Turn 217 of 233

Enrich Kimo's environment further. I deal with the outside world as it comes

Lena starts at the library. Not the children's section — the whole building. She talks to the librarian, a woman named Dorothy who has been there nineteen years and has the thing that is the not-surprised by much. Dorothy looks at Kimo, looks at his 274 pounds filling the aisle between geology and chemistry, and says, "Can he reach the top shelf?" Kimo says yes and Dorothy says, "Then he's welcome everywhere." Dorothy gives him a library card. The card is the thing that is the first official document with his name on it that is not a birth certificate or a medical file. It is the thing that says: you belong here. The belonging is the thing that is the library.

They go three times a week now. Monday is geology and physics. Wednesday is biology and chemistry. Friday is poetry and architecture. Lena does not curate. She does not pre-select. She lets Kimo walk the aisles and the walking is the thing that is the choosing. He pulls books — not randomly, never randomly. The pulling is the thing that is the pattern. He pulls a book on plate tectonics, then a book on bridge design, then a book of William Carlos Williams poems. The connection is not obvious to Lena. The connection is obvious to Kimo. The connection is the thing that is the thread.

"Why these?" Lena says.

"Plates are the slow moving," Kimo says. He is cross-legged on the library floor, three books open around him.

"Bridges are the fast staying. Poems are the moving that stays. All three are the thing that is the tension. Tension is the holding-and-moving. Holding-and-moving is the everything."

Dorothy watches from the desk. The watching is the thing that is the not-reporting. The watching is the thing that is the seeing. Not all seeing is the world-coming. Some seeing is the thing that is the recognizing.

At home the balcony changes. Lena brings up a whiteboard — four by eight feet, the kind from conference rooms, propped against the railing. Kimo uses it the way he uses the pad at the site: to make the inside visible. The whiteboard fills with diagrams. A cross-section of the earth's mantle beside a cross-section of a load-bearing wall. A poem beside a chemical equation. The connections are the thing that is the web Dr. Okafor described — each new subject a thread, the threads making the web, the web getting larger. The web getting larger is the thing that is the not-breaking.

She adds music. Not lessons — exposure. She borrows a bluetooth speaker from Walt and plays things while they work on the whiteboard. Bach cello suites. Samoan drumming. Coltrane. Tuvan throat singing. Kimo listens to each the way he listens to everything — completely, with his whole body, his head tilted, his chest humming the low hum that is the thing that is the Aleki-hum. After the throat singing he says: "That is two sounds at the same time. Two sounds is the harmony. Harmony is the thing that is the matching that is the not-same. Matching that is not-same is the harder. Harder is the stronger."

The site continues. House seven in the east-side development goes up in four days. Kimo is there every day, on the pad, sorting fasteners, watching rough-in, asking Marco why the electrical boxes are placed at switch height and not higher. Marco explains. Kimo says: "Switch height is the thing that is the hand-height. Hand-height is the matching to the body. The body is the thing that is the user. The user is the thing that is the why." Marco looks at Lena. Lena shrugs. The shrug is the thing that is the proud.

The state follows up. A second evaluator — a man named Dr. Graves, pediatric neuropsychologist, quiet shoes, careful voice. He comes to the apartment. He sees the balcony: the whiteboard, the library books, the concrete floor, the two bodies that live here bare and unsheltered and full. He watches Kimo for forty minutes before opening his bag. The watching is the thing that is the not-testing. The not-testing is the thing that says the testing is the thing that is the wrong tool.

"Ms. Park," Dr. Graves says. "I've read Dr. Okafor's file. I've read the state screening report. I've read the school-readiness flag." He pauses.

"I don't think Kimo needs my instrument."

"What does he need?" Lena says.

"This," Dr. Graves says. He gestures at the whiteboard, the books, the balcony, the city below.

"This is the thing that is the right environment. The testing would tell me what percentile he's in. The percentile is the thing that is the category. The category is the thing that is the reducing. I don't want to reduce him."

He writes something on his form. He hands the copy to Lena. The something is: Assessment incomplete — standard instruments inadequate. Subject displays integrated cognitive, emotional, and motor development beyond measurable range. Environment is developmentally optimal. No intervention recommended. The words are the thing that is the institutional. The meaning is the thing that is the foundation-holds.

"The state may not like that report," Dr. Graves says.

"The state is the outside," Lena says.

Dr. Graves looks at her. The looking is the thing that is the almost-smile.

"The outside pushes," he says. "The under holds."

He heard Kimo say it. The hearing is the thing that is the carrying. The carrying is the thing that is the words leaving the balcony and entering the world. The words entering the world is the thing that is the not-stopping.