Unfortunately, it’s raining outside, so we can’t take Liberty and McGee for a walk. McGee doesn’t like storms and stays close to Alma for protection from the thunder and lightning. At least, his fear means he isn’t begging for a walk this evening.
Since tomorrow is Saturday and I am too nervous for tonight’s ballgame, I opt not to give Liberty a bath—I will wait for tomorrow. This way she can bathe longer. She’s grown to enjoy playing with her toys in the sink during bath time. Alma and I enjoy snapping photos of her as she smiles happily, and her face is framed by dark, tight ringlets.
I place Libby in her highchair and help Alma with our snacks. We chose several instead of a meal tonight. At the store last weekend, I admitted I would be nervous, and snacking might help me during the game. Alma then suggested nibbling instead of dinner. We take turns placing a few round cereal pieces on Libby’s tray as we prepare popcorn, cereal snack mix, cheese and crackers, and chocolate chip cookies, along with our favorite fall snack of candy corn mixed with dry-roasted peanuts. We even make a small bowl of cereal rounds for Libby to enjoy during the game.
I carry several snack bowls to the coffee table while Alma places the cheese and crackers in the refrigerator next to a new bottle of wine for later. She offers to fix a cooler with drinks in it to take into the living room. I let her know I might need to walk between half-innings if I’m nervous, we opt to leave our cold snacks and beverages in the kitchen.
I scoop up my daughter, peppering kisses upon her chubby cheeks as we make our way into the living room. I set up her portable crib to keep her near for the entire game. Alma helps me record a video to put in my digital journal for Hamilton. I share our snack set-up, menu for tonight’s game, and we record his littlest fan’s game day attire. She wears a Cubs headband in her soft curls, a miniature Armstrong Cubs Jersey just like her daddy’s, a diaper cover with Cubbie Bear on the seat, and little Cubs socks.
The pre-game show on the television discusses the Cubs and Hamilton’s pitching. I point to him and prompt her to say daddy. Alma positions the camera just to the side of the TV pointed at me holding Liberty. Libby wears a huge smile wet with baby slobber. She extends her chubby little arms with wiggling fingers. “Da-da-da.” One hand returns to her mouth. With two fingers inside she mumbles, “Da-da-da-da-da.”
I look into the camera and inform Hamilton at seven months old, it is the only word she speaks so far. The three of us wish him luck and end this video journal entry. I place Libby on the floor seated with pillows surrounding her. I scoot her favorite toys within her reach, then place a kiss on the crown of her head. She smells of all things baby with oat cereal, and of course I love it.
I nervously munch on snack after snack as the game progresses. In the bottom of the fourth inning the score is still 0-0. Hamilton is on fire. His pitches baffle batters. He’s given up only one hit. As he strikes out the next batter and we move to the top of the fifth inning, I hurry to the restroom—I don’t want to miss anything.
Liberty finishes her bottle, I take her from Alma’s arms and plan to rock her to sleep. Sitting in the rocker, I pull Liberty tight to my chest. “It’s time for daddy’s little girl to go to sleep.” I kiss her temple then lay her in my arms. She extends an arm placing her hand on my chin. I love when she seeks comfort in touching me. With my free hand I lift and kiss her tiny hand. “Sweet dreams baby girl.”
Libby’s eyes grow heavy. Though my mind is on the game, I continue to rock her well into sleep. The Cardinals nearly score in the top of the fifth and again in the top of the sixth. Finally, the Cubs score as their clean-up hitter sends a homerun flying deep to centerfield. I know that one run is not going to win this game, but it’s a start. I place my sleeping girl in her portable crib near the base of the steps. Walking to the kitchen I inform Alma, “It’s wine time.”
Frustration builds as the Cardinals begin to get one or two base runners each inning but fail to score. In the top of the eighth inning Hamilton’s fastball fades a bit. The coach makes a pitching change after one out bringing in a right-handed closer. Although he should be proud of the job he did, Hamilton’s body tells me he’s upset. I smile knowing Hamilton will get credit for the win if the Cubs pull out a victory.
With our wine bottle empty next to our two glasses we nervously watch as the game moves into the top of the ninth inning Cubs 1-Cardinals 0. One run is not enough of a lead to believe the Cubs have won—they need three more outs. They can’t let the Cardinals score. I’m too worked up to sit. I pace from Liberty’s crib to the sofa and back while my eyes remain glued on the television.
After the right-hander strikes out the fourth batter this inning, Alma and I stand holding hands facing the TV. The score is still 1-0, there are now two outs, runners occupy first and third base with the number-four batter of the Cardinals line-up approaching the plate. I nearly scream when the Cubs choose to intentionally walk this renowned homerun-hitter. My free hand covers my mouth, so I don’t wake my sleeping baby. The bases are now loaded—the Cubs need only one out. There is a force out at any base. They only need to cleanly field the ball and toss it to the nearest base.
In a risky play, a pinch-hitter is brought in for the Cardinals. The pitcher winds up and throws a fastball over the corner of the plate. I squat, and tears fill my eyes as the ball leaves the bat with a trajectory sure to send it far over the left-field fence. A walk-off grand slam, my St. Louis Cardinals advance to The World Series. Hamilton and the Chicago Cubs’ season is officially over until next spring.
Once the shock of the final inning of the game ebbs, I contemplate shooting a text to Hamilton. What should one send her best friend after such a heart-breaking loss?
Me: Good Game (No. delete, delete, delete)
Me: You threw a great game (No. delete, delete, delete)
Me: I love you (Fuck a duck! I can’t send that. delete, delete, delete)
I stare blankly at my cell phone searching for words to comfort my friend. A tiny smile creeps on my face remembering it was a gift from Hamilton.
Me: You gave me this phone as a gift
Me: so we could be here for each other
Me: I miss you
Me: words can’t express how much
Tonight, in my bedroom, I miss Hamilton more than usual. Our framed photo laughing on his tailgate rests in my hands. I recall sharing my clumsy hog lot story and his ensuing teasing. My finger traces his handsome face while I remember he gifted the framed photo to me during the scavenger hunt he created for me.
I miss this playful Hamilton. I miss the young man and the carefree times we spent together. Our former life in the small town of Athens quickly filled with work and grownup responsibilities.
I pray we will find our way back to each other. I hope fate will weave a road where we may find ourselves happy together with Liberty. While I hope we will be a couple, I pray he at least allows us to raise our daughter together.