds cadence. “One, two, three…”

  “BANDITS!!” the team shouts in unison.

  They break and head out onto the field. Their uniforms—jerseys and blue jeans—are a stark contrast to the Tigers’ complete, regulation baseball uniforms. Bob makes a mental note to do something about that.

  The Tigers are an