Rafael Yglesias - Only Children

It was hot in the room. He wished he had a toy. Not a Transformer. Well, maybe. The dinosaur— Mommy was talking to a woman.

“Hello, are you Luke?” She was smiling hard, kept her teeth turned on for so long without laughing.

Mommy will tell her I’m Luke.

“Yes,” Mommy said. “This is Luke.”

“We’re going to go in this room and play for a while.”

Luke moved toward the woman’s hand and let her take hold. But then she turned, moving at the door — but Mommy!

“Mommy!” Luke called. She wants to come too.

“Luke,” the woman said, turning her teeth on again with no laughter. “Your mommy knows she’s not allowed to be with us while we play. She’s going to wait here—”

“In this chair,” Mommy said, and sat down.

“And she’ll be right there when we’re through.”

Something I can’t stop. That hurt, the crying was going to start. I want to stop things sometimes. Well, no arguing. We’re just gonna play. Stop crying, Luke.

He pushed the tears back in his eyes. The room was pretty big and had lots of things.

“I have that,” he told the woman. She had turned off her teeth at last.

“Yes? I have some shapes we can play with. Would you like to do that?”

She’s got a triangle. I bet she asks—

“Do you know what shape this is?”

Oh, this is like Mister Rogers and Sesame Street . “It’s a triangle,” he said, and tried to laugh. “You can’t play with a triangle. They’re too pointy.”

The woman turned her teeth on again; only this time, she laughed too.

MOMMY GRABBED him. Her arms hugged him tight. He pressed his stomach into her breasts, felt them hug his tummy. He wrapped his legs around her and covered himself in her neck; her hair, smooth and long, touched his cheek. “Mommy,” he sang to her.

“My baby,” she said into his ear. “I missed you.”

“He was a very good boy,” Daddy said.

“Of course you were,” Mommy said, and bounced him on her hip. “Now let’s go in and say hi to Grandma. Give her a big kiss ’cause she’s not feeling so well.”

She let him down on Grandma’s furry rug and he ran, watching the edges of his shoes disappear. He ran down the hall and into Grandma’s pink room. She was in bed, way up, sitting up like a stuffed animal.

“Bubeleh! My grandson,” she called.

“Hi, Grandma.” She looks sad. Say something to make her smile. “I’m much bigger than the last time you saw me,” he said. Daddy had told him that.

“You are, darling. Come here and let me give you a hug and kiss.”

Byron climbed up the puffy mountainside. Her bony hands took hold of him. She brought him close and he kissed her cheek, her melted cheek. “Mmmm,” she said. “You taste so good.”

Her breath splashed his face. She smelled like garbage. “You smell, Grandma,” he said, and tried to squirm out of her arms.

“Oh, my God!” Grandma said. She let him go.

“Byron!” Mommy said.

“Don’t yell at him,” Grandma said. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. I haven’t gargled today.”

“Hello,” Daddy said.

“Hello, Peter,” Grandma answered. “I need some privacy, I’m in my nightgown.”

Daddy took him out. “I’m hungry,” Byron told him.

“Let’s go in the kitchen.” The kitchen was yellow and its floor was black and white like checkers.

“Grandma has Oreos.” Byron pointed to the cabinet where they were kept.

“I think you should have—”

“I just want one cookie!”

“Okay.” Daddy found the box and began to crackle the paper inside.

I’ll open it up and lick the sweet white off first. “Why is Grandma still in bed?”

“She’s sick, Byron. Here you go.” Daddy came with the box. It was full of cookies.

“Is Grandma going to die?” Byron asked.

“No, what gives you that idea? Where do you get that idea?”

He had to pull the cookie pieces in different directions to get them unglued from the sweet white. “Mommy said when people get old, they die. What happens when they die?”

Daddy looked into the box of cookies. He stared at it.

“Mommy said nobody knows for sure,” Byron said. “But that’s crazy.”

Daddy took out a cookie and ate it himself. “When people die, they rest. They rest and they’re happy,” Peter said.

“Grandma’s resting. Is she going to die and rest more?”

“No,” Daddy said. “She’s going to have an operation to make her feel better. She has to rest for the operation.”

“I don’t want to die.” The white was gone. He put the cookie pieces back together.

A nice sandwich.

Mommy came in fast. She came right down to Byron. “Honey, please don’t say anything to Grandma about dying.”

“Is she—” Daddy nodded toward Grandma. There were funny noises from the hallway. Noises like Grandma, but not.

“Yeah. She’s upset,” Mommy told Daddy. She hugged Byron and put her face to his. Her breath splashed him, but it was hot and didn’t smell. “Please, Byron. It makes Grandma cry if you talk about dying. Please don’t say anything about it.”

There’s something wrong about dying. Maybe you die if you’re bad.

“I won’t say anything!” he shouted. He grabbed Mommy. “I promise I won’t say anything! I’ll be good. I’m a good boy, Mommy.”

“I know you are, Byron. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Her neck covered him and he could put his face on her springy breast. “Would you like another cookie?”

Wow. Another cookie for being good. “Yes!” he shouted.

LUKE CAUGHT the words in his stomach, stuck there at the bottom, and blew them up, leaves swirling in the wind, magic appearing from his mouth. “Byron,” he said. The words were almost out, almost free from the secret Luke. The Luke with power. “You know, Byron, you’re not older than me. I mean, you’re a little bit older—”

“That’s right!” Byron hopped. Byron pulled at Luke’s arm. Come on.

Pull against him. I’m heavy. Too heavy to move. “But we’re really both the same age.”

“No,” Byron said, and pulled harder, now using both hands.

I’m a heavy weight. I’m a big heavy box no one can lift. Byron’s face got round. His eyes swelled. He can’t move me!

“Yes,” Luke the immovable said. “We’re both three. That’s the same.”

“That’s right,” Pearl said.

Francine slapped Byron’s tushy. “Let go of Luke! What you doing!”

I’m the World Trade Center and he can’t pull me down.

Byron teetered, a tall pile of blocks, leaning, going — Byron fell at Luke.

Hold him up — I can’t—

The cement was sharp and flat and hard. His brain bounced up to the blue sky and down again against the rough and the hard street. The hot sun hurt the ache, warmed the pain.

Pearl and Francine yelled at Byron. I’m not getting up. I can’t tell him any more things.

Francine slapped Byron across the face. He cried. Pearl picked up Luke. She put her hand on the softened part of his head. Her fingers melted inside and made the hurt more.

“Ow!” Luke told her. Saying that made him cry.

“You pulled me down!” Byron shouted. Francine’s hand was still on Byron’s face: red ghost fingers blinking white and red.

Luke fought to get out of Pearl’s fat black arms, heavy and wet, smothering him. “Let go!”

“He’s all right,” Francine said.

Everybody who’s hurt is all right to Francine.

“Now say you’re sorry, Byron,” Pearl said, and pushed Byron at Luke.

“I’m sorry,” Byron said. “Let’s play now.”

You’re not older than me. You’re not stronger than me.

“Come on, Luke!” Byron said, and grabbed Luke’s hand again.