Driving in the car, kids asleep. We’re causally talking, reminiscing about things like when “Star Wars” was called “Star Wars” and not “A New Hope.” Suddenly, Will’s head snaps up, hair tussled from sleep, his voice breaking through our conversation:
“I was…I was…I was…I was…” he repeats over and over. “I was…I was…I was…”
“Dear, I think the record is broken.“
“I was…I was…I was…I was…”
“Will, what were you? What are you trying to say, honey?“
“I was…I was…I was…” pause. Then slowly, “…digging up shells in the park.” Silence. I look to Paul, curious.
Paul explains: “It was muddy in the park and Will found shells that the rain washed up.”
Turning to Will, showing my interest, “Oh, I see. What color were the shells, Will?”
Silence. Will is starring, eyes half open, out the window. He’s still, almost asleep, as if his explosion of stutters had never happened. The car is quiet again.
“Okay… I think The Little Man is out again.” Shaking my head to Paul, “That was interesting.”
“Yep. Proof that the mouth wakes up before the brain.”
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