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| It never was the same, of course, except it never changed for him, |
| when the others gathered together in one shower stall after the game, |
| lined up like prisoners in a concentration camp, all in line, all single file, |
| all waiting for the hand behind the barred window to stretch out and |
| pass the next white towel. |
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| That moment lasted forever. It is lasting still. He is there, thirty-five |
| by now, watching the boys hide themselves from each other. |
| That is what they still are – boys – despite the hair around their |
| nipples, despite the erections they try to cover with lather and towel, |
| despite the fact that they look down at each other in anticipation |
| and competition, knowing that they will not talk about this for weeks. |
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| They are still boys despite the jock strap, the thickened muscle, |
| the deep voice, the hairy knuckle, the Adam’s apple. They are |
| still boys, with lunch bags still packed by their mothers each day. |
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| It never was the same, of course, except it never changed for him, |
| when the other players decided they did not want him on their team, |
| never asking him about his undefeated record, his .666 batting |
| average, his size 10 1/2 cleats, his ability to hit a home run |
| from both the left and right side of the plate. |
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| They noticed instead his eyes as they roamed the locker room benches, |
| his head as it bowed as if keeping a secret, the extra time he took |
| to fold and unfold his clothes. He looks back at those days, how they’ve |
| come and gone, how they’ve lost pieces of themselves along the way, |
| how they held promises that washed away like dirt on the shower tile. |
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