Chapter 5
I went to Eli’s room before dealing with anyone else.
He was sitting on the floor beside his bed, turning the football slowly in his hands.
One of my guards stood outside.
I closed the door.
Eli looked up.
“Is Uncle Conrad leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Because he scared me?”
“Partly.”
He thought about that.
Then asked:
“Did I do bad?”
“No.”
“I took my ball back.”
“That was yours.”
“Grandma Miriam said sharing means giving it to Nathan.”
I sat beside him.
“Sharing means you choose.”
He frowned.
“Choose?”
“Yes.”
“If someone takes it and tells you it’s sharing, that isn’t sharing.”
He considered that for a long time.
Then:
“Can Nathan play with it?”
“If you want.”
He smiled.
“Okay.”
Simple.
Children often understand fairness before adults complicate it.
Then he asked another question.
“Why does Grandma say Nathan is stronger?”
I looked at him.
“When did she say that?”
“At lunch.”
“Today?”
He shook his head.
“Lots.”
My jaw tightened.
“What does she say?”
“That Nathan doesn’t cry.”
There it was.
Again.
Fear as weakness.
Pain as hierarchy.
I took Eli’s hand.
“You can cry.”
He looked at me.
“Even boys?”
“Yes.”
“Even Mafia?”
That nearly made me laugh.
“Especially Mafia if they need to.”
He giggled.
Good.
Then he became serious.
“Does Nathan have to be stronger than me?”
“No.”
“Do I have to be stronger than him?”
“No.”
He looked relieved.
That expression told me how long adults had been making him think otherwise.
May you like
The football was not the first lesson.
Only the first one I caught.
