Page 10 of Beautiful Small Things

My heart always warms at her nickname for me. When she was a toddler, she couldn’t say ‘James,’ so she called me ‘Jem.’ As she got older, she never corrected herself, a calculated and heartfelt move. It’s become sort of a standard nickname for my entire family now. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

“If I fall and can’t get up, can I call you for help?” I ask as I begin steeping her favorite green mango peach tea in the tiny kitchen area attached to the office.

“I don’t think I’m the best choice. Depending on where I was in the city when you stumbled, it could be several hours before I could get to you. You’d be in extraordinary pain and likely bleeding.

“Iris,” I chuckle, “I was joking.”

“Oh. Then in that case, yes, you may call me,” she says with a satisfied smile.

I set the tea before her. “So you said you wanted to ask me some questions.”

She wraps her hand around the cup. “Yes, I’d like to interview you for a paper I am writing.”

“What kind of paper?” I question.

“A recommendation for Dad’s award” she says, blowing on her tea. “I thought I’d tell them more about him on a personal level. I don’t want it to be stale and mundane.”

“Nothing about your father is stale and mundane, Squirrel,” I tell her truthfully.

“I agree, but the way they presented the information lends itself to be potentially the most boring assignment I’ve ever had,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“OK. So where do I fit in?”

“Well,” she says, her voice getting two octaves higher. She’s about to ask me for something. “I was hoping I could have you tell me some things about my dad when he was younger.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead, and my lips purse tightly. I’m surprised she wants to talk to me about Marcus during that time. As important as he and she are to me, my history with him is not altogether flattering for either of us.

I bite my thumbnail nervously. It’s a stupid habit from childhood that I haven’t been able to shake in 40 years.

“I can’t imagine there’s anything that I can tell you about him that he can’t share on his own.”

“I need to see him from all facets and perspectives. As someone who knows him intimately, your perspective is invaluable.”

“Don’t say intimately like that. It freaks me out,“ I say with a grimace.

Iris shrugs and continues. Her mind runs like a train on a track. It’s not going to stop or be derailed. “So, will you help me?” she asks, her eyes excitedly lit.

Sighing heavily, I break the bad news. “I’m so busy with the new studio stuff, Squirrel. I have classes starting in ten days in this space,” I say, looking around at the chaos.

Then she makes the face. It’s the same face she’s made her entire life when she’s disappointed. Her eyes squint slightly as her cheeks rise and her lips purse together, causing a wrinkle from her nose to the corners of her mouth. It’s the same face her father makes when he wants something. I’ve learned how to ignore it with him. I never could with Iris.

I need to make more time for her right now. I can tell she needs this for reasons yet to be determined. “How about I answer a few questions right now, and we can see how it goes?” I concede.

She claps her hands together as she jumps up and hugs me tightly, and I am immediately reminded that I will do anything in my power to make her happy.

“Perfect! Can you tell me about your earliest memories of Marcus?”

I snort as the memory rapidly forms in my mind. “I met your dad when I was just a child and saw him sporadically over the years, but I don’t have a lot of memories of him until my teenage years. Ironically,” I tell her, “one of my earliest memories ever involves your dad.”

James - Age 5

I’m at a football game with my family, and I’m not sure exactly what’s happening, but I’m having fun. I’ve been dancing on the grass and eating food all day. Occasionally, someone claps or yells, but it doesn’t distract me from spinning in circles or chasing various insects. My stomach hurts, and there’s a chance I’ll throw up on the grass, but I keep eating and dancing anyway.

I see a dragonfly and take off in a full sprint after it. I want to capture it and bring it to my dad. He sometimes calls me “Dragonfly” because he says my sister, Colby, is like a butterfly, and I am like a dragonfly. She is sweet, cautious, and gentle. I am quick, intuitive, and curious. That’s what he says, anyway. I’m not sure exactly what all of those words mean. I just know what I like and am not shy about telling people.

I like Skittles, dancing, my sister, Callan’s big brother Nolan, and terrorizing my cat, Mr. Purrito.

“James, over here,” my dad yells, pulling me from my pirouette. I skip over to them while Nolan and Callan walk over. I like them. They are both so nice to me. The whole family treats me like I did something really cool by being born. I was able to help Nolan because he had cancer and I matched him. I’m little and he’s big, so I don’t know how I matched him, but it seems very important to everyone. They thank me and hug me and kiss my head whenever they see me.