Imperfect Spiral (14 page)

I wait for the inevitable “… for a girl,” but it doesn't come.

“Thanks,” I say. “I guess I like to throw things.”

He laughs at that. “What, other than a football?”

“Oh—I don't know. Darts. Baseballs.”

“Rocks?”

“Could be,” I say.

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“Oh, sure,” I say. “Utterly fascinating.”

“I'm Justin Folgar,” the boy says. “If we're going to be throwing things at each other, we should introduce ourselves.”

“I'm Danielle Snyder.”

He makes a face that I can't interpret.

“What?” I ask.

“What what?”

“Is there something about my name that made you make a face?”

“I have to confess, I already knew your name,” Justin says.

“Did I mention it last time …?”

“No. I just—you know, kids know your name. Now. Because of what happened.”

“It wasn't supposed to be in the newspaper,” I say. “My name.”

“I didn't read it in the paper,” Justin says. “Just—people talk.”

“We're not even in the same school!” I say.

“Yeah, no,” he says. “Anyway, hi, Danielle.”

“Why
are
you here?” I ask. “You don't even live around here.”

“That again?” he says. “You're still going to raise a geographical objection to my use of this park?”

This makes me laugh.

“But really, why are you here?” I say.

He tosses the ball to me, sideways, since we're sitting next to each other.

“I'm here to throw things at you,” he says.

We had a playdate with another little boy who lived in a house with, reportedly, a huge basement playroom.

“I don't know him and he doesn't like me,” Humphrey sulked when Mrs. Danker told him about the playdate.

“If you don't know him, how can he not like you?” Mrs. Danker said.

“To know you is to love you, buddy,” I added.

He liked the sound of that.
To know you is to love you. To know you is to love you
. It made a very good chant. Mrs. Danker gave Humphrey a kiss and left for her treatment while he was still chanting.

“But what does it mean?” Humphrey asked after a while.

“It means you're so wonderful that a person who gets to know you will definitely like you. They can't help it!” I said.

“To know you is to love
you
,” he said.

“Aw, shucks,” I said. “Back at you.”

Mrs. Danker had set up this date with little Christopher Battle. Christopher had a real nanny, a live-in, Darcy, from Scotland.

“Shall we go to the playroom, then?” Darcy said after answering the door. “Christopher has all sorts of things going on down there.”

She spoke with a lovely lilt, and a little bit of a slur to her
s
sounds: “all
sh
orts of things going on down there.”

Christopher did have all sorts of things going on in the playroom. He had what had to be every action figure he owned—and it looked like there were at least forty of them—arrayed in two lines, facing each other.

“Come on, I've got us set up for battle,” Christopher said. “Look, you can be these guys.” He pointed to one of the action figure armies laid out on the floor. “
Aargh
!” he growled, Iron Man in hand.

“
Aargh
,” Humphrey said. He picked up the Flash.

“
Gaah
!” Christopher moaned, now holding G.I. Joe in his other hand. “Come on!”

Humphrey took up a Prince of Persia figure, and looked at Christopher expectantly.

“Don't you know how to do this?” Christopher said. “Come on, bring it on!”

Humphrey didn't seem to get what “bringing it on” entailed.

“Look, Humphrey,” Darcy said. She danced the Green
Lantern around on the carpeted floor. Christopher danced his G.I. Joe energetically in front of Darcy's Green Lantern, and then had Iron Man pounce.

“Gotcha!” Christopher cried out.

Humphrey took an action figure in each hand and moved them about in a weak imitation of Darcy and Christopher.

“He—his parents don't buy action figures,” I said quietly to Darcy.

“Oh—you mean—do you think they'd mind?” Darcy asked.

“No, no, it's fine. Just—as you see, he doesn't have a clue.”

Darcy waved her hand, as if to sweep away doubts. “He's a boy, right? He'll get it. Christopher will turn him into a ninja or a special-ops guy or whatever soon enough.”

Christopher was remarkably patient for a little kid, I thought. “No, look, like
this
,” he corrected Humphrey, repeatedly, but not impatiently, adjusting the action figure in Humphrey's little paw. “Then go like
that
,” he said, twisting and turning the figures in patterns that made total sense to him and, apparently, his nanny.

“Okay,” Humphrey kept saying.

After a while, both boys lost interest. Christopher became engaged in a cartoon playing on the big-screen television. Humphrey wandered to an alcove at one end of the playroom, where an elaborate dollhouse was set up on a dining-room-size table. The interior was filled with finely detailed furniture and fixtures and accessories, from carved beds to wing chairs to desks to toilets to a tiny teakettle.

“Awesome!” Humphrey breathed out.

“Yeah, it's Emma's,” Darcy said. “Christopher's big sister.”

“Can I play with it?”

“Um—” Darcy looked back at Christopher, in front of the television. “Don't you want to—” She looked at me. I shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” Darcy said. “Very carefully.”

“Oh, I'll be extremely, extremely very careful,” Humphrey said.

Humphrey explored every inch of the dollhouse.

“It almost gives me tears,” he said quietly.

Darcy looked at me for translation.

“It's fabulous,” I explained.

“Are there any—dolls?” Humphrey asked.

Darcy hesitated before answering. “Up in Emma's room. I don't think we should get them.”

“That's okay,” Humphrey said. “Maybe …” He hurried over to the action figures. “Maybe this guy.” He picked one up. “And this one.”

“What'cha doing, Humphrey?” Christopher asked.

“Taking these to the house.”

“To the
doll
house?”

Humphrey nodded.

“Action figures don't go with the dollhouse,” Christopher said. “They're action figures, not dolls.”

“They're kind of like dolls,” Humphrey said.

“No, they're not!”

“They're little pretend people,” Humphrey said. “Like dolls.”

“You know, guys, maybe we should have some outside time,” I said. Darcy agreed. We went out the playroom door.

“Scrimmage!” Christopher yelled, grabbing a football off the grass.

“Does Humphrey have any interest in sports?” Darcy asked me quietly.

“He likes football,” I said. “Hey, Humphrey, go long and I'll pass to you.” There was a second football on the ground and I launched a spiral across the lawn. He missed the catch, but then retrieved the ball and ran it back to me.

“Again,” he said.

“Go!” I said, and he went.

He caught that pass, and a few more after that. Christopher was impressed with my throwing ability, and asked for some passes, too.

After a few minutes of passing, Christopher and Darcy convinced me and Humphrey to play a game.

“Two-on-two,” Christopher said. “Me and—” He pointed at me.

We dragged lawn chairs to the opposite ends of the yard to serve as goalposts and formed up on a line of scrimmage.

“Two-hand touch,” Darcy said. She and Christopher explained the rules to Humphrey.

A coin toss gave Darcy and Humphrey the ball first. Her first pass to him—incomplete. Her second—way beyond his reach. Her third—Humphrey completed a reception.
A miracle
, I thought.

“Run, Humphrey, run!” Darcy called. He ran toward the lawn chair, Christopher right on his heels. Christopher reached both hands out to touch him; Humphrey dodged the touch by twisting his body away. As a result, Humphrey stumbled. He recovered his balance and didn't fall, but the ball popped out of his hands. He didn't run after it.

“Fumble!” Christopher screamed happily. The ball ricocheted a few times—
BOING
this way,
BOING
that way—and Christopher followed it and grabbed it. Holding the ball tight against his side, he ran toward the lawn chair at the other end of the yard. Humphrey just stood and watched him. “Touchdown!” Christopher yelled.

“I thought—I thought you start over if you drop the ball,” Humphrey said. “I thought you hike the ball again.”

“That's if it's an incomplete,” Christopher said. “But not if you drop it after you've caught it. Then it's a fumble, and anyone can get it. Like I did.”

“When the ball is dropped, no matter who drops it, you don't even stop to think about it, Humphrey,” I said. “Fumble! You just pounce on that ball.”

“Fumble and pounce,” Humphrey repeated. “Fumble and pounce.”

“You got it,” I said.

It took a few more plays, but Humphrey figured out the difference between an incomplete pass and a fumble. And on the last play of the game, a pass by me to Christopher, Christopher ran only a few steps before losing the ball.

“Fumble!” Humphrey immediately cried, following the
BOING-BOING
-ing ball until he could pick it up. He ran all the way for a touchdown. “Touchdown!” It was his only one, but it was sweet.

On the way home, I asked, “Was that fun?”

Humphrey shrugged. “Sort of.”

“Christopher's a nice boy,” I said.

“Yeah,” Humphrey said. “But if we go there again, maybe it should be when his sister is there.”

“That dollhouse, huh, Humphrey?”

He nodded. “If I had it, I would play with it all the time.”

“Maybe your mom and dad will get you one for your birthday,” I said.

“I think they'll think it's for girls,” Humphrey said. “Like that bead project set.” Humphrey and I had seen it at the mall when we shopped for Mrs. Danker's birthday present. “Dad said no when I asked for it last Christmas.”

“Maybe he didn't want you playing with tiny beads,” I said. “Maybe he thought you were too young back then. Really little kids sometimes put things in their mouths that don't belong there.”

“I would never put the beads in my mouth,” Humphrey scoffed.

We walked for a few more minutes in friendly silence.

“At least I learned about fumble and pounce,” Humphrey said.

Funny
, I thought.
At least
. “At least you did.”

“Fumble and pounce. They sound like names of cats to me,” Humphrey said. “When I get my kittens, I'm going to name them Fumble and Pounce.”

“I love that!” I said. “You're getting kittens?”

“One day,” Humphrey said. “The only problem is, my daddy's allergic.”

“Bummer.”

“But sometimes allergies go away,” Humphrey said.

“I hope that happens with your dad,” I said.

“Also,” Humphrey said, “Mommy says there are shots. Daddy could get shots and then he wouldn't be allergic and we could get our kittens.”

“Well—then maybe that's what will happen,” I said. I had my doubts.

“I hope the allergies just go away,” Humphrey said. “I wouldn't want him to have to get shots.”

“Very thoughtful of you, Humphrey.”

“Yes,” he said sweetly, “I know.”

Franklin Grove
Community Hall Meeting

IMPROVING SAFETY ON QUARRY ROAD

7 p.m., Thursday, September 17

Franklin Grove Community Hall Main Meeting Room

In light of the tragedy this past summer, many Franklin Grove residents have raised safety concerns about Quarry Road. At this community hall meeting, residents will present their concerns. The Franklin Grove Board has also engaged the services of an engineering consulting firm, which will present preliminary findings of its study of the Quarry Road corridor.

If you would like to speak at the community hall meeting, please contact the Franklin Grove Board office.