One day toward the end of the year, Nat missed a whole day of school. That was pretty unusual; not that he didn’t have a ton of doctors’ appointments and stuff, but his mom always made sure to make them either first thing in the morning, so he got to school before lunch, or right after school. He didn’t want to miss any classes he didn’t absolutely have to, because he almost always got sick at some point in the school year and had mountains of work to make up. So he avoided missing any days that weren’t absolutely necessary.
In fifth grade, though, Nat was amazingly healthy. He was in school every day until that day in late April, when he had to go for a day of tests at the children’s hospital in Philadelphia. He didn’t want to go, and he was grumpy the whole day before, even though I promised I would get all of his work and bring it over as soon as he got home that afternoon.
That morning, Jesse was waiting for me at the bicycle rack.
“Hey.”
I brushed my hair back out of my face. It was curly and long and always in my way. “Hey,” I answered. “Nat’s not going to be here today.”
Jesse frowned. “He sick?”
I shook my head. “No. Tests, doctors appointments, you know.”
Jesse nodded. “Yeah. So. . .we’re going to play kick ball at lunch. You wanna be on my team?”
I thought for a minute about Nat. I almost felt guilty for wanting to play kick ball, like I was being disloyal to him. But then I thought about all those days of sitting on the swing watching the rest of the school play.
“Sure,” I said to Jesse. “I’ll play.”
Chapter 3—Nathan
My first clear memory is of Abby and Jesse. We were at my house, because that was almost always where our mothers met in those days. Our house had everything I needed in it, all my medicine and my nebulizer, and there were ramps so that I could get around with my walker.
We were standing at my train table, which was my favorite place to play in those days. Trains were my obsession. Whenever I heard the whistle in the distance, I demanded that my mother take me to the crossing that was a couple of miles from our house. Sometimes she would, if we were going out anyway or if she were feeling especially guilty. But mostly she would tell me to go play with my own trains.
In those days, these were the chunky plastic toys that I could easily move and run around the tracks. Later, when my fine motor skills had improved, my grandparents bought me a more sophisticated set. But it’s the first set that I remember so well with Abby and Jesse. Playing trains was what we did together. When they got to my house, they might ask if we could go outside or watch a movie or play with something else, but we always ended up with the trains. I never thought until much later that maybe they didn’t enjoy it as much as I did.
I was running my favorite blue engine around the outside track when it ran over Jesse’s finger. He yelped just like my grandmother’s dog did when Grandpa accidentally stepped on its tail, and he pulled back his finger, sticking it in his mouth. Abby’s face puckered.
“Are you okay, Jesse?” she asked, her voice sweet and high. I loved the sound of Abby’s voice.
“My finger hurts.” Jesse spoke around the finger in question, still in his mouth. I could tell he was trying not to cry. He wasn’t a crybaby at all, so I guessed it really did hurt.
“Do you want me to get your mommy?” Even then, Abby took care of us.
Jesse shook his head.
“He shouldn’t have had his finger so close to the track.” This sounded reasonable to me as I said it. It was true; the train hadn’t moved to run over Jesse’s finger. He had put his hand in its way.
“Nat, it wasn’t his fault,” Abby protested. “It was just an accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” I insisted. “He put his hand down on the track. He saw the train coming.”
Jesse scowled at me. “Who cares? Trains are stupid.”
Abby gasped as though Jesse had just spoken high treason. She glanced at me, but I didn’t react. Actually, what Jesse said didn’t matter to me at all, because it was so clearly not true. Trains could not be stupid. People could be stupid, but not trains. Now if he had said that trains had square wheels, I would have argued with him.
“Jesse, don’t say that. Nat’s trains are really fun.”
“They’re stupid and I don’t know why we always have to play with them.”
“You don’t have to play with them,” I said. “Abby and I are playing.”
“No, Jesse didn’t mean it, Nat. We can all play. Come on, Jesse.”
But Jesse had stomped off into the other room. Abby watched him go, distress and indecision on her face.
I resumed playing with my trains as though nothing had happened. “Abby, you run the red train now. You can make it go over the bridge and stop at the station.”
Abby obeyed without speaking. When the red train had stopped at the station, we both loaded the passengers onto it.
“Jesse and I really like your trains, Nat. Don’t be sad about what he said. It was just because his finger got hurt.”
“I’m not sad,” I answered. “Abby, let’s make the trains race.” We ran the trains alongside of each other, but Abby didn’t say anything else.
A few minutes later, Jesse stuck his head into the room. He didn’t look at me at all. “Abby, my mom says we can go outside and play on the swings. Let’s go.”