Daniel whispered:
“Watch football.”
“No.”
“Be normal.”
That word hurt more than anything else.
Caleb saw it.
He sighed.
“I knew you’d make it sad.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He looked at me.
Then said:
“I don’t mean pretend I’m not sick.”
“I just mean…”
He struggled.
Finally:
“Not everything has to become a memory before it’s even over.”
That sentence stopped me.
He looked toward my phone.
“If you’re always saving stuff for later, sometimes you miss when it’s happening.”
I turned the phone face down.
Caleb noticed.
Daniel covered his mouth.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Daniel said:
“I think I’ve been afraid that if I stop paying attention for one second, I’ll lose something.”
Caleb looked at him.
“You’re already paying attention.”
“You’re just not having fun.”
That actually made Daniel laugh.
Through tears.
“Brutal.”
Caleb smiled.
“You raised me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Dad.”
“I’m joking.”
Caleb leaned against him.
Then looked at me.
“You too.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I picked up my phone.
Caleb watched.
Then I switched it completely off.
Not silent.
Off.
I put it into my bag.
His eyebrows rose.
“Whoa.”
“Don’t make it dramatic.”
“I think the stadium should announce this.”
“Absolutely not.”
Daniel laughed.
Then Caleb asked:
“Can we go back?”
Daniel immediately said:
“Are you sure you’re not too—”
He stopped himself.
Caleb waited.
Daniel tried again.
“What do you want?”
Caleb smiled.
“Fourth quarter.”
“Then fourth quarter.”
We returned to our seats.
No camera found us.
No announcer said Caleb’s name.
No player ran over with a signed helmet.
For the rest of the afternoon, nothing was arranged.
That became my favorite part.
The Westmere Hawks were losing by three.
Daniel complained about the offensive coordinator.
Caleb told him his play-calling suggestions would get him fired.
I accused a referee of corruption.
Caleb laughed.
“Mom, that call was against the Hawks.”
“I know.”
“So how is it corrupt?”
“It hurt my feelings.”
“That’s not corruption.”
Daniel said:
“Your mother has her own rulebook.”
“Finally someone respects my expertise.”
My hand moved toward my bag when Caleb laughed.
I stopped.
He noticed.
“You can take one.”
“No.”
“Seriously.”
“I know.”
“Then why not?”
I looked at him.
“Because I’m here.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
No emotional speech.
No praise.
He simply turned back to the field.
Exactly right.
Late in the fourth quarter, the Hawks got the ball back.
The entire stadium rose.
Caleb could not stand for long, so Daniel stayed seated beside him.
So did I.
Nobody complained.
The quarterback threw deep.
Completed.
The stadium exploded.
Caleb grabbed Daniel’s sleeve.
“GO!”
Daniel yelled.
Not careful yelling.
Not hospital yelling.
Football yelling.
Next play.
Short run.
Clock moving.
Caleb leaned forward.
Then came a pass into the end zone.
Touchdown.
Creston Field shook.
Daniel jumped up before remembering Caleb.
