Rylee is a social person

 

In the morning I set off from the house on a two-hour walk, alternating between ugly residential neighborhoods—low-slung, vinyl-sided houses, lacking the softening effects of trees—and busy streets lined with franchise businesses. Grandpa’s part of town is not the best for an amble….

In the evening I went with my uncle Mike to my aunt Rosemary’s new house, in a newer and marginally more attractive neighborhood, several miles to the north. She had moved in since I left; her daughter Kristen, Kristen’s husband Mike, and their daughter, six-year-old Rylee, had moved in too, taking up the basement, which is sort of like a separate apartment. There’s an above-ground pool out back, and Rylee was in it with her mother. She showed me how she can now swim from one side to the next—a maneuver involving much splashing and tightly closed eyes and mouth. When she had crossed, she put her small wet hands on the rim of the pool and I patted one in approbation.

Rosemary grilled steaks and made some sort of boxed flavored rice, and heated up a pan of veg-all. Rylee had to eat most of her serving of the latter, but as an adult I got away with not eating any at all of the too brightly colored mix. Rylee ate slow, taking several breaks from the table on the patio. She had changed to a sun dress, and her long brown hair was still a little wet. She showed us how she can use a trilling sound, in the back of her throat, to perform various songs, her best “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

Rylee and I went on a bike ride after dinner. She was going to “just show” me a small nearby park, but when we got there, she suggested we stop in, “for just a minute.” She took to the playground equipment and the company of two other small girls, both more timid than Rylee, but she soon had them taking chances on the slide.

Three eleven-year-old boys had claimed a set of swings, and one, with long hair and camo pants, was darting between the other two as they swung back and forth, and at the same time narrating the plot of some fantasy book or video game. “So their heads are all red, like covered with blood, and then there are these like fetus things….”  I couldn’t catch the rest.

We stayed till Rylee’s new friends departed, then we rode home ourselves. Rylee wanted to play Frisbee in the backyard, but her mother said, “Rylee, no,” as if to protect me from her demanding child. I held her small face between my hands and kissed her and said, “next time,” and then I went back to Grandpa’s house to watch SportsCenter, and to walk to the nearby Sonic for a half-price vanilla milkshake.