#“baby they've got baseball in california” has been on my mind for the last 16 hours

[entriprises]

talk about a memory rooster has of his childhood

"i don't want to move to california! i just got on the team!" at age ten, the only thing that seems to matter to bradley is baseball. his mother's decision to move them states away feels personal when she knows how hard he's tried for this. he can't imagine any good from the move-- not when he's so close to fitting in.

"baby, they've got baseball in california," there's a sweet stifled laugh from carole who still has her back to him as seals another box with tape. "they've got beaches and great schools and your uncle pete is in california," she's been trying with all her might to sway her brick wall of a son on the issue for weeks. it seems to fall upon deaf ears every time.

turning, the roll of tape left behind on the box, she's faced with the twisted hurt face of bradley. she's seen this look on him since he was a baby. "you've loved the summers out there. every time we'd leave you'd start up a fuss."

"those were summers!" this is his whole life.

"i'm askin' you to give it a chance, bradley. just a chance."