1990

There was a knock at the door. Jean walked, tired, from the kitchen to the front and unlocked it. There was a recognizable face smiling at her when she opened it, and as her eyes drifted down she saw the same face on the pudgy, shorter human below him.

"What do we have here?" Jean asked, finding energy for a deep sigh.

"We have an excited boy here for you," replied the man. The boy, seemingly oblivious to the two adults, walked past her and wandered into the living room. The moon-faced man in his mid thirties excused the boy and called to him.

"Jim! What do you say?"

Jim turned quickly and looked suspiciously up at Jean. Despite his boyish face he was nearly to her chest in height, well on his way to becoming a thick bodied man.

"Hello," he said in a scripted tone, "Thank you for letting me stay here."

"There you go," the man said proudly.

"It's nice to meet you," Jean said back, unsure how childlike her tone should be. "How are things at the factory, Craig?" She asked.

"You know, pretty good," he replied sunily. "We got a big new order in so it's been full speed ahead." He was looking at the boy who was wandering the living room. She examined the side of Craig's face. He had worked under her at one point, rising up the ranks slowly since the time he had graduated from high school. She was unsure of what he knew, or how involved he was in the extra activities of the place. She wasn't sure where he had heard that she was sitting for children. He had offered out of the blue to have her sit for Jim in the afternoons, or all day on some summer days.

"See, he's already at home," he said happily, watching name turn on the television. "I'll leave you to it."

Jean watched the boy flick through the channels, choosing to let him be until she had swallowed more energy from her cup. The kettle sang and the boy turned his head as she walked into the kitchen.

"What are you making?"

"Coffee," she replied, pouring the hot water into the press.

"My grandfather says coffee stunts your growth," he said from the other room.

"Your grandfather is wrong," Jean replied acidly. "Here, do you want some?"

"Sure!"

She brought out a cup, heavy with cream and sugar, and offered it to him. He drank quickly from it as Donahue illuminated the television. She sipped and watched him from the chair. After about a half an hour he became restless.

"I'm bored."

"What do you want to do?" She asked.

"Do you have any games?"

"Like what?"

"Mario Brothers."

"No," she scoffed. "You should go outside. It's beautiful."

"It's hot outside."

"It's summer."

"Mmmm," he said, not buying.

"You can't sit in front of the television all summer."

"Why not?"

"You're going to have to do something. Here, come over here."

She patted the piano seat and he trudged towards it.

"Piano?" He said dully as he plopped next to her.

"Don't act like that. Have you ever played?"

He nodded. "For like, a month."

"Well that's not nothing. Why didn't you stay with it?"

"My teacher was bad."

"Well," she said, putting her coffee on top of the piano, "I'm not that way. Is there anything you'd like to learn to play?"

"Anything?"

"Why not."

"Guns and Roses?"

Her face twisted. "Let's start out lower than that."

She opened a book to 'Mary had a Little Lamb'. He begrudgingly worked his way through it, slowly, then sat, making a face.

"We'll work our way up."

"OK," he said without excitement.

"You know, if you know a few chords you can play anything. You want to learn them?"

"I don't know."

Her mouth twisted.

"What instrument do you want to learn?"

"Guitar."

"Well, this is the first step. You give me an hour on the piano and then we'll go look for some games."

"What?" he asked, wondering if he heard correctly.

"We can rent a system and the grocery store."

"OK," he replied, suddenly excited. He worked his way through the song faster this time, and she moved him onto 'Old McDonald'. Once he had finished, she looked at him.

"What's your father doing at the factory these days?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Working nights? Or still days."

"Some nights."

"Really."

"Why?"

"Nothing," she replied, touching her face. "Really, I shouldn't worry about it. Not my business anymore."

"He said you used to work there."

"That's correct."

"Why'd you quit?"

She smiled, pained.

"I wanted to teach children piano," she said, nodding. "Can you believe that?"