Page 67 of Nerdplay
“It isn’t worth a fortune, and the sentimental value… It doesn’t have any, not anymore.”
“What’s the story with this?” Stefan asks, flicking the card.
“Does there have to be a story?” I lob back.
“You said it had sentimental value, but now it doesn’t,” Gloria jumps in. “That implies a story.”
“Are we here to swap possessions or stories?” I ask.
Cricket catches my eye. “Both.”
As much as I want to point out the lack of story surrounding the Mumford T-shirt, I’d rather not press Cricket’s buttons—not about that anyway. I’m here to be cunning, not cruel.
“We’ve all shared,” Laura says. “It’s your turn, Charlie.” Her statement is followed by heads bobbing in unison.
How did I get myself into this? Oh right. In a desperate attempt to earn my parents’ love and approval, I volunteered for this emotional torture. Lesson learned.
Another look at the card stirs up uncomfortable memories. “I played baseball when I was a kid.”
“Were you any good?” Stefan asks.
“Of course he was,” Angela replies. “Look at those arms.” She reaches toward my bicep, but Gloria smacks her hand aside.
“I was, which was unfortunate because that meant I was there to win, not to play.”
“Isn’t that the point of a baseball game?” Angela asks. “One team wins. Gets a trophy and a Super Bowl ring.”
“That’s football,” Olivia says in a stage whisper.
Angela waves a hand airily. “Who cares? They’re all men in tight pants as far as I’m concerned.” She offers a flirtatious smile. “I’m picturing your butt in tight pants right now.”
I make a noise at the back of my throat and continue, “My father expected me to be the next Cal Ripken Jr., hence the card. I carried it around like a talisman.”
“You were trying to manifest that player’s success,” Laura says.
“Something like that, except at a certain point, I realized I didn’t want it. Too much pressure and very little enjoyment, so I gave up baseball.”
“But not the card,” Ben says gently. “You were holding on to something.”
“Yeah. The memory of my father’s support, but it wasn’t real support. It was only a projection of his own needs. There’s no reason to cling to something firmly embedded in the fantasy realm.”
The returned Mandalorian taps his new helmet. “Nothing wrong with the fantasy realm.”
“My attachment to the card had no basis in reality, and it no longer has the meaning I gave to it.” I hesitate for a split second. “But I’m ready to let it go now.”
Somewhere in the background, Idina Menzel belts out the famous refrain from Frozen. One sharp look from Cricket and the music cuts off.
Slowly, John reaches toward the card as though I might change my mind. He gives me another look for confirmation, and I nod.
“Thank you,” he says, admiring the way the foil hits the light. “I’ll give it a new meaning now.”
“You can sell it if you want. Don’t feel like you have to keep it.”
“No way. I’m not that hard up, and I always keep the mementos from camp. I have a shelf in my collectibles room where I display them so every time I pass by, I think of this place and my friends here.”
“I have mine encased in glass,” Ben admits. “I couldn’t fit last year’s though. Too big.” He looks at me. “I got a Gandalf-inspired walking stick.”
“Sounds awesome,” I tell him.
