One wheelchair space.
One companion seat.
Buying them nearly emptied my account.
Our printer at home didn’t have ink, so I printed the tickets at the library.
Caleb found them on the kitchen counter before I could surprise him.
He stared at them.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“Are these real?”
“Yes.”
“These are close to the field.”
“I know.”
“They’re wheelchair seats.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me again.
“Mom.”
That was what Caleb said when he had too much to say and couldn’t choose which words should come first.
“How did you afford these?”
“I saved.”
“For how long?”
“A while.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You sold Grandma’s bracelet.”
“I didn’t wear it much.”
“Mom.”
“Caleb.”
He looked at the tickets.
“I really want to go.”
“I know.”
“More than anything.”
“I know.”
The game was on a Sunday in March.
Caleb counted down the days.
On game morning, he was awake at six.
