Chapter 26 - The Gift Box
Niles’s tenth birthday came five years after the garbage.
He requested:
“No dinosaurs.”
I pretended devastation.
He wanted astronomy.
Stars.
Planets.
Telescope.
His cousins arrived.
Cake.
Normal.
Near the end, Roderick brought out one large box.
I had approved it.
Niles did not know what was inside.
He looked at me.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“Safe?”
“Yes.”
That word.
Not funny.
Real.
He approached.
Opened the top.
Nothing dumped.
Inside was a telescope.
Niles stared.
Then:
“Whoa.”
He pulled it out.
Beneath the telescope was another small flat box.
He opened.
A brass plaque for the telescope case.
NILES WEXLER.
No percent.
No company.
No bloodline.
Just his name.
He held it.
Then looked at Eugenia.
She had been invited for the final half hour at his request.
She stayed seated.
Did not approach.
Niles carried the plaque over.
“Grandma.”
“Yes?”
“Spell right?”
She looked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he walked away.
No test.
No proof.
A name did not need genetics to remain spelled correctly.
That night we set telescope on patio.
Niles found the moon.
Then lost it.
Then found it again.
That was the climax.
Not a board vote.
Not DNA.
May you like
A child looking somewhere so much larger than the adults who once fought over what he was allowed to be.
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