Page 9 of A Better Place

Well, that covers that. It’s a very true statement and one that I can just hear Tess and Barrett telling her.

“That’s right, squirt.” I reach over and ruffle her hair, and she grins up at me, one tooth missing from the front of her mouth.

“But… he can’t have a best friend who’s a girl! He’s a boy!” one of the boys at the table informs us.

“Nuh-uh! He can too!” Harper points at him.

And thus begins an argument about whether a boy and girl can be best friends. It’s comical to listen to. Parents really don’t have a clue what their kids all absorb.

“My mommy said that Mrs. Anderson shouldn’t be friends with Mr. Miller because boys and girls can’t be friends without it causing problems,” a little girl tells me.

“Oh, she did? Well, I suppose in some cases…” I start to explain but think better of it. “You know what?”

“What?” Every head is turned toward me, eyes wide.

“I think a friend can be a boy or a girl. As long as they make your days full of sunshine and rainbows rather than gray skies.”

Blank eyes stare back at me.

“Or as long as they don’t make you sad.”

That makes them all smile.

The next thing I know, I’m being dragged outside by the hand by several little six- and seven-year-olds.

“You’re on my team, Uncle James,” Harper says.

“What are we playing?”

She rolls her eyes like I’m not paying attention, which I really wasn’t. I was trying to see where Carly went, but she disappeared shortly after the kids were all settled at their tables for lunch.

“Soccer, duh!”

“Oh right. Duh. How could I not have known?”

She giggles then gets in her stance, ready to take on the defenders. I run around, kick and dribble the ball between my legs, and pass it to whoever seems to be open.

Playground soccer seems to be pretty serious business, and soon I’m even working up a bit of a sweat but can’t stop the smile covering my face. Just like good friends, kids can fill your day with sunshine and rainbows, just by being them. Their energy, infectious laughs and happy can-do attitudes are something we adults forgot about long ago. We could learn a lot by having recess a few times a day.

The whistle blows, letting the kids know that recess is over. I make my way inside with the rest of the kids, walking Harper back to her room. Is it necessary? Nope. Do I care? Not a bit. I want one more chance to talk to Carly, even if it is just to tell her goodbye. Or rather, “See you later.” Because I have no intention of this being goodbye.

Harper puts her coat in her locker and then walks back into her classroom.

“Thank you for having lunch with me, Uncle James. And for playing with us at recess! That was so much fun!”

The classroom full of kids is standing around me now, all wanting to tell me goodbye and thanking me for playing soccer with them.

“Ms. Hanson! You should have seen Uncle James! I bet he helped us score a hundred points!”

“Oh yeah? That’s great! Everyone tell Mr. Cole thank you for coming for lunch today and please take a seat for story time,” Carly tells the class in full teacher-mode. Which is no good because it’s kind of hot. She’s my niece’s teacher. There’s probably some rule against that.

She turns and looks at me, rubs her lips together back and forth a couple times, causing my eyes to drift to her lips. I’ve noticed her doing this a few times and wonder if it’s a nervous habit.

“Thank you for coming today. It seems the kids had a wonderful time with you.”

“I had fun, too.”

She nods her head and looks away. An uneasiness settles in my gut. Before lunch, I felt like the attraction I was feeling toward her was returned, but something has shifted in her demeanor. She seems closed off, nervous.

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