Page 22 of In a Word, Yes

“Of course, honey!” Paige is practically family. It was a godsend, really, the way she and Chase connected several years back on the day her family moved in downstairs during the unfolding of a horrific family tragedy. Two square-peg children in a world of round holes, destined for friendship.

Paige produces a manila folder from her backpack and opens it.

“These are amazing,” I say. “They’re the horses at the ranch?”

“Well, not this one. She’s Fancy Nancie. My BFH.”

“Your...?”

“My best friend horse,” Paige says, as if this is a no-duh. To be fair, she does talk about this horse often.

“Wow. Keep going, girl. You’ve got a talent for this.”

Chase’s class is next to be released. Paige and I watch for the moment he bursts into view. Finally, he bisects the pine cone–dotted lawn with that long, forward-leaning gait of his, and I feel my heart leaning right back. But then, quite suddenly, he stops. Something in the grass has caught my son’s eye. There’s no end to the things that capture the interest of a budding naturalist like Chase. Beetles, badgers, feathers, fungi. But always and especially trees.

“Oh nooo,” Paige whines. “If he whips out his magnifying glass, we’ll be here all day, and I’m hungry.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I say. Down on all fours now, Chase moves his face close to the ground. What can I do but smile?

And yet, we’re not Chase’s only audience. The hot-moms trio has ceased chatting to openly stare. Becca Burns raises her oversized sunglasses to study my naturally curious son as ifhe’sthe curiosity of nature. My chest squeezes.Oh, son.After a moment, the group resumes their conversation, curling back in on themselves like a sow bug.

Except for Jennifer Number Two, Jen Moncado. She continues to side-eye Chase. When she catches me watching, she doesn’t turn away. In fact, for the briefest second, Jen holds my gaze. It happens so fast, I’m not sure what I read there. Pity? Sadness?

I offer a tiny, dorky wave.

Once upon a time, this kind of situation made me hurt for Chase. But these days my heart breaks a whole lot less for my son than for those like Becca and her clique. Maybe I’ll never be welcomed into their hot yoga for mommies class or whatever it is they do together, but the Lord has invited me to perceive what others often miss.

My son is different. But he’s good different. And he doesn’t give a glazed donut what others think about it.

Here’s something I wish I had the guts to say to those women: I’m the lucky one. I have been given eyes to see the beauty in different.

***

At our kitchen table, I load a clean sheet of paper behind the roller-thingy on the old Smith Corona. Twisting the knob to bring the paper into position, I’m rewarded with the most delightful softclick-click-click, flooding me with memories. How many times did little-girl Lucy sit under Nana’s tutelage before this very machine?I reset the hinged bar dealio to hold the paper in place, then blow out a long exhale.

If this thing still works, I should probably locate a YouTube video that teaches me the actual names of all these parts.

Chase beelines to my side. “Does it work?”

I laugh and squeeze him in a side-hug. “Shall we find out? Wait, did you finish your homework?”

Chase’s shoulders slump. “On Wednesdays I do my homework after dinner.”

“I know. I’m only kidding. Okay, ready? Here we go.”

I slither my fingertips back and forth across the round keys that are silky with wear, then bring them to rest in starting position.

“Oh, by the way, honey,” I say, “if you want to type a capital letter, you have to hit this Shift key.”

“I know. It’s just like a keyboard.”

“Well, kind of.”

“Is it plugged in?”

“Nope. No power needed.”

Chase cocks his head. “Wait. Really? No battery?”