Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

fired up the cobblestones in the streets as if charcoal in a grill. Ruffled birds didn’t sing in the bushes, and pained alley cats refused to hunt them. The muggy atmosphere hung like drapes across foggy windows and greasy cell phone screens. Heat sizzled up from the ground and distorted the endless lanes of pavement. Everywhere there was the hum of industrial HVAC units struggling to churn out cool air. In the observance of history, authenticity is key, and the misery of every July in Philadelphia is the same.

  Lazing under the shade in the courtyard of Independence Hall was a portly man dressed in knickers, buckled shoes, a brown vest, and bifocals resting at the end of his nose. A cane leaned next to him against the bench, as did a crinkled paper bag containing the refuse of his lunch. Crowned with wispy white hair, he took out a handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his head. Then he cleaned the gray buildup of dirt from his glasses with the moistened rag. He held them out and squinted through to inspect the lenses. On the other side of the glass something caught his attention. He hastily returned the frames to his nose.

  Two curvaceous women strolled by in tight fitting-shorts and tank tops. One giggled as the other quietly recounted some seemingly inappropriate story. The man on the bench watched them pass. Slowly, his brow rose flirtatiously and a thin smile curled up his cheeks.

  One of the girls spied the man over the other’s shoulder and indicated to her friend. They both glanced over at him. Although lounging casually, they noticed his heightened awareness. They giggled again and waved provocatively at him.

  “Hi, Ben,” one of the girls snickered.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” he replied.

  They strutted by, continuing to laugh to themselves as he smiled at them. As they went, his eyes followed. Eventually, turning his gaze back towards the street, a satisfied hum reverberated through his lips.

  “Still got it,” Ben murmured to himself.

  Over by the entrance to the hallowed hall, a few people had gathered. With eyes wandering around, looking exhausted from the heat, they waited. Noticing them, Ben checked his watch and cleared his throat. He grabbed his cane and pushed himself up from the bench. Crumpling the paper bag up in his hands, he took a few steps back and shot it towards a trash can. It arched through the air and dropped perfectly through the middle of the rim. He celebrated by lifting two exalted fingers into the air.

  A touristy-looking group formed as the one o’clock hour approached. A pair of small children fidgeted uncontrollably, dangling at the end of their parents’ arms. Next to them was a group of older ladies with ugly vintage sunglasses and elaborate red hats. A muscular guy, failing to hide his boredom behind chromed aviators, was joined by his leopard print girlfriend, who dutifully read a pamphlet on the structure. Two massive and unseasonably pale men stood just under the shadows of a tree along the street. Their heads arched in opposite directions, creepily scanning the avenue. Both wore soccer jerseys crisscrossed with German football club insignia. With them was an older man in a tan military poplin shirt. He had a pronounced forehead from a receding hairline that was slicked back, and darkened eyes that glared at the approaching Franklin impersonator. Rounding out the crowd were two middle-aged women, with obvious surgical alterations, and their husbands. At the back, swaying gently, was a gorgeous young woman in petite French fashion.

  Across the street on Independence Mall, Will and a middle-aged woman in a skirted business suit strolled along the sidewalk. They shared an attractive familial appearance. Both carried iced coffees, which they slurped throughout their conversation.

  “So have you picked your classes for next semester yet?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, Mom, last week.”

  “Anything good?”

  “I’m looking forward to international economics and 18th Century American History. More accounting though,” Will grimaced.

  “Dad will be happy you’re taking more history. It might help with some of our genealogy research, and you’re in the perfect place to get a jump on the curriculum,” Mrs. Mith said, motioning to their historic surroundings.

  “It’s probably just useful for debates at Dad’s faculty cook-outs,” Will joked.

  “I guess we have that next weekend,” Mrs. Mith sighed. “I’ve got five pounds of coleslaw to make. How is practice going? Are you feeling alright?”

  “Yeah, I feel fine.”

  “Dad said you might start.”

  “I hope so,” Will replied. “I haven’t had any setbacks.”

  “I can get your jersey this year! I’ll get one that says ‘Will’s Mom’ on the back,” Mrs. Mith laughed.

  “Please don’t!” Will laughed back.

  “Just you wait,” she threatened.

  Four brawny men marched towards Will and his mom. They separated ominously and flanked the pair as they walked by. One brushed shoulders with Will, with purposeful menace.

  “What about that Katie? Are you still seeing her?” Mrs. Mith inquired.

  “Not anymore,” Will said with some disappointment. “Dating a med student was tougher than I thought it would be. There wasn’t enough time for me and organic chem.”

  “That’s too bad, she was nice. Well, you still have a long summer ahead of you. You never know what might happen,” Mrs. Mith prophesized.

  “I should focus on football and classes anyway. No time for distractions,” said Will.

  “You sound like your father. A little summer romance might be just the adventure you need. Anyway, I should get back to the office. Thanks for meeting me for lunch.”

  She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. After taking a big gulp of her drink, she turned and strutted off towards a cluster of corporate towers.

  Will milled over to a concrete planter, while stirring up the ice in his drink. He sat down against a suffering shrub and slurped up the last of the coffee-flavored water at the bottom of his cup. Looking up he saw a convincing Ben Franklin impersonator approaching a gathering outside the Hall. Remembering his mother’s suggestion, Will spied the group with interest. With nowhere else to be, he tossed his cup in the trash and crossed the street to join the tour.

  The two enormous men who sported German soccer iconography on their clothes and their older companion sidled up next to Will at the back of the group. With odd precision, the two hulking ones stood in unison behind the elder. Momentarily distracted from the Franklin impersonator, the older man turned to Will. He raised a boney finger, revealed a set of sharp canines through an eerie grin, and pointed at Will’s T-shirt, which displayed the University of Pennsylvania logo across his chest.

  “I also went to Penn,” said the older man with a confirming German accent.

  “Oh yeah?” was all Will could manage for the creepy old man.

  “Many years ago. I became a dentist,” the old German said again with a grin. “What do you study?”

  “Business,” Will curtly replied.

  “An excellent profession,” the old German complimented. “Good luck with your studies.”

  The Franklin impersonator then took position at the middle of the crowd on a step just in front of the entrance. He inspected each one of the tour members, smiling happily at all.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Franklin bellowed. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  Franklin raised his eyebrows teasingly a couple times. The group smiled back, prompted by a courteous chuckle from one of the men.

  “If you think it’s bad now, try wearing a cotton suit while being stuffed inside that building with the windows locked. Some of us were even bold enough to wear a wig! Such was the case during proceedings of the Second Continental Congress, to keep the nature of our discourse confidential until its report. Of course it’s always like this, and always has been since I started coming here in 1775,” Franklin roused. “Original construction began in 1732 and was completed in 1753 when I was still a young printer and businessman in the city, for the purpose of serving as the Pennsylvania Colonial Legislature. It was only a generation before
it was turned against that mission.”

  Will glanced around at the group, stopping when he saw the petite girl standing alone. Pretty and only a couple years younger than himself, she seemed to be making funny faces at the impersonator, trying to catch his attention for some reason. Eventually, she noticed Will eying her and peeked over at him. As she looked at the six-foot tall, broad-shouldered quarterback, she bit her bottom lip. Will quickly looked away and then back again, which she did in rhythm with him a few times. Their moment was abruptly interrupted by the impersonator who cleared his throat loudly and made scolding eye contact with Will.

  Franklin continued: “By the time that delegation began meeting, the war had already begun in Massachusetts. The Congress’s previously established goal of reconciliation and protestation was quickly superseded by the need to support the Northern militias as they entrapped the British army in Boston. It was in this assembly room behind me, which you’ll see in a few minutes, that George Washington was first elected as the commander of the Continental Army in 1775. From that point onward, the reality and necessity of independence dominated our attention.”

  No matter how many times he gazed up at that building, Will always felt a flash of patriotism. His spine straightened a little, his arms fell at attention and a respectful appearance toughened up his face. The same was the case now, at least until he caught the girl peeping at him again. He