Paint It Red

Elijah's dad drove away in his jeep, leaving Grandma to watch him for the afternoon. It was a gorgeous day. Elijah played quietly in his sandbox, very focused on measuring precise amounts of sand after putting it through a sifter. Grandma sat close by in a lawn chair, pestering him with questions, testing him on his numbers and colors, repeatedly interrupting the flow of his play.

-- Do you like being four? she asked.

No response.

--Do you like being four years old?

--No! Elijah shot back assertively.

--No? Why don't you like being four?

(He walks away towards the driveway)

-- I don't like being four. I'm gonna take your car away, he said.

--You're gonna take my car away? But you're not old enough to drive, protested Grandma in the whiniest voice.

--I'm gonna drive it. And I'm gonna make it black.

--How you gonna do that Elijah? Paint it?

--I'm gonna paint it. Paint it Red.

(He starts to walk away again)

-- Where are you going? Come here Elijah. Look at these berries I have. Now are they blueberries or raspberries?

(He ignores her, keeps walking)

-- I'm tired of you, said Elijah with much sincerity.

-- You're tired of me? Well that's too bad, your stuck with me. I'm watching you. You don't have a choice, said Grandma, obviously taking his comment very personally. Then she shuffled him inside as the sun shot spears of glorious light all over the backyard.