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From THE WAY HOME LOOKS NOWWhen it was time for Nelson's at-bat, we let the other team have an extra outfielder. They also put up their best pitcher, Nick, who was a lefty and had had an early growth spurt to boot. Nelson fouled off the first pitch. The next pitch was way on the outside. Donny Sherman, who was playing catcher, called a strike. Nelson looked at Donny. "You must be joking." "I call 'em like I see 'em," responded Donny. He was 0-2, but Nelson didn't look nervous. Nick went into his wind-up, and the next thing I heard was a dull pop. The ball sailed out past the outfield and into the trees. A shooting star. For a second everyone was quiet, just watching the ball soar away from the field. Then everyone began whooping and cheering. Nelson trotted around the bases, trying not to look too pleased with himself. When he reached home, Donny took off his mask and shook his hand. Nelson picked up his bat, jogged over to our side and handed it to me. "Gotta go. Can't keep a girl waiting." "Come on, Nelson, just a little longer," I said. "It's not even hot. You're not getting sweaty." How could a girl even compare to a decent ball game? Girls couldn't even play ball, as far as I could tell. A cool breeze fanned the field. It looked like it might rain. I didn't want to lose that feeling, not yet. Nelson laughed and shook his head. "I'll stay home tomorrow night, play a whole game with you guys. Maybe we can even work on that palmball," he promised. When I scowled at him, he said, "One day you'll understand." When I think about this moment, I wonder what would have happened if I had tried harder to get him to stay, for just a little longer. One more at-bat, one more inning, one more anything. If I had just changed my grip ever so slightly, and let things spin differently.