Caleb glanced at the empty wheelchair space.
“They aren’t better seats, you know. They’re just the seats I can actually use.”
There was nobody important left for him to impress.
For a moment, the man said nothing.
Then he nodded and walked away.
I thought that was the end of it.
The man was gone. Caleb had his seat back. Hayes’s mother had disappeared toward the field.
I didn’t know she’d taken Caleb’s story with her.
I thought that was the end of it.
Caleb rolled into his space.
I sat beside him and tried not to cry.
Caleb looked at the field.
For the next hour, he became himself again.
A few plays later, Caleb pointed toward the defense.
“Blitz.”
The ball snapped.
For the next hour, he became himself again.
He was right.
I smiled, remembering the man who had decided Caleb probably didn’t even understand the game.
