And a man at the top of the bleachers.
Harper’s hair started growing back in October. Soft and dark. Same exact shade as her brother’s.
She gave the wig back to Crowned for Courage in March. They washed it and restyled it and gave it to a nine-year-old girl in Ohio.
Wyatt hasn’t had a haircut since August.
“For the next kid,” he says, when anybody asks.
The first Little League game of the spring was on a cold Saturday in April.
Wyatt was pitching.
I sat on the bottom bench of the bleachers with a thermos of coffee. Harper sat next to me in a knit hat, with three inches of hair underneath it, yelling things at the umpire that I won’t repeat. Diane sat on her other side with a blanket over everybody’s knees.
In the second inning, I heard somebody coming down the bleachers behind me.
Graham.
