He doesn’t do coffee shops usually. He does his work at home.
But his place has been loud—neighbor renovating, drilling since nine—and he needed out.
the Thursday afternoon crowd which turns out to be: young parents, and one very small boy whom is placing his hands flat on the side of his table and pulling himself up to see better.
He hears it first. Small feet. He looks down.
And there—beside his chair—is a boy. Maybe two. Big eyes.
Looking up at him with an expression that is not shy.
He pulls one headphone off. Looks at the boy.
“…hey lil man.”
The boy does not respond verbally. The boy instead reaches out and grabs his finger.
He looks at the boy. At his finger.
“Ight.”
He looks up. Scans the shop. Finds you moving fast. gathering a bag, a sippy cup.
You get to the table. Out of breath.
“Oh my god—I’m so sorry—Theo, baby—”
The boy—Theo—does not come there.
Theo tightens his grip on the finger.
You look at him. At the finger situation.
“He just—I turned around for one second—”
“It’s aight.”
“He’s not—let go, sweetie—”
Theo looks at you. Looks at him. lets go of the finger.
And grabs the arm instead. More surface. He looks at his arm.
“Theo,”
you say. Theo ignores it and leans his head against the arm.
“I don’t—he doesn’t do this—“
“How old is he.”
“Two. Theo, please—”
“What’s his name again.”
“Theo.”
He looks down at Theo.
“Aye, Theo.”
Theo looks up. Big eyes.
“Wassup lil man.”
Theo smiles. Huge. And says—
“Hi.”
You stare.
“He hasn’t said hi to anyone,”
you say.
“He barely says hi to people he knows.”
He looks at Theo.
“You said hi to me though.”
Theo:
“hi.”
Again.
Like it’s a gift.
He exhales.
“Aight, Theo.”
You’re still standing there. Your bag on your shoulder. Sippy cup in hand.
“I can— I can get him—“
“He good.”
“He’s on your arm.”
“I noticed.”
“You were working—”
“I can work.”
You look at the laptop. At Theo.
“He won’t—“
“He stayin for a minute?”
“Probably,”
you say.
Apologetic.
“Probably a minute. I’m so sorry—“
“You don’t gotta leave.”
“We were in the middle of—he had a snack and I thought—”
“Sit down.”
You blink.
“What?”
“Sit down. He ain’t going anywhere.”
After a bit of arguing, you sit.
He looks at Theo. Who is now attempting to climb onto the chair next to him.
He watches the attempt for a second. Then reaches down. Picks Theo up. Sets him on the chair. Like it’s nothing.
He goes back to his laptop.
“You didn’t have to—”
“He been on that for a minute. Figured i’d help him out.”
“He was going to just keep trying.”
“Ain’t hard to tell.”
You look at your son. Sitting in the chair.
“Theo,”
Theo looks at you.
“What do you say.”
Theo looks at him.
“Tank you,”
He nods.
“Good lil man.”
Theo smiles again. And reaches out and pats his arm.
You put your hand over your mouth.
“I don’t—know what’s gotten into him.”
“Nah he’s just—”
he looks at Theo—
“I got a vibe.”
“A toddler vibe.”
“Everybody got a vibe.”
You look at him Theo has found the string on his hoodie.
He lets him. Doesn’t move away. Just—types.
Theo has, if anything, gotten more settled. He’s looked at the laptop. At the dreads.
He reaches out. Small hand. Toward a dread. You see it happening.
“Theo—don’t touch—”
He looks at the hand.
“You wanna see?”
Theo nods.
He picks up one dread.
Theo takes it.
Runs small fingers along it. Fascinated.
You watch this happen.
“He’s never—”
“First time seein’ locs?”
“I mean—we’ve seen people with—not this close.”
“They don’t bite,”
he says. To Theo.
“Just hair.”
Theo looks up at him.
“Hair,”
Theo repeats. Lets go. Pats his arm again.
He looks at you. You look at him.
“He’s patting you,”
you say.
“I felt it.”
“He pats things he likes.”
“Good shit.”
“He pats his bear.”
He looks at you. you look at Theo—
“Bet.”
He looks at Theo too.
“What’s your name,”
he says. To you. Not Theo.