Young Steve Corman was an intelligent 18 year old. Living in the quiet little town of Saursville, Kentucky, in 1968, Steve looked forward to going to school everyday, playing ball for the SHS Trojans, and following the news about the pinkos in Vietnam, and how LBJ would take them out. Young Corman and the town rallied in patriotic support.
Steve gets home from a long day of school and hard work, only to find his little brother, Nick, running at him with a mitt and a baseball, begging Steve to play catch.
"Stevie! Hey! How was school?"
"Same ol' Sa-"
"Cool! Wanna play catch? Mom bought me a glove and a baseball today!"
"Sure Nick, lemme go get my glove in the garage ok?"
Nick heads to the 2 car garage of their picket fenced, suburban home. He scrounges around old flatten basketballs, worn out tennis rackets, and finds his glove, with "Steve Corman" written by a sharpie pen on the side of it.
He heads out of the garage, not thoughtful to close it - nothing unusual in this town happens anyway.
Nick readily throws the ball at Steve. "Gosh Nick, you put some mustard on that one." Nick smiles, gaps in his mouth apparent from the loss of his baby teeth.
They continue throwing the ball back from one another for an hour or two, and it starts getting dark. The light that sheds through the corn fields facing the side of their house starts to fade. The house, so vibrantly white, fades in with the oncoming darkness.
Nick throws the ball as hard as he can and it flies right into the corn fields. Steve, with good knowledge of where the ball went, decided for the hell of it to retrieve the ball.
"I'll get it...