The table goes quiet until Eden whispers, “Don’t cuss.”
“Don’t you use that word,” I order the kids, even though I don’t see what the issue is. I’ve been cussing since I was five, and I turned out fine.
“I won’t,” Tim says.
“Me either,” the little girl agrees with a head nod.
“What’s your name?” I ask the little girl.
“Eva.”
“I’m Tim,” he reminds me.
“And how did you get that name?” Serena doesn’t miss my smirk. Her head snaps up and her nostrils flare.
“Mommy says Grandma named me.” The little boy is proud of that statement.
“That’s a cool name, kid,” is all I say.
Tim puffs out his chest and grins. He colors the python's eyes on my arm red.
“I want to be big like you when I grow up so I can play baseball.” Then his eyes fill with tears, and the marker in his hand falls to the floor.
“What are the tears for?” I ask.
“I want to play baseball, but can’t because I have asthma. My dad wants me to play. He’s mad that I can’t.”
I glance at the boy’s mother, but she won’t meet my eyes.
“And this boy in my class plays, and he teases me because I can’t.”
“Tim, hush,” his mother says.
I pull out my phone and do a quick search.
“Look at this.” I show him my screen. “It says swimming is a good sport for someone with asthma. Can you swim?”
He shakes his head no.
“Stand up.”
He jumps out of the chair.
“Spread your arms out.” When he does, I let out a long, exaggerated whistle. “Look at that arm span. You’re gonna be a great swimmer.”
Standing a little taller, he grins. “You think so?”
“Fuck yeah,” I say.
Eden coughs and elbows me in the ribs. The other adults glare at me, and Eva giggles.
“I mean, yeah.”
He jumps up in excitement before sitting back down, happy this time.
“And this boy who teases you. What’s that all about?” If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a bully.
I listen as Tim tells me that this boy mocks him for having asthma and pretends to wheeze each time Tim walks by. He also tripped him in the playground and bit him once.
