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america's game.
I woke up this morning and my headache is gone but the cast is still on my arm and the red spot on the rug that sits between my bed and the chest of army men in my room is still there spread out like the shape of an eggplant reminding me that Terry's face is flatter than it used to be and we shouldn't have overdosed on helium like that. Dad lectured both of us about how we could've died from lack of oxygen and how people can get brain damage and that's probably not something good at all.

At school it was like everyone forgot that I was a star with a cast on my arm. Sure, a few people still wanted to sign it and sure, a coupla' the girls who were so sweet on me yesterday still smiled at me and said "hey!" but it wasn't the same. I spent the first half of the day bored with the teachers and bored with trying to learn how to write with my left hand, and just when it felt like my helium headache was coming back, Coach Shuler came up to me at lunch.

"N.B., I meant what I said yesterday." He looked all serious at first and I was sure I heard him say, "N.B., I didin't mean what I said yesterday."

"I expect you to be at practice today to help me take notes on who's got what it takes and who's just wasting our time." He is actually counting on me! Coach slapped me on the back and took his tray to the trash can, dumped his garbage in and nodded to me as he walked out of the cafeteria like maybe I was his assistant coach even though Coach Gantt was already the assistant coach and this was only townie traveling team and not even junior varsity, but still.

I love baseball.




comments[2]  |   3/22/2005  |  perma-link/trackback

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