April 12, 2008

There was a moment, just before the foul ball dropped into the stands, when she thought about where she would put it in her house. It could go on the mantel, in an acrylic box, next to her wedding photo and the candlesticks her grandfather made in his metalworks shop. It could go in her office. Or it could go in that shoebox in the closet, the one where she kept notes from old boyfriends, photos from when she weighed less, and dried flowers from that night when she danced. Really, really danced.

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