Music blasted between plays. Strangers high-fived like cousins. My younger son was vibrating in his seat from pure joy.
That was when I noticed the woman and the little boy a few rows down.
At first, it was just because they looked so still.
Everyone around them was standing, waving rally towels, and shouting at the field. But the boy sat motionless, hands folded in his lap, and his shoulders drawn in tight.
He looked about nine, maybe 10. He wore dark sunglasses even though the lights were already blazing overhead and the sky had gone fully black.
He didn’t look at the giant screen.
He didn’t react to the crowd.
He just sat there with his head slightly lowered, almost like he was listening to something the rest of us couldn’t hear.
His mother sat close beside him, leaning in every few seconds to whisper into his ear.
Not casually.
