The Lone Boy

As I sat on the cold metal bar, the sounds of my friends faded out of my radar. I observed the boy in the discolored yellow hat who didn't want to disappoint, crouching with his head tilted to a certain point. He had intense brown eyes the color of a baseball mound, and unlike the others never made much of a sound. On one hand he wore an old brown mitt, which most likely had been his father's and didn't quite fit. I couldn't tell you if he could hit or throw, whether he was fast or slow. If he had any loved ones cheering in the park, or whether he had a known trademark. All I know is he stood out that much was clear, with his determined expression and it being his first year. He crouched in wait the last in the player line, hoping one day he'd have his moment to shine.