by Ben Clabaugh
As David’s dad steered the car onto 51st Street, he handed a paper bag over the seat. Inside were three crisp, brand new, official Kansas City Royals hats—just like the ones the players wore.
“Whoa,” David breathed, lightly caressing the stiff cotton peak and stitched lettering. He handed one to Shelton.
“Thank you,” Shelton said, placing the hat carefully on his lap, holding it like it was a full casserole dish.
“Well, put it on,” David cried, gratefully snatching at the brim of the Elmer Fudd hat.
Shrugging, Shelton snugged the Royals cap down over his head and turned, smiling. It was better, but the bill was crooked and David thought he still looked a bit like Elmer Fudd. David shook his head, and gazed forlornly into the rear view mirror. His dad drove, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, oblivious to the torment David was going through. He glanced at Shelton again. Shelton returned his gaze and grinned.
What the heck, David thought. I’m with my dad, we’re going to a ballgame, what does it matter who tags along?
Feeling a little better, he lowered his window and let his hand ride the wind, dipping and swooping like a tiny airplane.
Traffic slowed to a crawl as the old station wagon approached the exit to the stadium. While David’s dad wove his way across the lanes toward the exit ramp, Shelton half-hung out the window, waving and smiling at the people in nearby cars.
David was mortified. He slunk down in his seat pulling the brim of his cap down low over his face, waiting for the honking, jeering, or the sound of car doors opening followed by the beating of fists against the car.
It never came.
He glanced out the window and was surprised to see people smiling and waving back like Shelton was some kind of celebrity. Some people even hollered a greeting out the window. Kids, especially, responded waving maniacally until their car dwindled out of sight. David smiled in spite of himself. People waved at him, too, and he waved back, out of reflex. It was fun. Pretty soon he was waving and smiling as much as Shelton.
At first, David’s dad reacted as if he thought he should know the people waving. He would smile, nod hello, raise a half-hearted wave, then look off into space for a second before shrugging and shaking his head. He did this a couple of times before catching a glimpse of the two boys in the rear view mirror. David met his eye, winked then returned his attention to the road.
David was surprised at how much fun he was having, sharing a smile and a wave. It felt almost like they had a whole conversation—“Hello! How are you doing? You look very happy. You must be having a really good time? Why thank you, and I actually am having a great time. You look like you’re having fun, too. Isn’t this great?”—all conveyed by a wave, a smile, flash of teeth, widening of the eyes, and sometimes a shout and a honk. For the first time in a long time he didn’t feel totally alone. Not only was he with his dad who, for a change, seemed relaxed and engaged, but there were others that actually seemed glad that David existed—and he was glad they existed. The feeling stayed with him even after they exited the interstate and accelerated down the curving exit ramp.
