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When you stood there and ran your fingers over the signatures on the name wall, I imagined you as one of the boys who used to play baseball at the park, across from where I lived. I never understood how poignant the crack of the bat was until you showed me.
Of course, Palmer insisted Kent get a personalized bat. What surprised her the most was the inscription he added: Kent & Palmer, along with their social media handle and the year. He’d memorialized their trip with one of his stops. She tried to hide her smile but failed. Palmer grinned, even though her heart broke. She didn’t want their trip to ever end, or her life for that matter.
“What are you doing over there?” Kent asked. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“Nothing,” she said as she closed her journal. When she’d bought it, Kent asked her what she was going to write about. She told him it was to track her health so she could see how her tumor progressed. Lying to him wasn’t what she’d planned, but she had her reasons. She was thankful Kent never asked her what she wrote down because she wasn’t sure she could make anything up on the fly. Somehow saying “The octopus hates me today” was not going to work for Kent.
Palmer picked up Kent’s phone again and opened the Instagram app. She clicked “Live” and waited for a few people to start watching before she said anything.
“Hello,” she said to the viewers. “Kent and I are driving again, but I wanted to come on and tell you what we did today.” Palmer kept the phone on Kent, who laughed as he drove. “We went to the Louisville Slugger Museum and Factory, as well as the Muhammad Ali Center. So, Kent, what was your favorite part of the bat museum?”
“I think holding one of the bats used in a game and seeing the speed of my fastball.”
“Which was?”
“Not very fast,” he said, laughing.
“Our fans want to know whose bat you held.”
“That would be Big Papi,” Kent said with a smile.
Palmer added, “You know I have no idea who that is, right?”
They both laughed, and he reminded her that he played for the Boston Red Sox and was instrumental in helping them break the “Curse of the Bambino.”
Kent showed Palmer a side of baseball that people didn’t talk about—the fan side—such as Marilyn Monroe’s stocking from the night she married Joe DiMaggio, which she left behind at the motel they stayed at. It was now on display. Or a vest made from potato chip bags and a dress made of Sprite cans. While these things fascinated Palmer, the sight of Kent admiring history mesmerized her. It was like he was a little kid again. He told her story after story of players like Babe Ruth and Pete Rose, and how he went to as many games as possible when he was younger. He’d go now, but the prices were a bit steep for him, and he was lucky to make it to one, maybe two games a season.
“What was your favorite part?” Kent asked her.
“Watching you—it was like meeting the kid version of Kent,” she said. Palmer hid behind the phone, thankful Kent couldn’t see her face. She could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Speaking this way was odd for her, but the more time she spent with Kent, the more comfortable she felt around him.
Palmer wanted this live session to be about Kent. So many of their postings had been about her, and she wanted him to share in the limelight. No one had the full story yet on how these two strangers had ended up on the road together. She wasn’t sure if they should tell everyone that if she hadn’t passed out at work, it was unlikely they’d be together now. Was it fate that had brought them together? Palmer thought so.
“What was your favorite part about visiting the Muhammad Ali Center?” she asked him.
“Easy,” he said. “Seeing his inspirational quotes in writing, front and center. Hearing his voice gave me chills. He was an icon, without trying to be one.”
“He was more than a boxer,” Palmer added.
“He was,” Kent agreed. “He transcended expectations. He said he was the greatest, and he proved he was, whether in the ring or with the civil rights movement. He never cared what anyone thought. That takes a lot of courage, and he had it tenfold.”
“Well, I thank you for taking me to those places today,” Palmer said into the phone but at Kent. He smiled and said nothing. Palmer ended the live video and waited for the video to save, and then she posted it. When she set his phone down, he glanced at her.
“You only read one question.”
“It wasn’t even a question,” she told him. “I can’t see what they’re saying because of the print, and everything moves so fast.”
