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.