he wanted a look first
Alan was born on the hottest day of that August, and he did not cry. The nurse said some babies just like to have a look first. Sid held him like a parcel he'd been told was fragile and asked the nurse twice whether he was doing it right. He carried him out to the car the same way, very slowly, with his elbows out. On the way home the radio was on low and Alan was quiet the whole drive. Sid turned it off in case it was bothering him. He started crying the moment it went quiet.
Linda, his mom
the pothole on alder street
Alan was seven. Wrote to the city about the pothole on Alder Street. Three pages, with a drawing and measurements. He asked me to drive him down so he could hand it in himself. The woman at the desk read the whole thing while we stood there. Said it was the best letter they'd had all year. They fixed the pothole in 1989. He'd left home by then. I called and told him. He asked if they'd used the right depth.
Sid, his dad
the rabbit and the post office
Alan taught me to tie my shoes when I was six. Mom had been trying for weeks with the bunny ears thing. Alan's method had a rabbit too, but the rabbit had to go to the post office, wait in line, forget its form, and come back. It took about four minutes per shoe. I was late for school a lot that year. I still do it in my head. I'm thirty-five, and every time I tie my shoes, a rabbit forgets its form.
Tracy, his younger sister
the lighthouse documentary
Tracy brought me home for dinner and Alan shook my hand for a long time. Long enough that Linda took my coat off me while it was still going on. At dinner he told me about a documentary on lighthouse keepers. He knew the director's name and how many steps each lighthouse had. I went home and found it, so I'd have something to say next time. It was three hours long. Next time, I mentioned it. He said he'd moved on to bridges.
Doug, his brother-in-law
small even squares
It was Doug and Tracy's engagement dinner, in 2008. I think. I was seated next to Alan. I was telling a story and, I'll admit, gesturing quite a lot, and when I looked down he had cut my entire steak into small even squares. He hadn't asked. He didn't mention it. I couldn't figure out whether thanking him would encourage him. Would he do the potatoes next? Would he do it at the wedding? I said thank you, fairly quietly. He said I was welcome. I ate it, and kept my hands in my lap for the rest of the meal.
Stu, a friend through Doug
