He couldn’t recall if his mother had let him go out and play alone when he was seven. It disturbed him that he couldn’t remember being seven years old. His Mother seem to remember everything about his childhood so clearly. He went inside, closing the massive door behind him as quietly as he could. With his heart filled with loneliness and frustration, he laboriously climbed the stairs to go to his room and put his bat, glove and ball away before he washed up for dinner. He would never again think about playing baseball.
Thomas sat down to dinner with his Mother and saw she had made him his favorite; fried chicken with homemade mashed potatoes, fresh-baked biscuits and buttered green beans from her garden. She had even made a deep-dish apple pie for him. He didn’t mention how lonely his day had been to his mother at dinner.