It is a joy to be hidden, and a disaster not to be found.
-- D.W. Winnicott
His bedroom floor is covered with foam puzzle pieces. The foam circles fit into foam squares. His duvet cover has rocket ships on it. At night, the stars on his ceiling glow. I climb over his headboard and behind a dark blue curtain to stand on a narrow white radiator next to the cold window. From three floors up I can see the entirety of the backyard below, dried trees, gray limestone.
He comes into the room on bare feet; he calls for me. I wait for him to leave before slipping out of the curtain and sitting at the foot of his bed next to the red rocket ship. I pull a pillow over my face and the next time he patters into the room he shrieks with excitement.
Nalmi, did you hide there the whole time?!
Yes, I tell him.
When he hides I promise to count to twenty—a number higher than he has the patience for.
His apartment is one long hallway. Three windows in the front form half a hexagon and face the sidewalk. The living room is framed by a lightly colored marble mantle (too high for him to hit his head on) and a bookshelf made of hollow cubes. Like the one in my bedroom, the fireplace under his mantle has not worked in years. It is covered with a black metal sheet for decorative purposes. The bookshelf contains “The God Delusion.” It contains “Atlas Shrugged,” “American Gods” and every “Harry Potter,” first edition, of course.
From the tan couch in his living room I hear him and his short strides reach the bathroom. The small half doors to the room pull closed with black handles and lock with an eye and hook drilled into the soft wood. One of the doors has three holes in it from the times he pulled the door open when it was locked. His excitement sometimes forgets to hesitate.
Nalmi come find me! He shouts before I finish counting. Every time I tell him that the point of the game is to hide. I tell him that the point of the game is to wait. I tell him that that is why it’s fun. Nalmi! I walk past him, crouched under the kitchen table in brown corduroys, the elastic stretched around his belly. His eyes are a bright blue, and his blond hair falls flat against his head. He always smiles with all his teeth.
I check behind the bathtub curtain and his giggles hiccup behind me.
I’m right here! I turn around.
Did you not see me?! He asks.
No, I tell him.
He shrieks again; his fists clench in excitement.
He is four. When I take him to the park he holds my hand as he rides his orange scooter. The three wheels shake on the uneven pavement. I sprint up towards the park, his fingers clenched in my palm and swing my arm forward. He speeds away, propelled by the force of my grasp. I explained it to him one time. I told him that the energy in my arm transferred to his movement when I let go of him.
Wow! He said
Yeah.
Maybe I am not afraid of being lost. When he runs, I follow.
The playground near his house was also the playground near my house when I was little. They renovated it recently, tearing down the spiral slide that burnt my legs on summer days. Now we run up a gentle slope. The slide is so low that even with my fear of falling, I could jump from the top. When he chases me I run faster than he will be able to for about eight more years.
I hide in a metal tube under a platform. The metal has small holes in it and is visible from all directions. It is not a hiding spot, and I know it. He can see me without crouching, but he still lights up when he reaches me. Hiding is not being invisible. Hiding is pretending you are.
When he gets scared he sweats. His hands clench. But, he doesn’t cry right away, his fear overwhelms him and he forgets to make noise.
In the summer, I cross my legs on a bench made out of something that is definitely not wood. I sit in the shade next to West Indian women and strollers and read four sentences at a time before looking up to scan the playground for him. I don’t talk to the nannies. I take off my sandals to jump in puddles. I fill up buckets and dump them on his water shoes.
Are you going to get me wet, Nalmi?
No.
The playground used to have one sprinkler that ejected water into the shape of a mushroom, but when they renovated the playground, they built a slope with rough rock platforms on either side. Parents are concerned that their children will slip on the stones. He hasn’t slipped yet. I tell him to be careful.