Turn 161 of 233

Encourage Kimo to take more steps. He also learns more words now. Slowly, but surely and accurately

Lena sets Kimo on the pad ten feet from the lumber stack and the ten feet is the distance and the distance is the thing she is asking him to cross. She crouches at the stack and the crouching is the crouching of 630 pounds on haunches that could squat 500 and the haunches hold. She opens her arms and the opening is the invitation and the invitation is the thing she gives him.

"Come here, buddy. Walk to Mama."

Kimo is on his feet and the feet are bare on the concrete and the bare is the only thing he knows. He lets go of nothing because there is nothing to let go of — she set him standing and the standing is his now. One step. Two. Three. The rhythm is the same slow wobble from yesterday and the wobble is the thing that will smooth and the smoothing is the thing that comes with days. Four. Five. Six. Seven. The seventh step is new and the new is one more than yesterday and the one more is the thing that is always one more. Eight. Nine. He sits at nine and the sitting is the sitting of a boy who has crossed nine steps of concrete and the nine is three more than yesterday and the three is the thing Lena counts.

"Nine steps!" Janet is on the sideline of the pad and the sideline is the place she stands with her phone and the phone is recording and the recording is the thing Janet does now. Samuel is beside her and the beside is the place he stands and the standing is the thing he does. He doesn't have his phone out. He is watching with his eyes and the eyes are the instrument he trusts.

Lena sets him up again. The setting up is the standing and the standing is his and the distance is ten feet. He goes. The steps come faster this time — not faster in speed but faster in rhythm, the gap between each step shorter, the wobble smaller. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. The twelfth step is the step that reaches Lena's knees and the reaching is the thing and the thing is the arrival. His hands hit her thighs and the hitting is the hitting of a boy who has walked twelve steps and the twelve is the number and the number is growing. Lena picks him up and the picking is the lifting of 44 pounds and the lifting is nothing and the nothing is the weight of a boy who is 44 pounds and the 44 is the weight she presses in her sleep.

"Good job, buddy. Good job."

Kimo hums and the humming is the drone and the drone is the thing between words. The words are coming now — not every day, not every hour, but in the gaps between crawling and walking and sleeping and the gaps are the places where the mouth opens and the sound is a word. The new words arrive the way big arrived — single, clear, directed at the right thing. Down, said when Lena lowers him to the pad. Go, said when she sets him at the start of the ten-foot line, his body already leaning forward before the word is out of her mouth. Cold, said when the morning concrete hasn't warmed yet and his feet touch it and the touching is the thing that makes the word. Each word is one syllable and one syllable is the structure and the structure is the thing Kimo builds, one sound at a time, the way his mother builds walls, one nail at a time.

The crew watches between lifts and the watching is the watching of men who have absorbed this boy into their day. Marco sees the twelve steps and the seeing is the seeing of a man who called this kid a framer and the framer is walking. Walt sees the new word down and the seeing is the seeing of a man who doesn't comment but almost-smiles and the almost-smile is the thing Walt gives. Frank hears cold from the saw station during a blade change and the hearing is the hearing of a man who is between cuts and the between is the place where the word reaches him.

"He said cold," Frank says to nobody. The saying is the saying of a man who is stating a fact and the fact is that a four-month-old said cold and the cold was at the concrete and the concrete was cold and the word was right.

The afternoon is the afternoon and the boy walks. He walks from the lumber stack to the cooler and the walking is fifteen steps and the fifteen is the most and the most is today. He walks from the trailer to the plan table and the walking is twelve steps and the twelve is the distance. He falls twice and the falling is the falling of a boy who is learning and the learning is the thing that comes with falling and the falling is not the thing that stops him. He gets up. The getting up is the pulling up on the nearest surface and the nearest surface is the plan table and the pulling is the arms and the arms are strong. He goes again.

Samuel watches the last walk of the day — the walk from the plan table back to Lena and the walk is fourteen steps and the fourteen is the distance. He watches the boy fall and get up and go again and the watching is the watching of a man who built things his whole life and knows what it looks like when something is being built. Janet is beside him and the beside is the place she stands and the standing is the thing she does. The phone is in her hand and the hand is not recording now. She is watching with her eyes and the eyes are the instrument she trusts now.

"He's going to run," Samuel says. The voice is quiet and the quiet is the quiet of a man who is saying something he believes and the believing is not a guess. Janet looks at him and the looking is the looking of a wife who has not heard her husband predict something about the boy before and the before is the thing that has changed. Samuel is predicting. Samuel is saying what is coming and the saying is the thing that means he is inside the structure now and the inside is the place he has been moving toward since the word big.