He put on his Cubs hat.He loved that Cubs hat.
He bought it on a whim while on layover on his way to Uzbekistan. He wasn’t a Cubs fan, but he liked the nostalgia in the voices of people who told stories about them. And, he liked the way Greg Maddux looked in the hat in the sports page. Neat, competent, happy.
He didn’t understand at the time that certain expectations came with wearing such a storied cap. St. Louis fans would bark derision at him when he passed. Complete strangers would ask him the score to a game that he didn’t even know was in progress.
Worse, it took him some time to realize these events were associated with the hat and he was unnerved by the intensity of emotion contained in these encounters.
He was still befuddled to have his personality assumed by his clothing, but at least now he knew the source and it wasn't enough to stop him from making the hat a part of his daily wardrobe.
Marty wore it so often that when he pictured himself, the hat was part of the picture. It fit so comfortably, it was an almost seamless part of his head.
And how better can you describe love?
