Brad rushed to the edge of the warning track, looked up to the jumbotron, took a step, and lept. The flyball he tracked was decending quickly from the lights of the dome. He timed the leap well, reached with his glove over the fence. The ball landed with a swap into the webbing of his mitt.

His mother watched from the assisted living center communal room. Her wheelchair nearly left the ground when she reached for the sky with joy. She wore his jersey over her white cardigan, brown barrel-like buttons lined down the front. She looked a bit like him, younger than herself, in the pose despite her hair being white and wearing glasses.