Turn 160 of 233

Call Janet and Samuel about the first steps and let Kimo practice walking on the site pad tomorrow

The parking lot is hot and Kimo is in the car seat and the car seat is in the truck and the truck is the truck Lena drives with the windows down because the AC stopped working three months ago and the three months is the time she has been driving hot and the hot is the way she drives. She dials Janet first because Janet is first. The phone rings twice and the twice is the twice of a mother who is in the kitchen and the kitchen is where Janet keeps her phone now.

"Mom. He walked."

The line is the line of a grandmother who heard big three weeks ago and is hearing walked now and the hearing is the hearing of a woman who is sitting down because she was standing and the standing was not going to hold. Janet doesn't speak for three seconds and the three seconds are the three seconds of a woman who is processing the word walked and the processing is fast because Janet processes fast now.

"He walked?"

"Three steps. In the exam room. He let go of the table and walked three steps across the floor. Slow. Unsteady. But walking. Dr. Parekh was standing right there. He stopped writing."

"How old is he, Lena."

"Four months."

Janet laughs and the laugh is the laugh Lena knows — the real one, the one that fills the room, the one that comes from the place where Janet keeps the things that crack her open. The laugh is wet this time and the wet is the wet of a grandmother who is laughing and crying at the same time and the same time is the time she lives in now. The same time she has been living in since the word big.

"Four months old and he's walking. His father walked at fourteen months. I remember because Samuel's mother told me. Fourteen months. And his grandson is walking at four months."

"He's his own kid, Mom."

"He is. He is his own kid." Janet's voice is thick and the thickness is the love and the love is the thing she doesn't hide anymore.

"Let me get your father. Samuel. Samuel — come here. Come here right now."

The shuffling is the shuffling Lena knows — the phone passing from one hand to another, the muffled sound of Janet's palm over the receiver, the careful footsteps of a man crossing a kitchen. Samuel's voice comes on and the voice is the voice she knows. Quiet. Careful.

"Lena."

"He walked, Dad. Three steps. In the doctor's office. Four months old."

The silence is Samuel's silence and the silence is longer than Janet's silence and the longer is the longer of a man who is holding something that doesn't fit in his hands and the not fitting is the thing Samuel has been carrying since the first phone call. The silence is six seconds and the six seconds are long and the long is the weight of a man who built things with his hands his whole life and is hearing that his grandson is building something too.

"Good," Samuel says. The word is one word and one word is what Samuel gives and the giving is the giving of a man who means it and the meaning is the thing Lena hears underneath the word and the underneath is where Samuel keeps everything.

"Good? That's all?" Janet's voice is in the background and the background is the background of a grandmother who is not satisfied with one word and the not satisfied is Janet.

"It's good," Samuel says. The repetition is the repetition of a man who has said what he means and the meaning is enough. Lena hears him breathe and the breathing is the breathing of a man who is standing in a kitchen holding a phone and the holding is the thing he does.

"I'm taking him to the site tomorrow," Lena says. "He'll be on the pad. Walking. Crawling. Both. Come if you want."

"We'll be there," Janet says. The phone is back in her hand and the hand is the hand of a mother who has decided and the deciding is not a question.

"We'll be there by seven."

"Seven," Lena says. "I'll have coffee."

She hangs up and the truck is hot and the boy is in the car seat humming and the humming is the humming of a boy who took three steps today and the three steps are behind him and the behind is the place where the first things go. Tomorrow the pad is concrete and the concrete is his and the his is the structure and the structure holds.

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The morning is the morning Lena owns — five-forty and the pad is swept and the studs are checked and the coffee is on the tailgate and the coffee is the coffee the crew drinks and the drinking is the thing that starts the day. Kimo is on the pad and the boy is on his feet and the feet are bare on the concrete and the bare is the way he has always been and the always is the only thing he knows. He is holding the edge of the lumber stack and the holding is the thing he has been doing for weeks — pulling up on everything, the barbell rack, the cooler, the exam table — and the pulling up is the precursor and the precursor is here.

He lets go. The letting go is the letting go of a boy who is four months old and has been on his feet for one day and the one day is the day. One step. The step is slow and the slow is the slow of a body that weighs 44 pounds and is 34 inches tall and is learning what vertical means. The foot lands and the landing is a wobble and the wobble is the thing. Second step. Third step. The steps are the same three steps from the exam room and the same is the same and the same is the thing that is happening on concrete now and the concrete is the surface his mother works on and the working is the thing he is learning.

He sits. The sitting is the sitting of a boy who has done a thing and the thing is done and the done is three steps and the three steps are the beginning. He gets up again. The getting up is the pulling up on the lumber stack and the pulling is the arms and the arms are strong and the strong is the thing the crawling built. He lets go. Three more steps. The steps are unsteady and the unsteadiness is the wobble of a boy who is learning to walk on concrete and the concrete is not the exam room floor and the not exam room floor is harder and the harder is the surface he will know.

The crew arrives and the arriving is the arriving of men who see the boy on his feet and the seeing is the seeing of men who have been watching this boy crawl for weeks and the crawling is not the thing they are seeing now. The thing they are seeing now is walking. Walt nods and the nod is the nod of a man who has seen everything and is seeing this. Marco sets the nail gun down and watches and the watching is the watching of a man who called this kid a framer and the framer is on his feet. Frank is at the saw and the saw is not running yet and the not running is the thing that lets Frank see the boy take four steps — four, one more than yesterday — and the four is the thing Frank sees before the saw starts and the starting is the saw and the saw is loud.

At seven-twelve a car pulls into the lot and the car is the car Lena knows and the knowing is the car her parents drive and the driving is the driving of two people who said they would be there by seven and are there by seven-twelve. Janet is out first and Janet is moving fast and the fast is the fast of a grandmother who heard her grandson walked and is here to see the walking. Samuel is behind her and the behind is the behind of a man who walks at his own pace and the pace is the pace of a man who builds things and has built things his whole life and the building is the thing that is in his body.

Kimo is on the pad and the boy is on his feet and the feet are bare and the bare is the thing Janet sees first and the first is the feet. He is five steps from the lumber stack and the five steps is the distance he has walked and the walking is the thing Janet is here to see. He lets go of the stack and the letting go is the thing and the thing is the steps. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. The six is the most steps he has taken and the most is today and today is the day his grandparents are here and the here is the thing.

"Six," Janet says. The word is a count and the count is the count of a grandmother who is counting steps and the counting is the thing she does because the counting is the way she holds the thing that is happening.

"Six," Samuel says. The echo is not Janet's echo. The echo is Samuel's and the echo is the echo of a man who is counting and the counting is the thing he does with lumber and with steps and with the things that matter. He is watching the boy walk and the watching is the watching of a man who built things with his hands and is watching his grandson build something with his legs and the building is the thing that connects them.

Kimo sits. The sitting is the sitting of a boy who has taken six steps and the six is the number and the number is the thing. He looks at Samuel and the looking is the looking of a boy who is seeing his grandfather and the seeing is the thing that comes before the word. The mouth opens.

"Big."

The word is directed at Samuel. The word is directed at a man who is six feet tall and broad and the broad is big and the big is the word and the word is right. Samuel looks at the boy and the looking is the looking of a man who has just been called big by his four-month-old grandson and the calling is the thing that breaks something open in Samuel and the breaking is the thing he doesn't show. But Janet sees it. Janet sees the thing in Samuel's face and the seeing is the thing she keeps and the keeping is the love.

"He said it at me," Samuel says. The voice is quiet and the quiet is the quiet of a man who has been called big by a boy who says big at big things and the big things include him and the including is the thing.

"He says it at big things," Lena says. "Lumber. Wall frames. The forklift. And you."

Samuel doesn't say anything else. The not saying is the not saying of a man who has been included in the category of big things and the category is the thing his grandson made and the making is the thing that holds. Janet is crying and the crying is the crying of a grandmother who is watching her grandson walk and talk and call her husband big and the watching is the thing she has come for and the come for is the thing she got.