At mention of his mom the boy looks down, and I think he's about to cry.
Avery steps forward. "Hi Sam, I'm your Auntie Avery. But you can call me Avery if Auntie seems too weird."
The boy still doesn't say anything, and we stand around in an awkward silence. He's overwhelmed, and now I wish I'd done this alone. Not that I can think of anything to say to the little guy.
"Do you want to go on the slide, honey?" Mom asks.
Sam nods once.
Mom takes his hand and leads him over to the playground.
The slide is wide and not very long, and it's obvious it's made for a younger kid. He climbs up and goes down a couple of times while Mom calls words of encouragement, and we all stand around watching.
He must feel like a performing monkey. The next time he slides down, he sits at the bottom of the slide and looks around like he doesn't know what to do.
"How about we have some snacks?" Mom asks.
She leads him to the picnic table and pulls out a bag of food. While Mom makes breezy talk to make up for the silences, I watch the boy.
The tiny Jake. No, Sam. I have to get it into my head. He's Sam.
He smiles politely and answers in monosyllables.
"Have you been going to school here?"
"Yes."
"Do you like school?"
"Yes."
"What's your favorite subject?"
He shrugs. "Dunno."
"Do you play sports?"
The boy looks around, overwhelmed by the questions. I don't wait for him to answer. I pick up the baseball glove and ball that I brought along.
"You know how to catch?"
Sam looks at me for the first time, and I try not to flinch as Jake's eyes stare back at me.
He nods and I toss him the glove.
I leave Mom with the snacks, and we head to the grassy patch near the playground.
He tugs on the glove and it's too big for his little hand, but he doesn't complain.
He's a good catcher with good reflexes. His hand shoots out and snatches the ball. He throws it back wide, but I run and get it and chuck it back to him.
As we toss the ball back and forth, the boy seems to relax for the first time. He doesn't speak, and neither do I. I don't know what to say to a six-year-old. So we just toss the ball back and forth.
And I realize there is no way, shape, or form that I'm prepared for a child.
9
ALANA
