At 5:45 AM, the alarm clock on the nightstand let out its petulant cry, begging for attention. Harold Baggett rolled over and swatted unsuccessfully at the clock. He tossed back his satin sheets and sat up on the side of his bed before finally reaching for the clock again and silencing it. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and walked to the bathroom for his daily ritual. He looked at himself in the mirror and rubbed his chin, frustrated that he was starting to get some gray in his facial hair. Turning on the hot water and pulling out his razor he remarked, “We’ll take care of that.” He shaved and then hopped into the shower.
Twenty minutes later, Harold, now dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and black tie, entered the kitchen. He pulled down a bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf but it was empty. “Damn,” he said aloud. He then reached up and grabbed another bottle, this time Crown Royal. That bottle was also empty. Harold sighed and placed the second empty bottle on the counter. “Looks like it’s going to be vodka today,” Harold thought to himself. He reached up and grabbed the last bottle, which was Aristocrat vodka. Harold didn’t particularly like vodka, especially Aristocrat vodka. The bottle was left over from an office party and only served as a reserve on mornings like these when all of the other bottles had been drained. He pulled his flask out and filled it up with the clear, pungent alcohol. After the flask was filled, Baggett left his apartment, locked the door and exited his building onto 15th Street.
Standing alone at the bus stop at 15th and 6th, Harold checked his watch. 6:30. It was already starting to warm up as the sun was beginning to creep through the gaps between the buildings. New York City can be unbearable in July. Even at this early hour it didn’t seem like the city was anxious to disappoint. Harold reached into his bag and pulled out his sunglasses. His light blue eyes had always been very sensitive to the sun. Harold checked his watch again and then took a swig from his flask. The bus was already five minutes late. He contemplated why he even bothered with the bus instead of taking the train. He liked the subway. It was generally quicker and the trains don’t smell as bad as the buses normally do. As Harold was thinking this, he noticed the bus make its wide turn onto 15th. Harold took one more drink from his flask and then placed it back in his bag as the bus pulled up to the stop. He entered through the doors nearest the front and swiped his Metro Card. The bus driver nodded to him but Harold ignored him, instead choosing to walk to the back of the bus in silence. Harold preferred the rear of the bus to the front. He found solace in the back due to the fact that the engine was located in the rear of the bus and there was less of a chance that someone would try to strike up a conversation with him.
After claiming the seat against the rear window, Harold leaned his head against the glass and thumbed his wedding ring, wondering when he would see his wife, Susan, again. He was certain that he would see her at least once more, at the divorce hearing, but wondered if he would see her in a more cordial setting. They had been separated now for six months and Harold had only seen her once, and the meeting was only by coincidence. He had run into Susan and her boyfriend, or whatever he was, at the video store. That was awkward. They had been married 21 years and Harold still loved her but believed she simply got bored with him being on the road all the time. She claimed it was his drinking that drove her away. Either way, she was gone. His only comfort was that he still got to see the kids Jack, who was 18 and a senior in high school, and Melissa, who was 10, occasionally. Jack would sometimes bring Melissa by to visit, but he never really said much. Melissa didn’t really understand what was going on between her parents and her innocent questions penetrated Harold deeply. Harold wondered if he would ever really be happy again. With all the fighting before Susan left, it was hard to think of a good time. The one thing that always came to mind was a trip that he took to Yosemite National Park with his father after he graduated college. He wished for those simpler times.
That trip to Yosemite was very important to Harold. In the summer of 1984, a few weeks after Harold graduated college, he and his father loaded up the family’s old Microbus and drove from Kansas City to Yosemite in California. Ed Baggett, Harold’s father, said that Harold had now become a man and it was time to take the same trip that Ed’s father had taken him on when he was Harold’s age. It was a glorious two weeks of father and son bonding. They camped out at Tenaya Lake off Highway 120. They fished and took turns playing James Taylor songs on the guitar and talked about everything from women to what Harold wanted to do after school. They would talk until they ran out of beer or the fire went out, whichever came first. On most nights, the beer relented first.
It was on one particular night that a conversation took place that always stuck with Harold. The two men were talking about ambitions and Harold told Ed that he thought it would be really fun to be a pilot. Harold liked the idea of being able to fly around the country, or maybe the world, for a living. It wasn’t like a real job, sitting behind a desk, punching the clock at 5 PM every day. Ed agreed with him. He asked Harold if he had ever told him what he wanted to do when he was younger. Harold shook his head.
“I always wanted to be a tiger trainer. You know, like, in the circus,” Ed said.
“Are you serious?” Harold asked. “Why did you want to do that?”
“There was just something about those big cats,” Ed replied. “They could be beautiful and terrifying in the same instance. I was infatuated with them. Your granddad took me to a circus when I was a kid and they were what stood out. From the time I was, I don’t know, 8 or 10, I wanted to train tigers. I almost did, but then I eventually decided I wasn’t going to.”
“Wow,” Harold replied. “I can’t believe that you have never told me that. So, how did you go from wanting to train tigers to becoming a baker?”
“Well, I finally realized that training tigers was too dangerous,” Ed said. “Besides, I enjoy baking.”
“Yeah, but you already knew that they were dangerous,” Harold replied. “I mean, that was your dream, taming those big cats. I can totally see you out there in the middle of the big top cracking your whip as the tigers dance around you on their hind legs, jumping through hoops of fire. Then you just gave it up to bake cakes. I don’t get it.”
“It wasn’t that much of a compromise.”
“Sure it was, Dad. You gave up on your dream.”
“Hey, it is a solid job that I enjoy. People like cakes and they especially like mine.”
“Yeah, I know they do. But that was your dream, man. You said you almost did it. Why didn’t you just push on through?”
“You want to know the truth, Harold?” Ed paused for a moment. “I was about to go on the road with a circus. I was going to be an apprentice to the tiger trainer. Then, just before we were set to leave, I found out that your mother was pregnant with you. Once I got that news, there was no decision to be made. I turned the job down and I stayed home. I chose baking for you. I knew that me being gone all the time and sticking my head in a tiger’s mouth wasn’t how I wanted you to be brought up. I wanted to be there for you anytime that you needed me and that life didn’t offer that possibility. I chose baking, Harold, because I love you.”
Harold often thought about what his father had said on that trip. He had never felt like he didn’t love his kids. He did, however, feel like he betrayed them in the way that his father had chosen to avoid. Following the trip he took with his father, Harold moved to New York City to work as a salesman for a copier company. It was a very exciting time for him because, although he didn’t become a pilot, he was getting to fly all around the country, and sometimes the world, for a living. Harold was starting to realize, though, that it was at the expense of his family. He had been at home more as Melissa was growing up but was gone for the most part during Jack’s youth. Harold feared that Jack resented him for that. Even worse, Harold worried that his son would grow up without him noticing. Harold couldn’t stand the thought of that.
A few minutes later the bus came to a stop with a screech of the brakes. Harold checked his watch once more and it read 6:40. He shook his head and sighed. Harold started to lean back against the glass again but something caught his eye. A very peculiar old man, wearing all black and carrying a cane, had gotten onto the bus. What made the sight particularly odd was that he was also wearing a large black hat and an equally large black cape. The only part of his wardrobe that wasn’t black was his shoes. Oddly enough, they were red leather with white trim. Harold considered trying to make sense of what he was looking at but decided to close his eyes and lean back against the window again, withdrawing into his thoughts once more. He couldn’t seem to shake the thought of the man in the cape, however. Harold opened his eyes and was startled to find the man sitting directly across from him. Harold was slightly unnerved because he couldn’t tell if the man was staring at him or not. The man’s glasses were very dark and impossible to see through. Harold nodded to the old gentleman but there was no response. “He must not be looking at me,” Harold thought.
Fifteen minutes later, the bus came to rest at the intersection of 34th and Broadway. The man who had now become the sole object of Harold’s attention stood up and walked towards the front of the bus. As Harold watched him walk away, he suddenly felt compelled to follow him. He grabbed his bag and exited the door in the middle of the bus. The man confidently strolled up 34th Street with his cape blowing in the breeze. Harold followed as closely as he could without being detected. He reached into his bag and retrieved his cell phone. In the excitement of the moment, Harold didn’t realize that the man had stopped walking. He almost crashed into the man but narrowly averted the collision with a quick sidestep. Fearing that his cover had been blown, Harold drifted behind a light pole and tried to act natural. He dialed his office and after a series of receptionists, Harold finally reached the desk of his boss and explained to him that he wasn’t going to be able to make it to work. He knew that it didn’t really matter if he was there or not, he could make all the calls that he needed to make today from anywhere, but he felt like it was a common courtesy to call and let him know.
By the time Harold has finished his phone call, the caped man was on the move again. As they passed the Empire State Building, sidewalk traffic was beginning to pick up making following the man more difficult. Harold managed to keep up with him though. They passed over 5th Avenue and then Madison. By 7:20 the journey had taken them to the corner of 34th Street and Park Avenue. Harold watched the man as he approached a bench, threw his cape back and sat down. If anyone walking by that morning had asked Harold, he would have told them that he was 47 years old and a resident of New York. However, in this moment, felt as if he was 12 years old again playing detective in his parents’ backyard. Harold watched the old gentleman for several more minutes before approaching the bench.
“Excuse me,” the man said, turning towards Harold. Harold looked around to see if there was anyone else the man may have been addressing.
“Are you speaking to me, sir?” Harold asked.
“Yes,” the man replied. The man motioned for Harold to come over. “Sit down, please.” Harold sat down cautiously. “Why are you following me?” the man asked.
Harold paused for a moment, trying to think of any reason that made any sense. “Honestly, because you’re wearing a cape and a giant black hat and I was intrigued,” Harold replied. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen anyone wear such an outfit and I wanted to see what you were up to.” The man nodded and then momentarily took off his glasses to rub his eyes. It was just long enough for Harold to notice that the gentleman was blind. Harold reached into his bag and pulled out the flask. He took a long drink before returning it to the satchel. “How did you know who I was?” Harold asked.
“I could smell you,” the man replied. This statement confused Harold but before he could ask, the man asked, “Do you remember when you almost bumped into me earlier? I could smell the vodka on your breath. I first smelled it when we were on the bus. Aristocrat, right?”
“That’s exactly right,” Harold responded, becoming more and more impressed with the man as he spoke.
The man continued, “Then, as I was sitting here, I smelled the vodka again and assumed that it was you.”
“That is amazing,” Harold said. “What is your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Name’s Bill Miller,” the man said, holding out his hand to shake Harold’s.
“It’s nice to meet you, Bill,” Harold replied, shaking Bill’s hand. “I’m Harold Baggett.”
The two men began talking and sharing various stories with one another. Harold thought that it was odd that he was finding it so easy to talk to a complete stranger. Perhaps it was because he found Bill so interesting. Harold talked about his job and Bill told Harold stories about Vietnam, which led to the story of how he lost his sight.
“You see, the thing about grenades is this,” Bill started. “It’s not like that shit that they have in movies where some guy hurls a grenade over a wall and there is a giant explosion and people fly everywhere and all of that. That’s a bunch of Hollywood bunk. When I was on my second tour in Vietnam back in ’68, right after Tet, we were patrolling an area near the border of Cambodia and Vietnam. Real shit hole, that place is. I mean, why anyone would want to live there I’ll never know. Anyway, this lil’ bastard came out of nowhere and chucked a grenade right in the middle of our platoon. I pushed my CO out of the way as it went off and the shrapnel hit me. Cut me up pretty badly and damn near took my leg but it did get my eyes. I haven’t been able to see since.”
“Wow,” Harold replied. “That’s an incredible story. So, you’ve been blind for over forty years?”
“Sure have,” Bill replied. “After I got back in ’70, it took me a while to get adjusted. After a few years I was moving around the city no problem, just like I used to. I miss being able to see it, though. New York is such a beautiful city. I didn’t really take the time to appreciate it when I was younger and now I can’t.”
Harold didn’t really know what to say to this so he sat in silence. Thankfully, Bill started telling another story about the war and Harold listened intently. He couldn’t remember ever meeting such an interesting person. Over time, the stories shifted from the war to the Yankees. Bill was a lifetime Yankees fan and Harold was amazed to find out that Bill had been to at least one game in every season since 1955, with the exception of the time that he spent in Vietnam. Bill confessed to Harold that, despite being a die-hard Yankees fan, he believed that Ted Williams was the greatest baseball player that ever lived. Bill added that he would never mention it publicly though, because Williams played for the Red Sox.
After a couple hours of talking, Harold finally had the courage to ask what he really wanted to know. “So, Bill. Why do you wear the cape?”
Bill laughed. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to ask me that. When I was a kid, I was really into comic books. Did you ever read comic books, Harold?”
Harold shook his head and replied, “No.”
“Seriously?” Bill asked. “Wow, I thought every kid read comic books. Anyway, I was really into the comics. Superman, Spiderman, Green Arrow, you name it I read it. Batman was my favorite though. Hands down, it was Batman. There was just something about him, you know? You’re familiar with Batman, right?” Harold tried to respond but was cut off. “Of course you know about Batman,” Bill continued. “So, Batman was this normal guy who put on a suit and went out and just dominated any foe that dared stand in front of him. I loved that about him. He wasn’t Superman or Spiderman or any of that. He didn’t have special powers. He was just a man, you know? So anyway, Batman always wore this cape and I thought that it looked really sharp.”
“So, that’s why you wear the cape?” Harold asked.
“No,” Bill replied. “For all I know, this thing could be crooked or backwards or what have you. I can’t see it. I don’t know how it looks. I wear it because it makes me happy. That’s something that I learned after becoming blind that I wish I knew before I lost my sight. Before, you see, I was always worried about what people thought about me. I never could have worn a cape before. Once I lost my sight, I just didn’t care anymore. Now I can wear a cape because I want to wear a cape.”
“I see,” Harold replied. “So, what about the hat?”
“It keeps the sun out of my face,” Bill answered. Why else do you think I would wear this gigantic thing?”
Just then a small child stopped and exclaimed, “Look mommy! It’s Zorro!” Bill laughed and held out his hand. “Give me five, little guy!” he said. The child slapped Bill’s hand before walking off with his mother.
“That’s another reason why I wear the cape,” Bill added. “The kids love it.”
Harold nodded. “I wish there was something that made me that happy,” he said.
“There is nothing in your life that makes you truly happy?” Bill asked. “No wife, no kids, nothing?”
“I do have a couple of kids,” Harold responded. “A son and a daughter, and technically I have a wife. She left me six months ago and the divorce hasn’t finalized yet.” Harold reached into his bag to get his flask. As soon as he opened it Bill spoke up.
“That isn’t the way, kid,” Bill said. “I promise you, that isn’t what is going to fix your problems. Trust me. I’ve been down that road.” Harold put the flask back into his bag. “Listen, let me tell you one more story,” Bill requested. “Despite the fact that I lost my eyes over forty years ago, I can still see what happened over there as clear as day. Every time my mind wanders, I can see every person that I killed in that hell over there. I can see all of those that fought and died right beside me. After I got back, I tried everything; alcohol, drugs, whatever. I did it all. None of that took what was in my head away. I had to find something that truly made me happy to make those thoughts go away. So I started wearing this cape because, like I said, it made me happy. So far, it’s worked. You need a cape, son.”
“I’m not sure that buying a cape is really going to help me, though,” Harold responded. “I really don’t think that it would look good on me.”
Bill just shook his head. “Not a literal cape, man. The cape was a metaphor for something that makes you happy. You need something to make you happy. Something besides that terrible vodka you are toting around in that flask.”
Harold knew that Bill was right. He leaned back on the bench and tried to think of anything that made him happy. Again, he could only think of that trip that he and his father took to Yosemite.
“What are you thinking about?” Bill asked.
“It’s nothing really, just this trip that my dad and I took to Yosemite when I graduated from college. That is last time that I can remember being really happy. We spent a couple weeks up there just fishing and talking about women and life. It was the best time of my life.”
“That’s it then,” Bill said. “You should call up your old man and take a trip to California; spend some quality time in the woods.”
“Can’t,” Harold replied. “My dad died a couple years ago from a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bill said. “But that’s not stopping you from going.”
“I’m not going to go out there by myself. I don’t really think that me being alone for two weeks in the woods is a good idea.”
“So take someone with you,” Bill said. Harold sat in silence for a moment, running his hands through his hair. Suddenly he perked up.
“Wow,” Harold said. “It’s been there all along and I just didn’t see it.”
“What?” Bill asked.
“My kids are my cape,” Harold replied. “I should spend more time with them.” Bill nodded with approval.
“Now you’re getting there,” Bill said.
“My granddad took my dad to Yosemite. My dad took me to Yosemite.”
“You should take your son,” Bill interrupted.
“Exactly,” Harold replied. “I’m afraid that he won’t want to go though.”
“Why not?” Bill asked.
“I’ve been a terrible father and I’ve never really been there for him. Whenever he brings his sister over, he just ignores me.”
“So what? That’s how kids are. Listen, you have two choices here. You can either make the decision to start being a good dad to these kids or you can let them grow up without being a part of their lives. I think you know what the right thing to do is. This trip isn’t going to fix everything, but it’s a start.” Harold nodded and stood up.
“You’re exactly right, Bill. Thank you.” Harold reached out to shake Bill’s hand.
“I’m glad I could help, kid,” Bill replied. “One more thing before you go. What about that flask?”
Harold reached into his bag and pulled out the flask. He looked at it for a moment and then threw it into a nearby trashcan.
“Good luck, Harold,” Bill said, raising his hand to wave goodbye.
“Thank you, Bill.”
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