Eli had shouted Mr. Albert’s name, but it only confused him. Then my son remembered the one thing his old neighbor had always loved: baseball. Mr. Albert had coached Little League for thirty years and had even taught Eli his first curveball. So Eli shouted, “Coach! Practice is starting!” Mr. Albert turned toward him, smiled, and stepped away from the tracks.

Less than a minute later, the freight train thundered past. Eli’s phone died shortly after he texted me, leaving him unable to call anyone. Instead of panicking, he took Mr. Albert’s hand and began walking him home. For twenty-five minutes, Eli kept him focused by talking about pitching, batting averages, and baseball. He held his hand at every corner so he wouldn’t wander away. When Rosa finally saw them coming up the street, she called me before even notifying the police. I looked at my son, realizing that the shortcut he wasn’t supposed to take had just saved a man’s life.