Anna live around the corner and three houses in on the far side of Crescent drive. I'd not seen her playing with the children on our block because she was too small for street crossings. Also she didn't play well with others. All children play. It's just not always recognizable to adults. Her play was very small. She kept it in the palm of her hand and when no one was looking (she only ever took action when she was certain no one was looking) she opened up her palm and let the sunshine down into her world.

Her world was a tiny one, and it didn't have very many members. Sometimes it was a button. She would carry the same button clasped in her hands for weeks on end, sneaking glances at it, whispering stories, feeding it thread so it would grow strong. The next month perhaps was a ginko leaf that grew brittle and crumbled. I don't know what she did with her play items when she was finished nurturing them, but there never seemed to be a period of loss or mourning when she moved on. She was pregnant with intention at six.

I would sit for her sometimes, usually in the afternoons, sometimes even while her mother was at home, just to "Keep her out of my hair," though I have a hard time imagining that Anna was capable of being considered a nuisance. It was summer when I finally caught a glimpse of one of her treasures. An acorn cap. I asked her about the acorn cap and she looked at me mutely. Eyes read betrayal.

How can a thing so young know betrayal?