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Trust before/after
The child clambored between us, two grown men laying in the shade on the grass, all of seven months old, crystal blue eyes, fat cheeks, just learning to crawl and move. He crawled over to me as I sat in the grass on the sultry late summer afternoon, chasing after my sandals, my flip-flops, and then my soda. Climbing up over on me, we just watched him as out conversation weaved in and out, weightless, unconcerned over the time, the march of time or the deleterious effects of such, nothing staying the same. And I marvled at the trust that existed between us, parents in my family always watching me like a hawk, like I'm some sort of reprobate or convict and me just taking it as normal, not realizing quite how uptight these people really were. I pried grass out of the baby's hands. He responded by trying to climb over me to get to my soda, which I moved for the thousandth time, picking him up and setting him down, he eagerly crawled over to his father, cooing with enthusiasm. Turning and staring back at me as I take off my sunglasses, making faces at him, making him smile. The baby shakes his head doggedly. Communication of a sort, I guess. He crawls back, and I help him stand. In the distance, my friends wife goes indoors after pulling weeds in the flowerbed in front.
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