It’s night.

Jeb and I are at the outdoor shower, where he soaps under the stars.  He doesn’t like to bathe alone in the dark and I keep him company while words fall from his mouth as yarn unraveling.  It’s an end-of-the-day discourse that peaks at shower time and then falls with a thud on his pillow after putting on his pajamas.

As he rinses and recites, frogs rest and listen in the moss and fern shadows, just out of sight.

Jeb’s at the crescendo.  Stories and descriptions of the day’s events come out as run-on sentences.  A litany of Lego guy trading on the playground, a scene from a Bruce Lee movie he saw with his dad, and a new knock-knock joke.

“Knock knock”

“Who’s there?”

“A door.”

“A door who?”

“Adore me!”

“I do adore you.  That’s a good one…ok, Jeb, get all of the shampoo out of your hair and come on out.”

I herd him toward bed as he finalizes his roll.  The last thoughts of his head, draining.

“Mom, when are you going to get a boyfriend?”

Stars flicker.  The breeze pauses.  Frogs freeze.

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