by Ben Clabaugh
The blue and white Royals baseball stadium and red and white Chief’s football stadium, standing shoulder to shoulder in the midst of an expanse of shimmering asphalt slid into view as the descending ramp curved around a layered, limestone bluff topped by a tall, pointed steel radio tower. From a distance, people filing from their cars to the stadium looked like ants converging on a couple of giant birthday cakes.
Shelton continued to greet everyone in sight, waving and smiling, as they walked from the parking space under the light pole marked P-6 toward the spiral ramp at the corner of the stadium. David had enjoyed it while inside the car, but outside it seemed different. The closer they got to the entrance, the more people they encountered on the walkways, and the more Shelton’s behavior seemed to annoy people. David became more and more uncomfortable. As a father and his young son—David thought he looked about four—neared, the father grimaced as he spied Shelton. He reached out and pulled the boy closer to him protectively as if Shelton were dangerous. The man glared accusingly at David’s father. At once, Shelton lowered his hands. His smile faded, and he stepped aside slightly, giving the father more room.
David knew that the father’s reaction would be repeated endlessly as they were surrounded by more and more people. He looked around self-consciously, realizing that once someone saw Shelton, they would have no choice but to think that David was either so pathetic he could only get this retard as a friend, or they were brothers, and so must be just alike.
He wanted to shout out, announcing that none of this was his fault, that his stupid parents had moved him into this stupid neighborhood and forced him to spend all his time with this stupid kid. David purposefully stepped to the other side of his dad away from Shelton. The paranoid father and his cringing little boy passed. Just as they drew even, without moving his head, Shelton shot the kid a wink and fast, brilliant, ear to ear smile. Fear fled boy’s face and was replaced by a grin of his own. With a giggle he tried to wink back, using his mouth to help get it right, but still closing both eyes.
David watched the transformation with wonder and he felt a surge of guilt. Shelton had seen the father’s reaction and instead of withdrawing, he had simply moderated his enthusiasm, giving the father what he obviously wanted—separation from the “freak”—while giving the little boy what he wanted—attention, a friend, recognition, a secret, and a treat. David continued to watch Shelton and people’s reaction to him as they walked up the corkscrew ramp toward the upper level of the stadium. Some people, especially young kids, greeted him with genuine enthusiasm. Others shrank away, or glared. Most, though, looked through Shelton, noticing him, but working hard at appearing to not notice, as if acknowledging him would obligate them, somehow.
David wondered how the relatively few smiles Shelton received could cover the toll of so much hostility and intentional indifference.
He could feel the heat of derision and resentment from people in the crowd. He felt as though they were all staring at him, blaming him for bringing this “freak” out in public. Snippets and pieces of conversation, some whispered, some not, seemed hurled at him. He walked with his head down staring at his feet, flinching each time he heard, “…disgusting…”, or, “….poor thing….,” or “…retard….” He knew they were referring to Shelton and, by extension, to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached for his dad’s hand. He wanted to go home. He wanted to just leave Shelton here, get in the car, drive home, and shut himself in his room.
His father’s hand was dry and warm. David felt a firm, reassuring squeeze. The voices stopped, fading into the incomprehensible buzz of a distant crowd.
He opened his eyes and looked up. The sky was pure, deep blue beyond the shadowed concrete underside of the upper deck. David was standing next to the solid concrete railing at the outer edge of the deck. He looked out and down to the ticket turn-styles, far below. A deep voice echoed from all directions, announcing the ‘singing of our national anthem.’ Bright sunlight, green, green grass and a distant, cascading water fall beyond the right-center field fence shone at the end of a rectangular tunnel leading to their seats like a magic doorway to another world.
He scanned the crowd and spotted hid dad in line at the concession stand. Confused, David looked down his own arm and saw that it was Shelton holding his hand. He looked at Shelton and opened his mouth, preparing to ask him just what the heck he thought he was doing, but he stopped.
Shelton was still watching the passers-by, laughing and waving, and even hooting. As before, he received some happy, some nasty, and some indifferent returns. David realized that Shelton did not so much ignore the nasty looks, he just did not acknowledge them. He saw them, for sure. He would look into as many people’s faces as the passing throng would allow. He just seemed to discard those nasty faces as if he were sorting pebbles in a stream-bed, keeping those he liked, and dropping those he didn’t without another thought.
David suddenly pictured Janie sitting on his grandfather’s lap, her eyes red and puffy because David had called her a pest. With one eye fixed pointedly at David his grandfather told Janie a story David had forgotten until that moment. The story was about a very wise man named Buddha. Some guy heard that you could call Buddha names and make fun of his family all day long and never make him mad. Wanting to be the first to anger the Buddha, this guy went up to Buddha and really gave it to him. For days, he called the Buddha names, insulted him, and insulted his family. Finally he said to the Buddha, “I have made fun of and ridiculed you and your entire family. How can you stand it?” The Buddha replied, “If you give someone a gift and they decline it, who then owns the gift?”
“Why, I do of course,” the man replied. Buddha walked away.
David remembered the twinkle in the old man’s eye as he waited to see if David had understood. He had. Janie had fallen asleep on his grandfather’s lap, her lips curled slightly upward in a smug grin. David thought she had understood, too.
David swallowed past the hollow ache in his throat, watching Shelton and thinking about the story. Was Shelton’s enthusiastic, sincere greeting and openness a gift? He wondered what the people who responded felt. David remembered the feeling he had felt as they sat in traffic. Even though he and the people he had waved to sat in separate cars and were going to different places, he had felt some sort of connection with them, a sense of sharing that he did not feel with the people in this crowd just two feet away. He shrugged and shook his head.
Maybe, he thought, Shelton’s just a weird, kid. Friendly, but weird.
