Morning in the Sun
Sam wakes to warm light on his cheek. He is three. He loves pancakes and his blue socks. He loves his small red truck. The kitchen smells sweet. Mama hums and pours syrup.
Sam sits at the table. He reaches for his red truck. His hand meets cold empty air. His brother Max has the truck. Max laughs. "Mine now," he says.
Sam feels a tight thing inside. It is big and noisy. It feels wrong. Sam does not like it. He does not want to cry. He does not want to shout. He feels an injustice. He does not know what to do.
Mama sees Sam's face. She puts her hand on his shoulder. Her touch is soft. "Tell me," she says. Sam looks at Max. Max has syrup on his chin. Max is small, too. Max looks at Mama.
Sam breathes in. He breathes out. The tight thing feels a little less loud. Sam listens to his breath. It is slow. It is warm. The sunlight on his knee is warm. Sam remembers his blue socks. He remembers the truck's loud horn. He wants his truck back.
"Horn," says Max. He honks the truck on the table. Sam wants to run. He wants to grab. He feels like his chest is full. Mama kneels down. "Sam, tell me with your words," she says.
Sam looks at Mama's eyes. Mama listens. Her ears are soft like a basket. Sam opens his mouth. "My truck. Mine," he says. The words are small and clear. Saying them makes the tight thing move.
The Small Walk
Mama takes Sam's hand. The house is calm. They go to the garden. The grass tickles Sam's feet. A small bee hums. The sky is big and blue. Mama and Sam walk slowly.
Mama says, "It feels bad when things are not fair." Sam nods. He remembers his truck. He remembers Max saying, "Mine now." The tight thing comes back. It is heavy and sharp. Sam's fists want to close.
"Can you show me where it lives?" Mama asks. Sam thinks. He points to his chest. "Here," he says. Mama puts her hand there. It is warm. "That feeling is called injustice," she says softly. "It tells you something is not fair."
Sam says the word. In-just-ice. The word feels new. It is a little strange. It is also true. Saying the word makes the heavy thing a bit smaller.
Mama teaches Sam a little game. "We will breathe like the big tree," she says. She stands tall. "Breathe in—reach up. Breathe out—arms down. One, two." Sam lifts his arms. He imagines his chest as a balloon. He breathes slow. The balloon fills and empties. The heavy thing floats a little away.
They breathe again. Sam feels softer. He makes a small sound, "Ah." The sound is like a little ripple in a pond. The ripples move the heavy thing toward the ground. Sam smiles a tiny smile.
Mama asks, "Do you want to tell Max how you feel?" Sam nods. He practices a sentence. "I feel sad and angry. That is not fair. Please give me my truck." He says it quiet. He practices again with Mama. His words are steady now.
Back at the Table
They go inside. Max is still playing. He looks up when he sees Sam. Sam stands in front of the table. His knees wobble. He holds his hands together.
"Max," he says. His voice is small and brave. "I feel upset. That is not fair. Can I have my truck back, please?" Max looks at Sam. Max blinks. He puts the truck on the table. "Sorry," Max says. He looks at Mama. Mama nods and smiles.
Sam takes the truck. He feels the warm plastic. He presses the horn. It beeps. The tight thing sits down. It is calm now. It is smaller. Sam pats his chest. He breathes like the tree. He feels like the balloon is light.
Mama claps softly. "You were brave," she says. "You listened to your feeling. You used your words." Sam hears the words. They are like honey. Sam feels proud.
The day goes on. They eat pancakes. They play with blocks. Sam shares his truck for a little while. He keeps his blue socks on his feet. At naptime, Mama tucks Sam in. The room is quiet. The sun makes a soft stripe on the blanket.
Sam thinks about the heavy thing that was inside him. He thinks about the breath and the balloon. He thinks about the word injustice. Saying it felt like opening a small door. He feels a little bigger than before. He feels safe.
Mama sings a gentle song. Sam's eyes get heavy. He smiles. He knows what to do next time the tight thing comes. He can breathe. He can say the word. He can use his small brave voice. He can listen and be listened to.
Sam closes his eyes. The truck sits by the bed. The room smells like pancakes. Sam feels warm and calm. He feels that he has grown a tiny bit today. He sleeps. He dreams of a big blue sky and a balloon that floats high and soft.
