NOW
Ten feet above the ground, the ball continued to fall like a pale stone hurled by a spectator from the stands.
In midair, Henry stretched his left arm until he felt the pull in his elbow. Felt his shoulder might pop right out of the socket. Felt his fingers extend tight against the rough leather inside of the mitt.
The crowd roared louder. Cheering. Shouting. Henry imagined all those whiteys in fine suits clapping backs and shoulders. They probably thought good ol' Jake had just sealed the win with a triple. They were wearing white-colored glasses. They hadn't counted on any of us dark-skinned brothers coming even close to catching the ball. Not yet at least.
Five feet from the ground. Henry's glove closed in on the ball. Still out of reach.
The ball plummeted faster.
Everything in him was reaching, straining, pulling—
Henry groaned.
So close.
Then Henry hit the ground so hard his eyes snapped shut. The thump punched the air out of his gut like a cue ball shooting past his throat and banking out of his mouth in a low grunt.
The celebration fell to a near silence.
For a moment, Henry kept his eyes closed. Then slowly he opened them.
There it was, the ball like a golden egg, sitting in the center of his glove.
YOU ARE READING
Color: Special Edition
Historical FictionDuring World War I, a black baseball player gets a second chance to play ball on an all-white steel mill baseball team, an action that shocks and divides an entire town. Targeted by opponents, his own team, and a ruthless gang, Henry Louis finds him...
