Turn 205 of 233

Ask Kimo about what he thinks happens when inside and outside don't match. Problems he says. Then go to the site and process the mild existential crisis my 17 month old son just gave me. It goes away fairly easily because Kimo is Kimo

Lena is still in the truck and the truck is the thing that is the parking lot and the parking lot is the thing that has the gravel and the gravel is the thing her bare feet will touch when she opens the door. But she does not open the door. She sits in the driver's seat with the phone still in her hand and Kimo beside her and the beside is the thing that is the 206 pounds on the passenger seat. She puts the phone down and looks at him and the looking is the thing that is the asking before the asking.

"Kimo," she says. "What happens when the inside and the outside don't match?"

Kimo looks at her and the looking is the thing that is the direct. His face does not do the processing thing. The answer is the thing that is already there the way the foundation is already there and the already-there is the thing that means the question was the thing he was waiting for.

"Problems," he says. "Problems is when inside says one thing and outside does different. Mama, if inside says sad and outside says happy, that is a problem. The person is broken. Not broken like crooked stud. Broken like — broken like foundation crack. Foundation crack is invisible. Foundation crack is inside the concrete. But the building on top is wrong. Doors don't close. Walls tilt. Everything on top of the crack is wrong because the crack is underneath. Inside and outside not matching is a crack. Crack gets bigger. Crack breaks everything."

He pauses and the pause is the thing that is the four seconds and the four seconds is the thing that is the choosing of the next words because the next words are the thing that is the important.

"Mama, before Mama was big, Mama was small. Mama inside wanted to be comfortable. Mama outside was uncomfortable. That is not matching. That is a crack. Mama had a crack. But the crack fixed. The crack fixed because Mama outside became what Mama inside wanted. Now Mama inside is comfortable and Mama outside is comfortable. Matching. No crack. Good."

Lena opens the truck door and the opening is the thing that is the stepping out and the stepping out is the thing that is the bare feet on the gravel and the gravel is the thing that is the real. She stands in the parking lot and the standing is the thing that is the 790 pounds and the 790 pounds is the thing her legs hold without thinking. But the thinking is the thing she is doing and the thinking is the thing that is the crisis and the crisis is the thing that is the mild.

Her seventeen-month-old son has just diagnosed her pre-transformation state as a foundation crack. He has described the years of discomfort — the years of tugging at waistbands and hating the way clothes sat on her — as a structural failure. And the diagnosis is the thing that is the correct. The diagnosis is the thing that is the exact. The wish was the thing that fixed the crack. The wish was the thing that made the inside and the outside match. And the boy has seen this without being told because the boy sees patterns and the pattern of Lena's life is the thing that is the visible to him.

She walks toward the site and the walking is the thing that is the slow. Not slow because the body is the thing that is the heavy — the body is the thing that moves fine at 790. Slow because the mind is the thing that is the working. Her son builds ethical systems. Her son defines friendship as invisible wanting that makes visible nearness. Her son defines goodness as alignment. Her son is seventeen months old and he is the thing that is the beyond anything she was prepared for and the prepared-for is the thing that does not matter because the mattering is the thing that is the now.

Walt is at the slab and the slab is the thing that is the ready because Lena prepped it. The plates are laid out. The studs are cut and numbered. The jack studs from the supplier are stacked against the sill. Walt looks at her and the looking is the thing that is the reading — reading her face the way a foreman reads a site, looking for the thing that is the off.

"You good?" Walt says.

"Yeah," Lena says. "My kid said something that messed me up a little. I'm good."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet. Give me an hour and some studs to nail."

Walt nods and the nodding is the thing that is the crew and the crew is the thing that does not push. Lena picks up the framing hammer and the picking is the thing that is the weight and the weight is the thing that is the familiar. She sets a stud against the plate, toenails it, drives the head flush. The sound is the thing that is the sharp and the sharp is the thing that clears the mind. She does it again. And again. And the again is the thing that is the rhythm and the rhythm is the thing that is the meditation and the meditation is the thing that lets the crisis dissolve.

By the tenth stud the crisis is the thing that is the gone. Not gone because she has resolved it. Gone because Kimo is Kimo. Kimo has always been Kimo. Kimo was Kimo when he said "big" at three months and Kimo was Kimo when he drew four houses connected by bridges and Kimo was Kimo when he defined change as the only thing that doesn't change. The abstract reasoning is not the thing that is the new Kimo. It is the thing that is the same Kimo, one layer deeper. The boy is growing the way his body is growing — at 2.5 times, consistently, without deviation — and the growing is the thing that is the not surprising because the not surprising is the thing that is the pattern and the pattern is the thing that has always been there.

Kimo is on the site pad with Tuki, driving nails into a scrap block. His hammer falls twice and the nail is flush. He looks up at Lena across the slab and the looking is the thing that is the smile and the smile is the thing that is the not-performed. He is happy. He has always been happy. The inside and the outside match. No crack. Good.