red sox

there was something about that little boy in the stands with his hands covering his eyes. his dad was holding him up as the camera zoomed in on him and the announcers kept on talking. he didnt know he was being filmed. he was terrified, this kid was, but if you asked him why it would have seemed so general, so vague, so obvious. the good guys might lose. they need to win. why? because they havent in a long time. because they arent supposed to. because it would be historical, unforgettable, unmatched.
but still, in spite of or maybe because of all those exciting words just lingering in the air like ripe balloons, it was so scary. it was so scary he couldnt watch. but he was- he would crack open his fingers a little bit. he was telling himself that he wasnt watching, but he was. and he always had the option of just closing that gap and erasing it all. hiding from it all.
like he didnt trust his eyelids. he had to use his hands to cover it up because his eyes would have betrayed him. they would have opened as jeter got a home run, or as damon struck out. and it would have been ruined, tainted, real. but if he kept his hands over his eyes, letting enough light through so that he still knew it was happening, he could be his own filter.
i think though that that kid was shielding himself more from the faces around him than from what was happening on the field. because the only thing worse than seeing your favorite team get beaten in a monumental game, in a game that shouldnt even be happening, is seeing your dads face watching it all fall apart.
and the kid had no idea that his face was all over the TV. everyone felt the exact same way as this four year old, and he had no idea.
im looking through my hands. im letting the light seep past enough to know it still exists, but im holding my hands there just in case so i can shut it out. if i need to. if something goes terribly wrong, if the good guys start to slip. if what i know should be happening, for some reason, doesnt.
im trusting my hands to be there.