|It begins, perhaps, with a phone call, a cryptic
message left on an answering machine. It begins with a bat, with
a bucket of balls, with hesitant smiles giving way to peals of
laughter under a clear, starlit sky.
When the basket is empty, when the makeshift pitcher has
gone, when the lights of the cages flicker and go dark, this,
then, is where it ends.
The starry dark is comforting and distancing at the same
time. She is glad that he cannot see the flush of her cheeks. He
misses the radiant glow of her smile. The teasing banter and
childish giggles have evaporated, leaving in their wake an
awkward silence, a clumsy stillness that feels, for them,