by Nathan Roden
“She used to say that swimming was a metaphor for life. I don’t remember if she made it up or just repeated it. I do remember that she always wore these long, flowered skirts and she had leather braids in her hair and wore hippie sandals, and she always smelled like honeysuckle.
“She said that we’re born on the shore and that’s where we stay while we’re young and selfish, and everything is about ME—feed ME, clothe ME, change ME, play with ME. We grow up a little and we see people swimming, or living, in the deep water and we want to go out there. So we make friends on the shore and we start to wade out—we become closer and we depend on each other. It’s thrilling, it’s exciting, and we feel alive.
“But we notice that anyone who is out there alone, is lost. People like Howard Hughes, Hemingway, maybe…Elvis? Or Michael? As if life cannot be lived deeply, alone. But there they are: The geniuses. The ridiculously gifted. They’re all so fragile and lonely. They never last. They can’t last.
“You might pity them or want to help them, or maybe you find that although you were holding someone’s hand at the moment when you could no longer keep your head above the water, they’ve vanished, and you’re all alone and…lost.”
“Lauren?” Babe asked.
Millie turned toward Babe and smiled.
“You have quite a number of layers of which I was not aware, Miss Millie Onion,” Babe said.
“Don’t cut me or I’ll make you cry,” Millie said.
“Are we ankle deep friends? You and me?” Babe asked.
“Probably,” Millie said.
“We don’t talk about your parents or your wife. We don’t talk about my sister, or about Bradley. But hey, we work together and we get along great. No worries, right?”
“I might be getting knee deep with my Dad, finally. My toes aren’t even wet with Mom. I’m probably about waist deep with my father-in-law, as strange as that is,” Babe said.
“I think it’s wonderful,” Millie said.
Babe stroked Mr. Pendleton’s head and stared out into the water.
“Jill only asked me for one thing. Just…one. She could have asked anything. She asked me to stay—to stay with her Daddy.
“Yeah. She was dying and she asked me to stay with her Daddy—who just happens to be the best person I know. Jesus, she might as well have asked me to have a slice of chocolate pie.”
Millie patted Babe’s free hand.
“Lauren moved to Boston about eight years ago. Every time we talked she went on and on about how great it was—the night life and the whole hip lifestyle thing. She had it all planned out. We’ll do this, then that—when are you coming?” Millie said.
“I had another bad break up so I dropped everything and moved here. Right before I did, Lauren moved in a boyfriend—the second one within a year. I always thought it would just be the two of us, you know? But I think Lauren was a little too much on the ‘needy’ side when it came to men.
“Anyway, boyfriend paid me wayyy too much attention, and after he made one too many comments in front of Lauren about how ‘great a threesome would be’, she blew a gasket—total fucking berserker— throwing shit, breaking shit, screaming…”
Millie caught her breath.
“That’s when MG and you picked me up.”
“It wasn’t your fault. She had to know that,” Babe said.
“She threw us both out. Then she let him move right back in. I miss her, but what can I do? She’s my only sister, but she chose…she’s so beautiful but I don’t think she even realizes it,” Millie said.
“I am so fucking sick of it—the same thing, over and over, ever since I was fourteen. I lost my best friend from the first grade because her boyfriend told her he couldn’t stop thinking about me, and that he was in love with me. But you know what? There are no support groups for pretty girls. Nobody is going to cry for you because you’re slobbered over by men and you automatically piss off every woman that lays eyes on you.
“When I think about those stupid beauty pageants I can’t believe I was so naive. They were fun, when I was a kid, and later I really needed the help with school.”
Millie looked down as she opened her right hand, her healing fingers shaking.
“You want to hear something absolutely pitiful? I never told anyone,” Millie said, sniffing.
“The last boyfriend I had before I left home—he has a little sister named Cameron. She was in the seventh grade when I met her—just the neatest kid—smart, funny, and not a pretentious bone in her body. We hit it off the first day. Like soul sisters,” Millie stared ahead and smiled.
“You know what she used to say to me? It always cracked me up the way she busted my chops. She would say to me, ‘don’t be a dumbass pretty girl’. Hell, I tried to get Randy to bring Cameron with us everywhere we went. I know he thought I was a freaking nut case.”
“Anyway, I found out that he was cheating on me with a so-called friend, of course, and you know what? I didn’t do anything about it for months because I didn’t want to lose Cameron. I was a college senior, and I let a boy screw me over because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing my fourteen year old friend. How fucking pathetic is that?”
“That’s not pathetic at all,” Babe said. “Don’t be a dumbass pretty girl.”
Millie punched Babe on the shoulder.
“So, what do you say? Calf-high friends?”
“That might be rushing it a little,” Babe said.
“Maybe cankle high.”
Another punch. Same shoulder.
Babe couldn’t help thinking about Bradley’s destroyed nose. The girl could throw a punch.
Babe stood and held his hand out to Millie.
“It’s about time for Mr. Pendleton’s five o’clock date.”
“If he shows symptoms of pretty puppy syndrome, I’m available for counseling,” Millie said.
They returned to Millie’s apartment an hour later. Millie stooped to tell Mr. Pendleton goodbye and then stood and kissed Babe on the cheek.
“This was a fantastic day, Babe. Thank you very, very much; for everything.”
“I had a great time, too, Millie. You should be good as new pretty soon. I’m glad,” Babe said. He patted his pockets and took out a pair of sunglasses.
“I need these for the bus,” he said, jerking his head toward Mr. Pendleton.
Millie giggled.
“Okay. I get it. Have a safe trip home, boys.”
Twenty-Seven
“How is Miss Vandermeer? Will she be back soon?” Gabriel asked.
“She may be back by next Monday. She’s good. Real good,” Babe said.
“You know, Gabriel, you never explained how you knew something was wrong with Millie in the first place.”
Gabriel stared at Babe and then cocked his head to the side.
“Maybe I could ask you the same question,” Gabriel said.
Babe shrugged.
“You’ve lost me.”
“Really?” Gabriel asked.
He continued to look Babe in the eye as he slowly reached with his right hand across the desk toward Babe’s arm.
Babe jerked his arms back.
“What are you…Stop it,” he said.
Gabriel withdrew his hand and leaned back in his seat. He began to rock gently.
“It is not that uncommon—such a fine line, between the world before our eyes, and the world unseen. Fear makes it no less real.”
Gabriel stopped the rhythmic rocking. He closed his eyes and grimaced.
“Is it warm in here?”
“Not really,” Babe said.
“I don’t even know where the thermostat is.”
Gabriel took off his jacket.
“I’m ready when you are, Mr. Babelton.”
Babe pulled a small booklet from his desk drawer.
“Okay, this exercise involves hypothetical situations that will profile your reactions based on moral stance, religious dogma, or belief system that may—”
“Ar
e you not speaking to your mother?” Gabriel asked.
Aw, shit. Not this again, Babe thought. We’re back to Rain Man?
“Gabriel, we have a chance to finish up today and then we can forward the results to the Bureau. You could be at Quantico pretty damn soon. Isn’t that what you want?” Babe asked.
“Of course. Are you not speaking to your mother?”
Babe exhaled heavily and fell back in his chair.
“My mother and I have had a difficult time communicating, particularly since she remarried. I have been in her and Rick Richmond’s way for a lot of years. I don’t mean to air my dirty laundry, but you asked,” Babe said.
Gabriel tapped his fingers against his lips while he looked out the window.
“I wish you would call your mother, Mr. Babelton. You do not want to and you think that she does not want to talk to you. But you need to…you need to be the adult. Talk to her. Please. It will prove beneficial.”
“It’s not that easy. Do you know what it’s like to be treated like you’re not good enough? Like you’re—”
Gabriel jumped to his feet.
“She will need you. She will remember that she is not just a wife—she is still a mother. That she doesn’t want to be a—and she—”
Gabriel wobbled and sat back down slowly.
“She will need you,” he said, softly.
Babe stood up and walked around his desk.
“Hey. Are you all right? Talk to me.”
Gabriel blinked a few times and shook his head. He looked at Babe.
“I’m…Yes. I’m good.”
An hour and fifteen minutes later Gabriel handed Babe his exam booklet. Babe stared up at Gabriel. He thought that Gabriel looked a little spaced-out. He hated the thought of Gabriel being eighty-sixed by the FBI because he was not at his best.
“Once again, that was quick,” Babe said.
“Let’s not push this today, Gabriel. These last two tests are pretty intense. They require long, drawn-out responses, and I know that the Bureau pays a lot of attention to them. We got a little sidetracked today, so let’s just finish up some other time. It’s only Monday. Later in the week will be fine.”
“Sure. Tomorrow night at six thirty again, then?” Gabriel asked.
“If you’re up to it,” Babe said.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Gabriel asked.
“Well, the forecast is for rain,” Babe said.
Gabriel dismissed this with the wave of a hand.
“It may rain but it will not last—perfect baseball weather.”
Babe watched Gabriel leave the office. He sighed and his shoulders drooped. He picked up his cell phone.
“Hello, Mom? Do you have a minute? Hey, about Christmas Eve—”
Babe and Gabriel walked away from the concession stand.
“You’re not going to tell me we have the same seats tonight, are you?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“I am afraid not. We are on the same row but on the next aisle over.”
“Oh, the horror,” Babe said.
The Toronto Blue Jays acquired a starting pitcher during the off-season that had the Red Sox hitters tied-up in knots. The Blue Jay hitters were taking out all kinds of aggressions against the Green Monster, bouncing four hits off of it in the first two innings alone.
Babe turned to Gabriel.
“Man, this is getting ugly. You’re not miserable, are you?”
“Absolutely not. I love my Red Sox. But I love baseball, more,” Gabriel said.
Babe turned back to the game.
“Absolutely. Well said, my bizarre friend.”
Babe looked at Gabriel in shock, because Gabriel had punched him on the arm.
Gabriel stared straight ahead, grinning.
“That was for Miss Vandermeer.”
Babe laughed.
“It most certainly was.”
When the first Boston relief pitcher of the night came out to warm up for the top half of the fifth inning, Toronto had a 6-1 lead.
Thunder rumbled to the east and the first drops of rain began to fall. The first Toronto hitter popped out to first base. The second hitter walked. The rain became heavier, and on the first pitch to the next batter the ball sailed well behind him.
The pitcher stood on the mound with his arms outstretched in futility. The home plate umpire waved the teams off of the field.
“Well, I guess that’s it, then. Are you ready?” Babe asked, getting to his feet.
Gabriel looked up.
“This will blow over. They hate to stop games these days if they can help it.”
“Well, let’s get under cover,” Babe said.
Most of the crowd headed for the exits. They got to see most of a game and it didn’t look like the home team was coming back even if the game did resume.
What the hell—it was a weeknight and the season was young. There was plenty more baseball to be played this year.
Babe knew that was what people were thinking—because that was precisely what he was thinking. But if Gabriel wanted to stick it out, then Babe was a willing accomplice.
Ushers and security staff were uncomfortable with the crowd amassing on the mezzanine levels but enough people were leaving the park that they weren’t hassling anyone.
Babe stood looking out toward the field with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. He heard a commotion to his left.
Two girls in their twenties, and obviously friends, were either sitting or falling to the floor of the mezzanine. One of the girls made it to the floor and then pulled the other one down on top of her. When they stopped laughing long enough to regain some composure, they swapped their shoes for rubber boots. They helped each other wiggle into ponchos.
They made their way to the edge of the mezzanine, opened up umbrellas, and laughed some more as they splashed their way back toward their seats. Babe felt old just watching them.
Gabriel walked up beside him as he watched the girls’ descent.
“Are you seeing this?” Babe asked.
Gabriel didn’t answer. Babe turned to look at him.
Gabriel was wearing a poncho and held out another one at arm’s length.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Babe asked.
Gabriel pulled his coat open, exposing a lining completely composed of zippered compartments. Each compartment contained pieces of foul weather gear.
“I have anything you might need to remain dry. After the rain stops the seats will be wet. I love rain delays. Have you ever been to a rain-delay game?”
“Not one that I stayed for,” Babe said.
Gabriel looked disappointed.
“I thought you were a fan. Like me.”
“I am a fan,” Babe said.
“Not wanting to stand around on the mezzanine for two hours before they cancel the game doesn’t make me not a fan.”
Gabriel grinned.
“That is the most negatives I have ever heard in one sentence.”
Gabriel looked toward the field. Then he looked at Babe and pointed toward the field.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?” Babe asked.
“There are players and coaches in the dugout. They seem to think they are going to play some more,” Gabriel said.
“Give me the damn poncho.”
Twenty minutes later the tarp was rolled off the field and players began warming up again. Babe and Gabriel returned to their seats. Babe looked around the park, and then turned in his seat and looked above them. There were maybe two thousand fans left in the stadium.
“You know,” Gabriel said, “Many people despise baseball. They say it is too slow, the games last too long, there are too many delays, and too much time when nothing is happening.”
“I know; some of the same reasons why I like it,” Babe said.
“You have no idea why I want to stay, do you?” Gabriel asked.
“You love baseball, I guess,” Babe said.
Gabriel leaned forward.
&
nbsp; “It is more than that,” he said.
“These men. They are all millionaires; well, if they take care of their money. But in this city you only see them play in front of huge crowds. It is loud and bright and there are TV cameras and reporters.
“But this is the same game they have been playing since they were four years old—the game they played for years for the sheer love and fun of it. You can go see them at spring training in Florida but it is not the same. They play games, but they do not mean as much as games like this one. You will enjoy the remainder of this game, I believe.”
And Babe did, indeed. Boston made the game closer yet never really threatened to overcome Toronto’s lead.
But there was a difference in the entire atmosphere. The chatter of all the coaches and players could be heard from across the field. The game no longer had the sheen and shine of professional entertainment. The game announcer seemed content to let the game speak for itself.
This was just plain old baseball. When a player was on first base and talking to the other team’s first basemen, anyone near the field could hear the conversation.
In the calm and quiet of the late night, skeletal crowd, the faces of the players offered a glimpse into their pasts—of backyard batting practice with Dad, Little League tournaments, and high school games played before only a few parents.
Seagulls that normally waited at roof level for their end of game treasures had taken over large sections of bleachers. Babe looked at Gabriel and wondered again,
Who is this man?
The game concluded and there was a mild round of applause before the public address system came alive with the music that accompanied the ends of games. Tonight the music seemed louder than ever because of the sparse crowd. Babe stood and stretched.
He looked at Gabriel, who was— what?
