“See you at six, Mom.”
“See you at six.”
He walked through the main entrance. This time, I got out of the car and stood by the door and watched him through the glass. He walked down the main hall. At the end, he turned left.
Toward the locker rooms.
I stood there for a long time after he disappeared.
That night, when I picked him up, his hair was soaked with sweat and his face was bright red, and he collapsed into the passenger seat like someone had dropped him from a great height.
“How was practice?” I asked.
“Coach nearly killed us with drills,” he said, and then he started laughing, and I started laughing, and we laughed so hard I had to wait a full minute before I could pull out of the parking lot.
When we got home, he threw his gear in the laundry room.
