The next day Timothy was watching the street hockey game. He wasn’t familiar with being on this side of the game; he had always played and wished he could today. But not today. He didn’t get much grief over it from the guys, either, being that his head was all bandaged up. Twelve stitches it took. At least he didn’t crack his head open.
God, he wanted to play. So badly he wanted to play. But his grandparents thought he shouldn’t so soon after his accident and they were probably right.
There was a loud metallic clang as his friend Jordan scored a goal. Several people along the sidewalk cheered; Timothy was one of them.
“N-nice shot, Jordan!”
Jordan glanced at him with a beaming smile.
Timothy thought of Eddie. He wished Eddie was there with him to watch the game. He bet Eddie would be great at hockey. He was probably too old to be allowed to play, but still: he’d be great at it. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, as Eddie’s greatness would probably overshadow Timothy’s.
The game went on for another thirty minutes. During that time Timothy took frequent glances up and down the street, remembering the time he saw Arabella here, and wished she was here now. Now that Eddie was gone, he sure could use a friend.