Everyday: a standard element or event that happens, is utilized, manipulated or experienced daily. Comfortable, comforting, common, expected, close, cozy, easy, near; a mainstay, habitual, ally and supporter, normalizer. Something – or someone – who is present and available whenever needed.
It’s lunchtime in summer school. Children’s voices echo against tile, create a low hum in the bright, open space. Rubber soled shoes slap, then squeal against gleaming floors. Silverware clatters. Sweet and spicy smells pepper the conditioned air. Amaze Girl sits at the middle of a long table, surrounded by thirty other giggling second graders.
A door slams open and a small person dashes into the room. He circumvents aides and lunch ladies, rushes between lines of students, makes his way to Amaze Girl’s table.
Wonder Boy’s body tightens, muscles contract. Arms down, head up, he howls. Thirty sets of eyes stare.
Amaze Girl leaps to her feet. “Hey, everyone,” she exults. “This is my brother! He has autism.” She wraps both arms around Wonder Boy and squeezes.
“He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.”
Pop! Amaze Girl quarters her snap peas. She separates the round, green balls from the crunchy skins. She chews the fibrous bean, sets globes aside.
When she has a pile of emerald spheres, she reaches across the table and places the roly-poly bits onto her brother’s plate.
Wonder Boy uses two fingers to insert the peas, one at a time, neatly, into his mouth.
Wonder Boy loves peas. Amaze Girl is not as fond.
“…siblings in divorce (can) create something positive, using this shared situation to deepen their bond…”
Movie Night. Super Daddy mics a mountain of buttered popcorn, pours it into a bowl. He reclines on the couch, Wonder Boy snuggles into one side, Amaze Girl huddles close to the other. At a break, Super Daddy stands.
Wordlessly, Amaze Girl slides close to her brother.
“They will not be separated.”
-Super Daddy’s response during custody negotiations to the presented notion that responsibility for the children would be apportioned; one child parceled to Mom, the other to Dad.
It’s time to visit Mommy’s house. Wonder Boy waits at the open front door. Who will pick them up this time? He has his backpack, blanket, talker, hat. His hair is brushed, shoes are tied. It appears he has all he needs – except, perhaps, the most important thing.
Wonder Boy grabs Amaze Girl’s shoes. He rushes to where she’s sitting on the couch, immersed in a book. He thrusts the footwear into his sister’s arms and waits until shoes are on her feet, laced and tied and she’s standing close by his side.
Amaze Girl wraps an arm around her brother. “I’m his everyday person,” she says.
The doorbell rings. Amaze Girl squeezes her brother. And he’s mine.