Page 41 of Embers in the Outfield

I squeeze the hand that is holding mine, and I look over to see Kennedy next to me. I didn’t think I would want anyone other than my brother to come with me on this trip, but spur of the moment, the request came out when I was leaving Kennedy’s house last week. At first, I thought she was going to decline the offer, her hesitation lingering, but then she agreed to come along. I know she had to move a good amount of meetings around to be here today, so it feels special to have her next to me.

This thing with Kennedy is purely sexual, but no matter how I try to keep our relationship physical, we started off as more. We’ve been weaved as so much more before we started this physical relationship. And the intensity of this attraction is strong, that I started to set some boundaries and go home afterwe’d have our fun. I really thought I could separate the fun from the emotion. But then I found myself asking her on this trip and now here we are. And having her here feels right.

For so long, I’ve pushed her away from getting close to me, but the more time we spend together, the more I feel like her presence is comforting. I know this is all a casual thing between us, but once she accepted the invitation, I didn’t feel it was wrong in any way. It felt right to have her here, and the reason behind that feeling isn’t something I’m really trying to focus on at the moment.

My mom couldn’t bear to come with us, much as I expected. She tried, telling me she would attempt to make it, but in the end, she felt overwhelmed with the thought, and I told her I wasn’t judging her for keeping her distance.

I can’t imagine what she feels. I know how it is to lose a parent, but to go through life, making this leap into the unknown with someone else by your side just to lose them in mere seconds, it feels soul-crushing to imagine.

Right after my father passed, my mom turned into a shell of herself for so long. I only remember portions of that time, knowing my brother and I had to be good because we didn’t want to make Ma cry more. Our neighbors and some family would stay with us a lot in the beginning, always offering to take Clay and me to the zoo, ballgames, and even to the pool to swim the following summer. My mother always let us go because she couldn’t handle being a single mother.

Her world was altered in a matter of seconds, and it seems a part of her never recovered. I’ve carried her sadness with me at times like this as I’ve gotten older. Now, standing here, with so many who suffered much like us that day, it’s overwhelming.

The sound of the reflecting pools brings a sort of calm amidst the dust that hasn’t settled in this area of New York. It’s like thesouls that were lost cling to the pieces of the city that were left behind.

The World Trade Center is flooded with people paying their condolences today, and I can still see the way grief takes its toll on so many, even all these years later. I know that my pain is shared with countless others, but I also know from what I was told that the world changed in a way I will never fully comprehend. The innocence that was lost that day was felt across continents, and the ripples of that pain are still causing significant suffering throughout the people affected by the devastation.

I touch my father’s name once again, sending a silent prayer above to the one man I will always wish I had had more time to get to know.

Clay, Kennedy, and I start walking away, silence consuming us. My brother is the first to speak. “You think we should stop by the firehouse Dad was at?” We’ve only seen the firehouse through photos from the days leading up to his death.

Although our father was here for a training prior to our move to the city, he knew a good number of the guys due to his connection to one of his firehouse buddies. My mom always tells us that even though he was only here a few days, he had told her he already felt at home with the group he got to hang out with.

I look at Kennedy. “You down to do that?” She immediately nods, and I can’t help how whole I feel when I’m around her.

We begin to walk, the weather a perfect mix of late summer to early fall. As we make our way through the busy city streets, Kennedy points out places she frequented when she was young. I always forget Kennedy is originally from New York, so she has roots here beyond anything my brother and I ever had.

We make it in front of the fire station and are immediately taken aback by the mural they’ve put in place since my fatherwas here. It takes up the entire right side of the station, and it’s hard to keep my eyes from roaming every detail.

The American flag is painted on as if it’s flying through the breeze, each name of the firefighter lost from this station written in script in the sky behind it. My father’s name is included, and it’s just another piece of him that I can connect to in a city that has a profound feeling of loss for me and my family.

We move closer, and I run my fingers along each name, recognizing some from stories my mother told.

“Would you like me to take a photo of you two in front of it?” Kennedy asks, and I immediately nod my head. I look over to my brother, who is mimicking the gesture.

We came in our BFD shirts to show we continue my father’s fight, even if in another city.

We don’t hide the somber expression, but I bring my brother in, and in that moment, the three of us Nichols men feel connected in the only way we ever will.

The minute Kennedy is done snapping a photo, I hear a voice behind her. “May I help you?”

The sun is shining right in my line of sight, and I have to squint and use my hand to block the sun. The moment I do, I recognize the face in front of me.

“Scottie, is that you?” He’s gotten older through the years, but his eyes haven’t changed.

“River, Clay, what in the world?” He makes his way over, pulling both of us into a tight hug.

Scottie is my father’s friend who had recruited him to New York prior to the attacks. He knew my dad from college, and I still remember the sadness in his expression when he came to see us at home after the funeral service. As much as I forgot a lot of my childhood memories at that time, his saddened face is etched into my mind, and I don’t think I’ll ever unsee it.

He has a smile across his face now, but it’s noticeable that it doesn’t reach his eyes when he looks over my brother and me.

“Damn, you boys are no longer little. Shit, you look so much like your father, it’s blowing my mind.”

My brother and I look over at one another, and bewilderment must cross both our faces when we look back at Scottie.

“If you say so. We’ve been told we look a lot like our mother,” Clay says.

“Well, that you do, but you’ve got his height and his smile, that’s for sure. The rest of your features are definitely Mary’s, but I see you followed in your father’s footsteps.” He points to our shirts, and his smile widens in pride as he takes us in.

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