A fourteen-year-old boy is playing second base on a dusty ball field in a simpler time. A real field, a real boy; this happened, just this way.

The batter hits a pop-up. The boy moves under it. If he catches it, the game will end, and his team will win.

The ball rises fast and high. But it’s not the only thing in the sky.

What a time to spot a circling Bald Eagle. Sunshine illuminates its white head and fanned out tail.

But the ball. The all-important pop-up. Concentrate on that.

Behind the boy, a brutish older kid playing shortstop screams: “You better catch that!” Everybody hears this, including girls at the sidelines.

The ball is above the boy, rising then stopping and dropping fast. Everyone heard, “You better catch that.” The back of the boy’s neck burns.

At fourteen he has no seasoning, no understanding of intimidating power plays. But he feels this moment is essential.

And it’s complicated by the eagle. He likes seeing that rare bird, but being good at baseball is everything.

The ball is coming down. The eagle circles. The rude teammate’s words echo: “You better catch that!”

If he makes the catch, should the boy then fire the ball in anger at the shortstop? Hitting that bigger kid? Maybe he should push the guy. There’d be a fight.

He’d lose, but he could take the beating, a matter of honor, a part of baseball. He’s not fazed by pain, but displaying emotion is a fear.

The ball is coming down. Maybe later he should shout, “Don’t ever talk to me that way again.” So everyone hears. Here comes the ball.

He makes the catch naturally, decisively. He’s a competent player. Everyone hears it smack into his hands. Small applause. Game over.

The older kid who yelled says nothing, joining the team as they trot off the field. The boy who made the catch doesn’t say anything either.

But he wonders: should he have expressed anger? Would that have led to a better life? Greater self-esteem? This was never resolved.

On the other hand, he saw his first eagle. It didn’t distract him from making a game-winning catch. That must count for something.

 

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