Rafael Yglesias - Only Children

“If Luke comes today, I want to play with him all day. I don’t want a short play date. I want a long one.”

A mother nearby snorted at this. Peter glanced at her. She smiled sarcastically. “Knows his own mind,” she said in a flip tone, suggesting Byron was wrong to be like that.

Peter turned away from her and answered Byron. “Well, that’s up to Luke and his parents. If he comes. His mother said she wasn’t sure if he wanted to.”

Byron nodded. He stared at the ground for a moment. “Could I go to the same summer camp Luke is going to?”

“Where’s he going?”

“I don’t remember the name. You could ask his mommy or daddy.”

“You like Luke a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah, he plays the most interesting games. I wish he went to my school.”

They had had trouble getting Byron into Trinity. Peter, who knew several of the trustees, had asked them to intercede and they had. Peter didn’t want to explain to Byron that Luke hadn’t been able to get into as good a school. He feared Byron might blurt that out to Luke and hurt the boy’s feelings. Luke was a sweet child and, although they didn’t go to the same school, was still Byron’s most requested playmate. Peter didn’t know what to say. He nodded and stroked the sandy mass of Byron’s hair. “But you have friends in your class you like?”

“Yeah, they’re okay. I’m gonna go on the slide.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Byron moved off. He climbed alone, slid down alone, watched a group playing, said something to them. They didn’t answer. He returned to the slide and went down it again.

Is he lonely? Is he unpopular? He was very creative. He worked hard at the piano and was making good progress. His drawings were terrific: strong lines, good colors, his imagination disciplined and energetic.

He’s going to be an artist of some kind. Not like me. Not an audience, but a creator. There will be an easy way for Byron to get the unhappiness out, to shape its chaotic mass into beauty.

Diane appeared at the gate, looked for Byron, and, after spotting him, came over to sit down next to Peter. She offered her lips for a quick kiss. But Peter didn’t give her a peck. He put his hand lingeringly on the back of her head. After several seconds she broke off, her eyes shining, and laughed. “They’ll throw us out for necking.”

She took his hand, twining their fingers together, and looked out at the slide, watching Byron.

“No one here Byron knows?” she asked.

“I’m hoping Luke will come.”

She nodded. “Your mother called. She asked if I could bring Byron by today.”

(“I realize Mom is just a person, Kotkin. She is not a monster. She’s just an ordinary person, who made ordinary mistakes. She thought of herself first. Everybody thinks of themselves first.”

(“Does that mean you forgive her?”

(“It means it’s not my place to forgive her.”)

In front of Peter and Diane, a mother and father were trying to force their two-year-old into a stroller. He arched his back, stiffened his legs — an anti-leaving-the-park demonstrator. “We have to go now, sweetie,” the embarrassed, upset mother said over and over. She tried to force the hard body to bend, to break to her will.

(“Are you going to see your mother?” Kotkin asked.

(“Why do you ask that?”

(“Just wondering. Are you thinking about seeing her? How long has it been?”

(“A year.”)

The father took over, lifted the two-year-old in the air, and pushed him into the stroller fast and hard. The father held his son down with one hand while strapping him in with the other. “We have to go now!” he pleaded.

(“She wanted Kyle. Nothing would have stopped that. She was in love with him. That mattered more to her than what I wanted. She’s just an ordinary person.”

(“Does that bother you? To find out your mother is ordinary?”

(“Yes. I believed she was extraordinary.”

(“And now you know she’s not.”

(“How banal, eh?”

(“No,” Kotkin said softly. “No.”

(“And Larry. Him too. He was just an ordinary person.”

(“Do you forgive him?” Kotkin whispered.

(“No. I don’t forgive anyone.”)

“Remember that?” Diane said, gesturing to the parents who had forced their child into the stroller and were hurrying away from the scene of their cruelty. Their child’s cries went with them. “Remember that phase? Byron never wanted to leave. Never wanted to stop playing.”

“He still doesn’t,” Peter said. “He’s just more polite now.”

“Mmmm,” Diane said. “You’re right.”

“If Luke doesn’t come, I’ll take him up to Gail’s.”

Diane looked her surprise. She squeezed his hand. “I’ll go with you.”

“Okay.”

She gave him another squeeze and returned to watching Byron. “He’s a good boy,” she said. “He’s survived us.”

Peter nodded. He sat and watched. He was an audience again; he was satisfied.

(“You know, Kotkin. I’m going to tell you something I thought I’d never say.”

(He waited for her to ask. She didn’t.

(“I’m a happy man.”

(“I’m glad,” Kotkin said.)

Indeed, I am a happy man.

WELL, IF I show Byron I brought my microscope, he won’t like it. He’ll tell me it’s boring. I know it’s not boring. But I don’t want to argue.

We can play a game. We can play Ghostbusters on the slides.

I wish he was interested in nature things. That tree has something on it. Daddy says it’s a fungus. But he must be wrong. The fungus is too big for the tree to still be alive.

If I made the universe, I wouldn’t make it with a big bang. I would let it start that way. Very compressed. Lots of it, jammed together. But I wouldn’t release in a bang. It could spread out, like when a pebble hits the water, spread out slow — what’s the word? — gradually. That means slow but regular. That’s how I would make the universe. I’ll tell Byron.

No. He’ll argue. He thinks the universe is the sky anyway. That’s all right.

“Mommy!”

“Yes, Luke?”

“I don’t want my microscope.”

“Okay. Give it to me.”

“Well, we should go back and leave it home.”

“What!” Daddy laughed.

“I’ll just put it away. Give it to me,” Mommy said.

Can I tell her? “Okay,” Luke said. “But put it so no one can see it.”

“You mean so Byron can’t see it,” Mommy said. “You know why he doesn’t like it? It’s because he doesn’t know—”

“I know that!” She didn’t like Byron. He was okay. He could play good games if you talked to him the right way. You had to slip into him, make him think what you want is what he wants. “Anyway, I can find things and look at them at home. Byron will be interested when we’re home. I told you I want the play date to be at my house, right?”

“Yes. If that’s okay with Byron’s parents.”

They won’t say no. Byron will want to come with me. There are fewer rules at my house. No cleaning up at the end. Byron hates to clean up. Me too. What’s the point? You only mess it up again the next day.

Look at that squirrel.

“Luke! Luke!”

There’s Byron.

“I’m Slimer, Luke! I’m gonna slime those bad boys!” Byron pointed to some boys Luke knew from other times in the park.

Well, I’ll play Ghostbusters for a while. Then I’ll change the game to the tree with fungus. If I tell Byron the fungus is a ghost and we have to get it off the tree, then I can do some experiments.

If you spread out gradually, you can have the whole universe— without even a bang.

GOOD! LUKE didn’t bring his boring microscope.

There’s nothing as blue as Luke’s eyes. Like the blue in that painting Mommy and Daddy like. Not a real blue.