Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

manage, but the specialty of punctual and athletic initiative was, mortally, his.

  As he pondered immortality, the words “Holy Grail” casually slipped into the search box. The images that appeared were all familiar, but instead of instilling valor, they caused Will to feel inadequate. As he looked around his room, he realized how ill equipped he was. Instead of a bull whip, he had a stack of economics text books. On his night stand rested a salty ball cap, which certainly had no business doubling as a distinguishing fedora. In place of armor were his shoulder pads. Next to him on the desk was no sword, but a worn out football. He palmed the ball with a dejected sigh and got up from the desk.

  Over and over he spiraled it up, almost denting the ceiling fan, and tortured the ball with an agonizing squish as it fell back into his hands. Never did he look at it though. It just fell magnetically into his clutch. His eyes focused on his own reflection in the mirror that was fastened to the back of the closet door. A full review of his physique started at his square stance, legs planted like tree trunks, the curvature of his attentive calves, the agile narrowness of his waist, flat stomach funneling up to a broad chest, channeled arm muscles, carved shoulders, stern jaw, brooding stare and ended at his slicked hair. The ball flipped up and down with the effortless flick of his fingers. It was just a blur between Will and the link with his youthful, but fatefully transient, soul.

  Upon touching down at a new psychoanalytical depth, he stopped and tossed the ball away to the bed. Instantly at the window he withdrew the curtain and viewed the street. The neighborhood had settled in for the night.

  Will was relieved at least to see a police cruiser parked at the end of the block, as promised. A few cars down was some type of bulky service van. He felt confident that he could make out the city’s utility crest on the side, but he wasn’t sure. Up at the other end was another repair or delivery vehicle. There was some commotion going on inside, which paused as someone opened up the tailgates. Two men got out and lowered a massive cart on to the asphalt. They then wheeled it into the restaurant at the corner.

  Up past the stop sign were two identical vans. Both were still and watchful. Their function was not clear, but their position was deliberate. Will examined them closely. Unfortunately, nothing was to be gleaned except their stationary creepiness.

  Sneaking away, he switched off the desk light, grabbed his chair and pulled it over to the window. Will sat, shrouded by the absorbing blackness of the room. He monitored the vans carefully for any signs of aggression. It wasn’t long before his eyelids and his body felt heavy. His drowsy head tilted, and reclined. Finally he succumbed to his self-induced worrying and fell asleep at his post.

  The Happy Union Of These States Is A Wonder

  The Mith family hunched around a white-clothed table, indulgently devouring piles of assorted cakes. They scooped up the fine desserts, quietly sharing satisfied glances around the table. Will, however was stone faced. His parents occasionally looked at him with mutual concern. Will had been silent that evening, despite the family celebrating his youngest sister Rosemary’s fourteenth birthday. Neither she nor their sister Anna noticed their brother’s odd demeanor as they savored the sumptuous chocolate. They obliviously gossiped about schoolmates and mocked the fashion of other diners in the crowded restaurant, carrying on and behaving like natural teenagers. Will’s mind was distant though, drawing his face heavily towards his plate. He shoveled down his slice of cheesecake. As his sisters snickered obnoxiously, Professor and Mrs. Mith noted their son’s worry.

  “How’s your head feeling Will?” asked Mrs. Mith asked.

  “Fine,” he responded curtly.

  “I figured it might stifle your appetite a bit,” Mrs. Mith continued, “but apparently not. No dizziness?”

  “I’m fine,” Will replied abruptly again.

  “You’re not planning on going back to practice again soon, are you?” she pressed.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Maybe coach will let you sit a few weeks,” Mrs. Mith suggested.

  “I can’t just sit a few weeks, Mom,” Will protested.

  “Then sit the season,” Mrs. Mith pushed. “You’re starting to rack up injuries this year. You can concentrate on school and be one hundred percent for next year. Concussions like that are dangerous. I’ve been reading all kinds of reports…”

  “Mom, I’m fine,” Will cut her off.

  “Maybe taking a year off from football isn’t such a bad idea,” Professor Mith supported his wife. “Maybe there’s something we can work out with coach.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Don’t want to lose my starting job,” Will explained shortly. “Got too much going on. I’ll figure it out later.”

  “Too much going on?” his mother said with confusion. “Like what? You don’t have football and you’re not working.”

  “Just…” Will exclaimed with mounting agitation, “busy. Lots of stuff happening.”

  His parents looked at each other with muddled expressions. Mrs. Mith raised her brows with frustration and went back to her crème brulee. Professor Mith shrugged sympathetically.

  “Lots to think about, I’m sure,” Professor Mith said. “Just let me know if you need me to talk to the school.”

  Will nodded pensively. He scraped up the last little morsels of crust on his plate and popped them in his mouth without bothering to taste them. He took a few gulps of water and sat back with his arms folded. Eventually, everyone else at the table finished eating and lazily fell back in their seats.

  “Well that was delicious,” Professor Mith exclaimed. “Good birthday?”

  Rosemary nodded affirmatively and wiped the crumbs from her mouth. Meanwhile Anna’s stare overtly trailed a teenaged boy who passed by with his family. Mrs. Mith scoffed at her and smiled. Professor Mith rolled his eyes. Both sisters giggled.

  Will bobbled, indolently watching the ebb of people dodging each other. While he was beginning to feel lethargic as his dinner digested, his attention was suddenly drawn to the opposite end of the room. A pair of raised and genially waving hands signaled to him. As he focused and finally recognized them, his eyes lit up and his body went stiff. It was Madison and Hamilton perched atop bar stools heartily greeting him. A terror unleashed a choking strangle on Will’s throat and his eyes bulged.

  Madison muttered something to the bartender who acknowledged this as he wiped down a glass. Then the two founding fathers took a mutual swig of their drinks, stood and began to walk towards the Miths’ table. Will’s frightened glare intensified with each step they took. He wheeled around to see if there was someone behind him they might be saluting, but no one else looked up.

  They continued ambling through the tables in the dining room right towards Will’s family. Their cheerful faces and loose gaits were unlike the guarded posture with which they initially met him. A noticeable instability in their approach revealed that they had been there drinking for a while. This was confirmed when Hamilton bumped a busser, nearly knocking a few glasses off his tray. The immortal apologized profusely and courteously extended his arms to give right of way to the staff member. He hopped forward to rejoin Madison, and both arrived at the Miths’ table with rosy cheeks and accommodating bows.

  “Young Mr. Mith,” Madison opened. “How are you this evening?”

  Will stared blankly for a moment, then stammered, “Good.”

  “And, may we presume, the entirety of the Mith clan?” Hamilton inquired.

  Will’s deflating astonishment drew a few more moments of silence. His mouth hung open and arms dangled limply, as air freely escaped his shocked lungs. His parents smiled awkwardly at the dramatic strangers and then back at Will who struggled to introduce them. Professor Mith finally impelled Will by clearing his throat loudly.

  “Yeah,” Will uttered. “Mom, Dad, this is…”

  Hamilton’s and Madison’s deceitful smiles made it apparent that they knew exactly what they were doing, and hadn’t randomly stumbled over to make small talk.
As Will’s pallor progressively grew more sallow he felt like he was on a hidden camera show. Embarrassing mortals must have been great fun for them.

  “This is Coach James, and Coach Alexander,” Will concluded.

  “Yes, coaches, that is what we are,” Hamilton said while running his finger along his nose in Madison’s direction.

  “These are my parents and my sisters,” Will added.

  “Mr. Mith, it is an honor,” Hamilton stated. “Mrs. Mith, it is a pleasure.”

  Hamilton stuck out his hand to Will’s mom who was sitting closest. She held hers to shake, but Hamilton boldly grabbed hold and leaned down to kiss it. She chortled with exaggerated nicety. To further perpetuate Will’s agony, Madison did likewise to his mother.

  “Charmed,” Madison said.

  “Indeed,” Professor Mith said coldly.

  “Ah, and happy birthday young lady,” Madison said when he noticed the burnt candle next to Rosemary’s plate. “Relish each one before they become too many to recount.”

  Hamilton shook Professor Mith’s hand, “It’s very nice meet you.”

  “You as well,” Professor Mith said. “You look very familiar.”

  “Yes, Coach,” Will stumbled, “you know my dad is a history professor at Penn.”

  “History, excellent!” Madison exclaimed as he too shook the professor’s hand. “No, I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

  “Really?” Professor Mith