The Palmer Pool

22 | In the Wind

"This is my uncle's restaurant," he explained.

"Oh. Are we having lunch?" I hoped so. I was starving.

"Not yet. I have to pick something up."

We entered through the back door of the restaurant and stepped into a busy kitchen full of workers in white aprons, steel and glass, chopping and sizzling. He led the way to the office, where a middle-aged man with dark hair and a mustache was leaning against a desk and talking on the phone. When he noticed us, he tucked the receiver between his chin and shoulder and extended his hand.

"You must be Vanessa. It's good to meet you." He had a wide, friendly smile and a hearty handshake. He handed Pete an envelope. "You two have fun now. Come back for dinner after, it's on the house."

"What's in the envelope?" I asked as we stepped outside.

"You'll see." He began walking down the street.

"Your truck is back there," I reminded him, pointing back at the parking lot.

"We're gonna take the streetcar from here."

After walking a block and waiting a few minutes, we boarded a tan and red streetcar. It was almost full, so we stood face to face holding a metal rail. The streetcar traveled down the middle of the road as cars passed on both sides.

As we approached downtown, I watched the windows on the buildings towering over us reflecting the architectural details of adjacent buildings and blue sky. The sides of the brick buildings were painted with colorful advertisements for television sets, leather shoes and luggage, cigarettes, Coca-Cola, and cars. On the street, the new car models from the advertisements were scattered among the older, darker, and more utilitarian cars, standing out with their long and wide shapes, with curves trimmed in shining chrome, in mint green, sky blue and butter yellow.  The street split and the streetcar took the curve to the right. A huge brick-red building loomed ahead that looked like several different buildings mashed together.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing upward as we passed it.

"Hudson's. The department store," he continued when I gave him a blank look. "It's the tallest one in the world."

I'd never heard of it.

We hopped off the streetcar with nearly everyone else. Crowds were pouring toward a big boxy structure with stadium lights and flags rising above the pale grey walls. I'd seen this place on the news once, years before.

"Are we going in there?" I asked as we stood side-by-side, staring up at the stadium.

"Yeah," Pete grimaced as he squinted into the sun. "I hope you don't mind baseball."

"I don't mind it at all." What I didn't say was, I could watch grass grow with you and be happy, and baseball sounds just about as boring. "I used to play Little League, so it's the only sport I actually understand."

"You played Little League?" he asked skeptically.

"Yeah, for a few years." Pete stared at me in wide-eyed amazement. "What?"

"You are incredible."

"Not really. I wasn't very good. My mom made me play."

"When I say you're incredible, don't deny it. And don't ever forget." He took my hand and squeezed. "Alright?"

A lump caught in my throat, so I responded by squeezing back. If Pete knew how ordinary I was in the future, he wouldn't have shown the slightest interest in me. But to him at that time, I was unique and a little bit fascinating. It made me feel like a fake, or like I was taking advantage of him somehow.