Prime Mover

Chapter 7 - Perfection

The summer passed incredibly quickly, and incredibly slowly. I was living two lives, one at home and with my friends, doing the usual summer stuff; the other in the past and future, seeing anything and everything I wanted.

But through it all, I knew in the back of my mind that my father was still out there, and this watch would be the way to find him. Yes, I still resented him. Sometimes I even hated him. But there were all kinds of questions I had to have answered. Why did he leave so abruptly? What did he really think of me? And most importantly - why did he give me this watch?

It also occurred to me that if he had given me a time travel device, he almost certainly had one of his own. Perhaps he was avoiding me on purpose, or watching what I would do with it.

It was during one of my trips to the past that I strategized just how I could find him. I had to go somewhere and when I knew he would be. The one time and place I could absolutely remember him at: Roy Halladay's perfect game - my eleventh birthday present. May 29th, 2010. He would be there. It would be a couple years before he abandoned Mom and me, but at least I could ask him my questions and possibly find out how to contact him in the future.

After a little research, I put on my Phillies jersey and jumped back to a park a few blocks from the stadium downtown, about an hour before game time. As I walked toward the stadium in the evening light, the atmosphere overwhelmed me. This is what I loved about baseball. It was so much more than just watching the players on the field. It was being in a crowd of thousands enjoying every minute of it, the smell of tailgate grills and beer in the parking lots, the stadium food, the lights of the city over center field, even the cheesy organ music. And nothing tasted better than a stadium hot dog on game day, not even mom's meatloaf.

The parking lots surrounding the stadium were filling with cars. Many people had already been here for hours, grilling their dinners and drinking before game time. It was like a huge party. If you were a Phillies fan, you were welcomed. But god help the poor soul who showed up in a Mets jersey. If you grew up in Philadelphia, you were raised to hate them. Luckily, they weren't here tonight. No, it would be Miami that would lose to a perfect game.

I found the windows to buy tickets and joined the queue, surrounded by other fans in red and white jerseys. In the old days, way before I was born, nearly everyone bought their tickets at the stadium on game day like this. Now, they mostly bought their tickets online weeks before the game. The windows were mostly used now for 'will call' tickets, but you could still buy them here if you wanted. The atmosphere was electric. I overheard conversations nearby as people talked about the game coming up, how well the Phillies were doing this year, all the excitement of game day flowing through me. They didn't know they were about to witness history.

An older man in line behind me smiled and touched my arm. "He's pitching today!" He said.

I must have given him a puzzled look, he smiled and said "You're wearing Halladay's jersey. He's pitching today."

"Oh! Yeah." I remembered, "Bet he's going to have a great game too."

I had actually gotten the jersey for Christmas later that year, after the Phillies made it to the playoffs and Halladay pitched another no-hitter. I was never much for small talk with strangers, but I smiled and nodded as this man told me his opinions on the team, and how he had come to the stadium like this every year since before he was my age. It passed the time until it was my turn at the window.

If I remembered correctly, dad and I had sat on the lower level not far behind first base. I bought a ticket for the last row in that section, so I could hopefully spot him during the game. Then I realized I'd see myself too, when I was eleven.

Even though I had bounced all over time this summer, I had carefully avoided running into myself. The manual said meeting yourself should be avoided, but didn't go into too much detail on what would happen. It only recommended consulting an expert on temporal physics for more information, as if one of those was easy to find.

Heck, if I wasn't careful, I might run into my younger self by accident anywhere around here. Better keep an eye out just in case. At least in a team jersey I would blend in, and hopefully not be noticed among the crowd.

I found my seat with plenty of time to spare, and bought popcorn and a Coke from a wandering vendor as I waited. The seats around me were filling up. It wouldn't be a sellout, in fact it wouldn't be as full as a normal Saturday night game should be. I seemed to remember there was a big hockey game going on at the same time. The Flyers were in the Stanley Cup finals tonight, so a lot of hard core sports fans were probably home watching that instead. Their loss.

I was just taking my seat after the National Anthem when I spotted them: my dad and my younger self. It was oddly exciting. I looked so young! I was wearing my old kid sized Phillies jersey, and carrying a huge tray of nachos. Dad led the way to our seats, in a blue windbreaker and dark pants. He looked much as I remembered. Tall and thin, dark brown hair cut short, and a well trimmed beard that covered his chin. When you're a kid, your parents always seem so much older, but seeing him now he could easily pass for late 30s. It struck me that I never knew his real age.

The game went on much as I remembered it. It was still incredibly exciting to watch, even though I knew what was happening. The fans around me cheered every strikeout and great play by the home team. I kept an eye on dad and my younger self, but still enjoyed every bit of the game.

In the third inning, Halladay downed all three of Miami's batters quickly. As the Phillies players jogged to the dugout, my dad got up and headed for the aisle. This might be my chance.

I tried to look inconspicuous until he passed my row, then got up and followed him. He wasn't moving too fast, and in a dark blue jacket he was pretty easy to spot among all the red and white most of the fans wore.

He moved across the concourse, and stood near a concession booth, reading the menu on the screens above it. As I walked closer, I realized how much more alike we were now. I had grown to match his height, and while our hair was the same color brown, his was cut shorter and starting to thin. The family resemblance was definitely there.

I slowed as I got close, him still facing away from me. What would I say? I had thought about this moment for years, but I had never imagined how to open the conversation. What do you say to the father who left you?

As I came near, he turned around and looked right at me. "Hello, Andy" he said.

I froze, my palms sweaty. He recognized me?

"Dad..." I muttered.

"Its ok", he said, taking a step toward me, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. "I know who you are, I know why you're here. Just relax and come with me, and we'll talk."

I let my guard down, and he led me to a tall table off to the side of the concourse.

"We don't have much time, your younger self is still watching the game and waiting for me to bring more hot dogs. But this may help clear up a lot of your questions." He pulled back his left sleeve and set his wrist on the table in front of me.

I said "You have the same watch you gave me for my birthday. I kind of figured you'd have one too."

"Not just that," he said. "Look closer"

I wondered what he could mean by that, as he rolled his left wrist over to expose the base of his thumb. There was a faint jagged line there, a scar that had healed a long time ago. I didn't think I could be any more shocked by something today, but this did it.

I lifted my left wrist, and looked at my own thumb. There it was, the same scar, where I had cut myself on a broken glass when I was about 7 or 8. I felt dizzy. This was insane.

"Yes," he said, "I'm you."