My first clear memory is of Quinn and Leo. We were at my house, because that was almost always where our mothers met in those days. Our house had everything I needed in it, all my medicine and my nebulizer, and there were ramps so that I could get around with my walker.
We were standing at my train table, which was my favorite place to play in those days. Trains were my obsession. Whenever I heard the whistle in the distance, I demanded that my mother take me to the crossing that was a couple of miles from our house. Sometimes she would, if we were going out anyway or if she were feeling especially guilty. But mostly she would tell me to go play with my own trains.
In those days, these were the chunky plastic toys that I could easily move and run around the tracks. Later, when my fine motor skills had improved, my grandparents bought me a more sophisticated set. But it was the first set that I remembered so well with Quinn and Leo. Playing trains was what we did together. When they got to my house, they might ask if we could go outside or watch a movie or play with something else, but we always ended up with the trains. I never thought until much later that maybe they didn’t enjoy it as much as I did.
I was running my favorite blue engine around the outside track when it ran over Leo’s finger. He yelped just like my grandmother’s dog did when Grandpa accidentally stepped on its tail, and he pulled back his finger, sticking it in his mouth. Quinn’s face puckered.
“Are you okay, Leo?” she asked, her voice sweet and high. I loved the sound of Quinn’s voice.
“My finger hurts.” Leo spoke around the finger in question, still in his mouth. I could tell he was trying not to cry. He wasn’t a crybaby at all, so I guessed it really did hurt.
“Do you want me to get your mommy?” Even then, Quinn took care of us.
Leo shook his head.
“He shouldn’t have had his finger so close to the track.” This sounded reasonable to me as I said it. It was true; the train hadn’t moved to run over Leo’s finger. He had put his hand in its way.
“Nate, it wasn’t his fault,” Quinn protested. “It was just an accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” I insisted. “He put his hand down on the track. He saw the train coming.”
Leo scowled at me. “Who cares? Trains are stupid.”
Quinn gasped as though Leo had just spoken high treason. She glanced at me, but I didn’t react. Actually, what Leo said didn’t matter to me at all, because it was so clearly not true. Trains could not be stupid. People could be stupid, but not trains. Now if he had said that trains had square wheels, I would have argued with him.
“Leo, don’t say that. Nate’s trains are really fun.”
“They’re stupid and I don’t know why we always have to play with them.”
“Youdon’t have to play with them,” I said. “Quinn and I are playing.”
“No, Leo didn’t mean it, Nate. We can all play. Come on, Leo.”
But Leo had stomped off into the other room. Quinn watched him go, distress and indecision on her face.
I resumed playing with my trains as though nothing had happened. “Quinn, you run the red train now. You can make it go over the bridge and stop at the station.”
Quinn obeyed without speaking. When the red train had stopped at the station, we both loaded the passengers onto it.
“Leo and I really like your trains, Nate. Don’t be sad about what he said. It was just because his finger got hurt.”
“I’m not sad,” I answered. “Quinn, let’s make the trains race.” We ran the trains alongside of each other, but Quinn didn’t say anything else.
A few minutes later, Leo stuck his head into the room. He didn’t look at me at all. “Quinn, my mom says we can go outside and play on the swings. Let’s go.”
Quinn took one step away from the train table and then turned back to me. “Nate, come outside with us.”
I was still absorbed. “I don’t want to. I’m playing with my trains.”
“But don’t you want to play with Leo and me outside?” she persisted.
I shook my head. “No. It’s too hot outside. I want to stay in here.”
“Comeon, Quinn,” Leo called. She took another step toward the door. I watched her out of the corner of my eye.
Finally, she said, “Go on out, Leo. I’m going to stay inside with Nate for a while. Maybe we can go out and play in a little while.”
Leo didn’t answer, but a few seconds later we heard the screen door slam. Leo’s mom jumped up and yelled at him not to bang the door, and she apologized to my mother, who just laughed.
