44.

LATE IN THE MORNING one day in early September, flyers began filtering out through downtown Sacramento. Press releases went to radio stations, bosses huddled employees in conference rooms and cafeterias to fill them in on what would happen.

On September 11, they would have a few hours off, and they would go outside. On that day, the fourteenth anniversary of the attacks on America, they would hold a parade to celebrate the defeat of terrorists by three hometown boys. Anthony had no idea what he was in for.

It was to be a packed day. In the flurry of media attention and appearances and flights across the country, Anthony hadn’t totally grasped that this, September 11, was going to be one of the last times he and his two friends were going to be together. They had become famous together, but the effect of fame was to pull them apart. Alek to LA to become a reality TV star, Spencer on a speaking tour, Anthony trying, trying to finish his degree amid all the temptations and distractions. It had proffered them the opportunities of their lifetimes, but individually, not as a group, because how could you keep three young men, each still figuring out his own life, together?

It was almost by accident that they’d been on the train at the same time; they were not the Beatles, they were not a basketball team, they were not a group created and maintained to confront the world together. They were individuals. Even the thing that had first brought them together, back at that small private school, was that they were each individuals. Under the bright lights and diverting power of public adulation, they were shunted in different directions; each interpreted and processed the attention differently, each took advantage in his unique way. So while Alek was going to become something of a troubadour, Spencer was going to become the face of the air force, both doing just about the opposite of what Anthony would have predicted for them.

Although on second thought, maybe these were the roles they’d always been meant to play. Maybe the train gave them the chance, the excuse, to fall into the lives they secretly always wanted to live. Or didn’t know they always wanted to live.

Sure, Alek had always been kind of quiet, not very expressive, not very concerned with how he came across to other people. But there were times he performed, in the photos he posted from base, goofing off on the train with the miniature soda cans right before everything happened. Alek had things to say; Anthony found him to actually be deep, thoughtful, and Heidi always told of how her middle boy was maybe a man of few words, but was always the one with the dramatic streak growing up; the one who dressed up in costumes of superheroes and performed in Christmas pageants. It was a part of him that had been buried, of which Anthony could see no traces, but here, on a prime-time national TV show, was a chance for him to finally share it.

And Spencer, who ever since the family’s clashes with his father had never found a system or an authority figure he trusted besides Joyce; Spencer, who had a hard time falling in line and lashed out every time someone he didn’t really respect tried to show control over him, had created for himself a sense of belonging. The air force was celebrating Spencer for behaving the way Spencer always thought he should behave. For acting, rather than sitting; for thinking on his feet, thinking for himself. In a way, the air force was validating the person Spencer had become, independence, irreverence and all; by tackling a man with a machine gun on a train, Spencer had created for himself an institution he could belong to.

So today they would part ways, fame providing the jolt, the activation energy to send them spiraling off into their various adulthoods. They spent the morning doing press, first a shoot for People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive issue, during which Anthony learned that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had nominated them—apparently, past winners had to nominate you—then taping their first group interview. Fox News won the sweepstakes for the first sit-down with the three train heroes together, mostly because Fox News was willing to move their whole operation to Sacramento, and the boys needed to be there for what was going to happen next.

After the morning of press ops, a car took them from the Hyatt to the Tower Bridge over the Sacramento River, where people had started to gather. Already, Anthony could tell this was going to be something special. Preparations had been under way for weeks, but he’d been only loosely aware of them; that morning a correspondent for the NBC affiliate on site told the anchors back at the bureau, “I’ve lived here almost eighteen years now. I don’t remember anything like this in Sacramento before.”

Anthony was shown to a trailer with HOMETOWN HEROES written on the side. He took a moment to marvel at it, and then he and Spencer and Alek climbed up—Spencer in his air force uniform, Alek wearing what was becoming his trademark short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. I gotta teach these guys how to dress.

The trailer was decked out with an archway of red and white balloons to frame them, forming a threshold in front of which they stood, as if at any moment they could turn around and disappear through a colorful passageway into another world. Anthony could see their families sitting in the back of classic cars, JFK style, feet on the seats, butts on the seat-backs, so they could see and be seen.

Their trailer was being pulled by a pickup truck, and the bed of the truck was filled with cameramen sticking out at all angles like porcupine quills, folded over one another trying to get a good line of sight to the boys, as the truck pulled out in front of the bridge and began its slow approach toward the capitol building.

Anthony felt like the pope. As he progressed through the crowd, people moved in to shout their love and hold out their hands as if seeking his grace, then filled into the wake, where they saw, behind the boys, on the other side of the colorfully festooned threshold, a gesture of symmetry: a replica of an iconic gift from the people of France to America. The Statue of Liberty, holding the torch up to all those who followed.

In front of them fire engines lined the sides of the streets, and police on motorcycles escorted them, telling well-wishers to back up. People complied only for seconds before filling back into the middle of the street to get closer, many wearing T-shirts someone had handed out with SAC HEROES PARADE written through a blue star. Way off in front, Anthony could see a marching band leading the way, and flag twirlers, drum lines, war veterans in old jeeps. Retired Sacramento Kings basketball players rode a classic fire truck in front of them, bicycle-mounted policemen holding on to the side, serving some purpose about which Anthony was unclear but right now unconcerned with.

It was a half mile from Third Street in front of the bridge down to the capitol steps, where a stage had been erected, flanked by two giant screens advertising the Jackie Green performance, and as Anthony looked up and to the sides, he was bowled over. The place was packed. The entire avenue a mass of humanity, wall to wall. It felt like a million people. These were nameless, faceless people, struggling and scrambling for a photo with them, but he didn’t feel used or exploited; he felt appreciated. He felt like he’d given this town something to be proud of. He decided he loved this city, and could see himself never leaving, even though, or maybe because, it was a city with grit and not the best reputation, some storm of violent crime always a few news cycles away. A city mentioned with the kind of tongue-in-cheek derision that some backwater capitals in America are, the Albanys and the Harrisburgs, only Anthony’s hometown had the violent crime to compete with a major metropolis. All these people were out here because despite all that, Anthony and his friends had given them something to be proud of.

As the parade moved forward—all the people, streamers, confetti; he didn’t even know where it was coming from—it was like proceeding slowly through a fantasy in which he’d saved the day. Only here, he had saved the day, and the whole city had come out as if he’d saved them too.

They reached the capitol building and climbed up on a platform under a giant American flag hanging under two fire engine ladders.

The mayor took the podium and yelled, “Come on, Sacramento!!”

Anthony heard Alek whispering something to him, and then arched his eyebrows up to the roof of the capitol building. Anthony looked up and saw snipers on each corner and one in the middle, surveilling the masses of people. Every once in a while, even in the most celebratory moments, there was this: a reminder that they’d vanquished one threat, not all threats. There was still danger out there.

And that they themselves were now targets.

As if on cue, a plane roared overhead, a four-engine C-17 Globemaster out of Travis Air Force Base on a flyover, and the crowd roared to match it as the mayor began to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Please get on your feet, let’s welcome to the mic, the Sacramento hometown heroes, Anthony, Alek, and Spencer!” It was Anthony who happened to be standing closest to the mayor, so he was first to the mic, and though he hadn’t even known he was going to have to speak and was about to address a wall of humanity as far as he could see, he didn’t feel worried. Everything felt good. He reached for the mic, and chuckled. He scratched above his eye, and looked over at Alek. Strange, how he didn’t feel nervous. Again, he felt it was all surreal. A whole city was out in front of him, waiting to hear what he had to say. He smiled a little, and the crowd reacted just to that. What power! He could control how people felt with the tiniest shift in his expression. He raised his hand to wave, and they roared louder. It was amazing, it was absurd. He felt himself smiling even bigger, he couldn’t hold it, it was hilarious and amazing and the pride mixed with the absurdity, This is us, they’re here for us! and he waved again. In his peripheral vision he saw Alek to one side, Spencer to the other. He felt them there. He could see that they’d felt the need to acknowledge the crowd, each doing the two-handed presidential wave, the crowd roaring somehow even louder. But Anthony was still at the mic, and sooner or later he’d have to say something. What to say? When all else fails, he thought of what his father said before his first press conference in America, just say what you feel. Anthony leaned down toward the mic.

“Um, I just want to say how overwhelming this all is.” Another roar. “We’ve been all around the world in these last couple weeks, but I just want you all to know all the things we’ve received everywhere, it doesn’t feel anything in comparison to being in front of our home crowd like this.”

The crowd was euphoric.

“We wanna acknowledge the fact that it is September eleventh, it’s kind of surreal for us ’cause we feel like our actions compared to those, all the brave people that did . . . their thing on September eleventh . . .” He could see out of the corner of his eye Alek start grinning at Anthony’s loss for words, Did I really just say‘ did their thing’ on September eleventh? “And we just want to appreciate and thank everybody in Sacramento for coming out today. Thank you.”

Then Alek came out. “I know it’s really hot out.”

It sounded like the whole country laughed.

“And, uh, that just means that much more that you guys all showed up and we just really appreciate it and we’re so grateful and, wow, like Anthony said, we’ve never gotten a reception like this. This has absolutely been unreal and fantastic and thank you all again.” Under the podium, Anthony saw Alek’s hands come together, almost like a prayer. “Thank you.”

Next Spencer, who took to the podium, and just exhaled into the mic. The crowd roared.

All he has to do is breathe and people cheer! Anthony leaned forward and said, “Captain America” into his ear, and then clapped for Spencer with the rest of the crowd.

Spencer bowed toward the mic. “I don’t even really know what to say. This support is amazing. And we all love you, and we love Sacramento, and we’re proud to be . . . be here on this day. Thank God we could all make it back,” his voice cracked a little, “in time. So.”

And then Spencer ran out of things to say. Emotion overtook him. He exhaled into the mic once more, the whole city hearing him feel, and Anthony could tell his friend was overwhelmed.

“And like Anthony said, we don’t want to forget while we’re all gathered here today to . . . in remembrance of September eleventh, so . . . let’s all just . . .” —Spencer was losing his way a little—“let’s all just, uh, remember that.” Anthony heard Alek let out a few chuckles, and it caught Anthony, so soon he was trying hard to bite down his own laughter. Gotta teach these guys how to speak too! Over at the podium, Spencer had a moment of inspiration, he turned and yelled into the mic, “Live for each other and die for each other!” And the crowd erupted.

AFTERWARD THEY WERE shown back into the capitol, down into its bowels, a garage underneath where the temperature dropped and they all got in cars going in different directions. Anthony watched Alek get in a car and leave for the airport, where he’d head down to LA and begin his life as a TV star.

Spencer got in another car to go in a different direction, off for a month of air force–organized media events and then back to Portugal to finish out his tour.

Anthony would stay here, to try and finish his degree.

For now, though, he was going home to nap. The city didn’t have the best clubs in the world, but the ones it did have were planning some big things for the one hometown hero staying behind, so he went home, put his head on the pillow, and played the whole day in his head: the photo shoot—Brad and Angelina!—the interview, the thousands upon thousands of people cheering, the goodbyes in the garage under the capitol, the three of them peeling off in their different directions.

He wondered when he’d ever see his two friends again. And then he slept.