Me – Hey, Peanut, what are you doing inside?
Niece – Nothing.
Me – I thought you were down playing with the other kids.
Niece – I came up.
Me – I see that. What happened?
Niece – They said I’m too small to play.
Me – Aw. That sucks.
Niece – Amma said you’re not allowed to say that to me.
Me – You want to hang out with your old aunt for a while?
Niece – No.
Me – Help me write this story.
Niece – I’m too small.
Me – Come on, you’re weird, this story is weird — it’s a winning combination. Anyway, I can see you have some ideas in your head.
Niece – Where.
Me – Right there, behind your ear, I can see.
Niece – You’re just making pretend.
Me – Come on, let’s start. Once upon a time, there was a…?
Niece – No.
Me – There was a No. And she had a yellow house and purple boots.
Niece – And a shoe rack.
Me – What is it with you and shoe racks?
Niece – I like shoe racks.
Me – Okay, then what happened?
Niece – Nothing.
Me – Aw, come on. We’re just getting started. There was the No, in her yellow house, purple boots and shoe rack. And she found a giant orange in her bathroom.
Niece – Why come you always say things like that?
Me – Like what?
Niece – Like giant orange in the bathroom.
Me – And what would you do if you found a giant orange in your bathroom?
Niece – Nothing.
Me – Nothing. You’d just sit there with a giant orange in your bathroom.
Niece – Ya.
Me – Well you know what No did?
Niece – What?
Me – I have no idea.
Niece – Hm?
Me – I don’t know what happened.
Niece – Maybe No peels it.
Me – That seems problematic. And non-consensual. Is the orange alive?
Niece – You mean, does he have eyes and mouth?
Me – Yes, exactly.
Niece – Ya.
Me – Okay, maybe she doesn’t peel him then. Do they become friends?
Niece – No.
Me – Ah, gritty realism. Why not though?
Niece – Because he ate all her bones. And drank all her blood.
Me – Dude! Why?
Niece – Because he… he was a dentist.
Me – Wow, okay. Let’s just leave that there, shall we?
Niece – I’m going down again.
Me – Really? You don’t want to finish this worrying piece of fiction with me?
Niece – No.
Me – Okay, have fun. Don’t eat anyone.
Niece – Okay.
*
Me – So! You’re back, I see.
Niece – Ya.
Me – What happened?
Niece – Nothing.
Me – Big kids still playing?
Niece – Ya.
Me – Want to finish the story?
Niece – No.
Me – Want to draw a picture of a monster eating your house?
Niece – No.
Me – Want to buy some bitcoin?
Niece – Hm?
Me – Should I tell you a story about how, when I was little, the big kids didn’t let me play with them either?
Niece – No.
Me – Okay. But you know what I did, though?
Niece – You told your Amma to make them play with you?
Me – No, I threw water at them and told them it was pee.
Niece – Really?
Me – You don’t do that, though. Especially not with real pee. And don’t tell anyone I told you that.
Niece – No one wants to play with me.
Me – Aw, I want to play with you. Kind of. Maybe not that much actually.
Niece – I don’t have any friends to play with me but.
Me – So, you’re saying I’m not your friend.
Niece – You’re too big.
Me – Yeah? Well you’re a banana butt.
Niece – Someone’s at the door.
Me – Well, go see who it is.
Niece – Amma said you’re supposed to answer the door.
Me – It’s fine, you’re better at opening the door than I am.
*
Me – So, let me get this straight: that was one of the big kids and they want you to play with them now because they’re playing house and they need a baby.
Niece – Ya.
Me – And did you pooh-pooh them?
Niece – Hm?
Me – Did you pooh-pooh them and say, “Fie! Away with you, and your ageist ways!”
Niece – I’m going down.
Me – You’re not going to resist? Fight the power? Defeat the… thingy?
Niece – No, I want to be the baby.
Me – What does this say about your generation?
Niece – I’m going bye.
Me – Wow, okay.
Niece – Don’t come down.
Me – Oh my God, I wasn’t going to come down anyway. Banana butt.
Small Talk chronicles conversations between the author and her niece that could, in an alternate universe or in this one, be real.
