Baby

talk.
    “Scotty, do you understand we’re moving far away?” She pulled her light brown hair back in a ponytail; long wisps escaping to frame her thin stressed face, her voice low and tired.
    “Yes, Mommy,” he assured his mother, not understanding the meaning of far away. But he loved and trusted his mom. He knew every line on her wonderful face. A smile failed to appear as he scrutinized her expression. Somehow, he realized, she needed him to be okay with the move.
    Abby picked him up and sat him on her lap.
    “Honey, you shouldn’t strain yourself like that. The nurse said—.”
    “Mom, it’s okay. Let me help.” She rocked Scotty on her lap. Her pretty face lit up, her affection for Scotty giving him confidence as he looked into her eyes, laughing. “You’re our big guy aren’t you, Scotty? It’s going to be you, me and Mom. What a great team. We can do anything; right?”
    “Right.” Shouting and laughing, he looked at his mom. “Right, Mommy?”
    “Right, baby, a great team.” She finally joined in the laughter, her children’s optimism infectious.

Chapter 2
    The scary move to Sussex County brought many changes, none the least, never again seeing his only playmate, Germaine. Germaine said he would beg his mom to bring him for a visit but Germaine didn’t have a daddy to drive him there.
    Luckily, Abby recovered from her sickness. Her physician’s assistant (she never actually saw a doctor, ever, not in her whole life) determined her kidney would have no lasting damage. Maybe. From now on, they must watch very carefully to make sure Abby got to her dialysis on time. It was critical. Mom told them about the cute little neighborhood not far from their new home that offered a health clinic with the services Abby needed. Relief washed over Scotty. He didn’t want to have to save Abby again. The traumatic event reverberated in his memory, too much for a little six-year-old boy.
    Their sad little three-bedroom ranch in Sussex County looked as lonely and forlorn as Scotty felt. The roof desperately needed repairs. When it rained, they ran around, laughing and bumping into one another with pots in their hands, collecting the drips. When they took showers, the water didn’t stay hot for long; last one in froze. They learned they must accept the landlord’s response to their complaints. He gave them two choices, suck it up or get out.
    They did their best to make it a home. Mrs. Preston made sure she kept it spotless and full of love. Scotty screamed with happiness, thrilled to find it included a tiny back yard with his very own tree. The air smelled clean and fragrant. But, best of all, it didn’t have his daddy. His nightmares stopped. Whenever his mother mentioned he could visit with his dad, his heart raced with panic. On those occasions, he usually potties in his bed while he sleeps. The next day, when his mommy changed his bed, he would tell her all about his nightmare. Her face slipped into such a haggard and defeated bearing that he felt swamped with guilt, convinced his father’s pronouncements about him might come true.
    Sadly, the little boy found no playmates in his hilly little neighborhood. The homes were fully occupied by mostly black and Spanish families and a separate enclave of Muslims, of course. The children in the neighborhood took one look at his bald spots and disfiguring scars and refused to play with him, turning up their noses. They made fun of his wandering eye, calling him cootie head, dick wad, faggot and douche bag. The older boys would jeer at him, enjoying his hurt. The most aggressive pushed him to the ground, kicking dirt and gravel at him to cover his cootie bugs.
    Scotty wandered around and around the neighborhood, looking for someone to play with. His loneliness made him long to grow up quickly. Then he could do anything he wanted, not needing the attention or approval of kids that felt it necessary to call him ass wipe. His memories tasted nasty, festering like an infected wound.
    One day, he found the top of the hill behind his neighborhood. He discovered a curious path that tempted him into the woods. The dead leaves from tall thick grandfather oaks, dried and crinkled, disintegrating under foot as he explored. Over time, he learned to entertain himself in the woods, fighting imaginary wars with imaginary magical creatures. The woods became an enchanting place for him. He felt peace. He felt safe. He loved the small clearings drizzled with dappled