Meeting D.T. was chance, coincidence, or fate; I really am not sure which one to blame. I was grocery shopping and had run into my friend, Jean. She was shopping with her sister, Jane, who was up and staying at the lake for the summer. Jane was quite a bit younger than Jean and always the tag-a-long little sister. Jane had a little boy about 7 or 8-years old, and a little girl of about 4. I asked about the children, Jane just gushed over “her” little girl, on and on she went. Meanwhile the little boy was standing apart looking down at the floor. I asked about him; “Oh him,” she replied, “He's from “my” husband, Don's first marriage. He has to live with us now because his Mother is such a drunk and druggie she can't take care of him anymore. It was either the State or us, and Don just insisted we take him. His name is Donald Thomas, Jr., now I can't use that name if “we” have a little boy of our own.” I was looking at him and I saw his little shoulders hunch over a more as she spoke.

We chatted a little more, and then I told Jane to pop over since she was only a few camps away. We'd have plenty of time to catch up on everything; she replied that she would. I turned to Donald and said, “I'm very pleased to meet you, Donald. I hope you enjoy yourself here this summer.” He didn't look up, but he did nod his head.

A couple of days later Jane and the kids came over to visit, we had coffee and I gave the kids juice and snacks. We caught up on all that life had thrown at us in the intervening years. Jane is a really great person, but I really didn't like the way she talked to, about, and in front of little Donald. She seemed insulted that the child had the same name as “her” husband.

I had been covertly watching little Don and I saw a very, very quiet, shy, and withdrawn boy who had been constantly hurt, criticized, and punished by the women in his life. I knew immediately this little fella needed “Grandmothering” in a big way, but would he let me?

When they got ready to leave, I reached out and touched Donald's arm to stop him; his first reaction was to jerk away. I ignored it and said, “Donald, I think I might have some things put away down cellar that you might like to use. Jane, could Donald come over tomorrow after lunch and look? I'd get it right now only I just can't remember which box it is in.” Jane gave an affirmative answer and I said to Donald, “You look like a really smart boy, do you know how to tell time?” At that small compliment his chin picked up a little, he nodded he could. I told him to come over at 1 o'clock.

By 1:30, I was getting nervous he wouldn't come, then I noticed him hanging out back by the bushes. I grabbed a small garbage can and took it out to empty it. I acted surprised to see him and said cheerily, “Oh my, I've been so busy the time just flew by. I've just finished cleaning the house, what perfect timing you have! Come on it and see what I've got for you!”

He reluctantly came in as I chattered about what a nice day it was and house cleaning. I asked if he'd had his lunch and he replied that he had. I asked if he'd had dessert. He looked up and said no. (This was the first time I'd seen his eyes as he usually walked around with his head down, they were a lovely deep blue.) “Well,” I said, “Then we must have some!” I promptly got out a plate of chocolate cookies, and filled up dishes with chocolate ice cream, chocolate chips, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream on top, those blue eyes looked at me and sparkled for a minute. I complimented him on how beautiful his eyes were and they immediately dropped back to the floor.

We ate in semi-silence, I asked him a few general questions about his school, what grade he was going into, was he having fun at the lake, etc. At first he gave only short one sentence answers, then as the massive amount of chocolate began to penetrate his little brain cells, I could see him begin to relax and feel more comfortable. I told him jokes and funny stories and got him to laugh and talk some more.

When we were done, I took him into the living room and there sat a big box, I told him to go over and look in it. A look of wonder and excitement crossed his face and disappeared almost as fast as it had appeared. The box was full of toys and books for all ages of children. I told him I knew there weren't many toys at their camp so he could take some home and bring them back later. He filled his arms with trucks and cars and managed a very soft thank you. I told we'd use the front door because it was closer; when I swung it open he was amazed to see a bicycle sitting there. It may have been old, but it had a big basket on the front and streamers coming out of the handgrips. His eyes were as big a saucers and he whispered, “Can I really use it?” I asked very seriously, “Do you know how to ride one?” He said, “Yeah, I got one at my Mom's.” He shut up like he'd been caught saying a bad word and looked at the floor again. I greatly exaggerated wiping my brow and said, “Whew! I was afraid you didn't know how to ride one! That's a big load off my mind; off you go then, have fun!” He started to move off and I said, “Wait a minute,” a look of fear tinged his eyes, “Donald Thomas, Donald, that's too long,” I scratched my head and frowned, “Donnie? Nah, that's too babyish, and Don is your Dad's name. Do you have a nickname?” He looked down and shook his head no. “Well you ought to have one you know, all the guys have nicknames, lets see, Donald Thomas—how about D.T.? Would that be OK, it could be special for just you and me?” He said OK, I replied, “Great! D.T. it is! See you later, D.T.! Hey, come over tomorrow if you want to! About one is a good time!”

Off he pedaled with the streamers flying and a big smile on his face. He was such a beautiful child except for the ugly, raw, aching in his heart and soul; he badly needed some loving balm to cover that wound.

He came over the next day and helped me weed the flowerbeds; we filled the awkward gaps of silence with work and made small talk and chatter. Later in the afternoon, the silence seemed more companionable than awkward. I frequently complimented him on what a good job he was doing and what a big help he was to me. Before he went home we went inside and washed up, he giggled when I made a great pretense of washing washing off his grass stained knees. We had cookies and some ice tea; and we played a game of Sorry that he won fair and square. He just couldn't believe it; I told him he beat me because he was so smart.

For the next two weeks he came over sporadically, but the third week he came every day about one o'clock. D.T. was having a blast helping me and Jane didn't seem to mind at all that he was gone most of the time. He began to cautiously open up more and more, by the end of the fourth week I told him he was my best buddy and I didn't know what I was going to do when he went home. I began paying him for the chores that he was helping me with because I knew Don's birthday was coming up, and he planned to take a week off from work and come up. D.T. was looking forward to it.

D.T. finally began to trust me enough to open up to me about his life with his Mother, he felt he could speak more openly if we were working side by side or a couple of rows away so he didn't “have” to look at my face when he told me some of the things that had happened to him. Life with her had been hard, but at least he'd felt some love. He couldn't remember his Mother's parents because he hadn't seen them in many years, and Don's Mother had died when D.T. was two. He'd never had a loving older female in his short life and I knew he was going out on a limb by trusting me not to hurt him.

I took him everywhere with me and when someone would ask if he was my grandson, I put on my biggest, brightest smile and said, “Oh no, this is my best buddy D.T.” Then I'd launch into a long list of all the wonderful things he did for me. Of course, whoever was listening couldn't help but compliment such a clever and helpful boy, then he'd beam. From these experiences, he learned to hold his head up, walk with quiet pride, and look people in the eye when they are talking to you. He seemed to smile most of the time we were together, and his laughter was sweeter than any of my wind chimes tinkling in the breeze.

I did get him into trouble once and it profoundly changed our relationship. He'd stayed for supper and we'd caught some lightening bugs in a jar. He wanted to take them home and I'd forgotten Jane's abhorrence of bugs. He brought the jar back to me in tears; this was the first time he had really let me hug him. I knew he wasn't crying just because of the bugs, he was sobbing from the depths of his soul, all the pain he had endured was pouring out. I pulled him on my lap in the big porch rocker and rocked him while apologizing over and over for forgetting. I hugged him tight and told him over and over he was a good boy as I tried to soothe him. When the storm of tears had passed and only the racking, heaving sounds of him trying to catch his breath were left, I told him how much I had grown to love him When all was calm again I took him inside and got us each a big piece of cake and a glass of milk. I called Jane and apologized, then I asked if D.T. could stay overnight because I wanted him to see the meteor shower forecast for that night. She assented; I think she was glad to be rid of him and his bugs for the night.

I apologized to D.T. again; he couldn't believe that it wasn't his fault. The next morning I took him shopping for his Dad's birthday present; usually Jane got something, wrapped it, and D.T. was as surprised as his Dad to see what the present was. We went to every store in town and back to two of them before he decided on a silver bracelet with a band for engraving. He didn't have enough money to get it engraved and I told him I would loan him the money but he had to weed the corn to pay me back. He solemnly agreed and much to the clerk's amusement and we shook hands on it. That was the first time he'd initiated touching. He'd gotten to the point of letting me put my hand on his shoulder and not pulling away, but he'd never actively reached out to touch me. Needless to say, I was thrilled. He had the bracelet engraved with “D.T. loves you Dad”. The clerk wrapped it in her fanciest paper and put on a big bow for him, he was so pleased. I told him he needed a card to go with the gift, he protested, but I said, “Look; why don't you pick out one for me too, these ones are two for the price of one and you know I have to get one for your Dad anyway. It's a real good deal, one card is free!” He looked over the cards, my heart melted when he insisted on getting a card “From the Both of Us”. I couldn't say no.

For the next three days, D.T. was a real chatterbox. I knew if he were around Jane, he'd drive her crazy. I could tell he was really nervous about his Dad coming, I think he was still bothered by the bug fiasco and what repercussions would come when Dad got there. He was afraid he'd gotten off too easy on that one. He must have zoomed up and down the road on that old bike a million times pedaling as fast as he could go to wear off all the extra energy. I would stand at the end of the driveway and time him with my old stopwatch, cheering him all the way. What a sight we must have been to the neighbors. We were having fun and that's all that counted.

The big day finally came; Dad was home! I didn't see D.T. hardly at all for a few days. Days seemed long and quiet without my best buddy around. The fourth day was Don's party and I had been invited to go. D.T. came over to get his gift and me; he grabbed my hand and held it all the way back. He was chattering so much I don't think he realized what he was doing. When it was his turn to present his gift he marched over to his Dad, tall and straight with his shoulders back, head held high, looking him in the eyes with a great big smile. Don looked back with love and admiration at the changes in his boy. I could tell he was wondering what had happened to his shy withdrawn son. When Don read the card, he looked puzzled and asked, “Who is Grammy D?” D.T. chortled, “She is!” and pointed to me. He then hugged me and said, “You named me D.T. and I name you Grammy D!” He laughed and laughed like it was the greatest joke in the world. The party was a huge success; everyone had fun.

The next three weeks went by too fast, D.T. and I had grown as close as any real grandparent and grandchild ever could. Before we parted for the winter, he gave me a special necklace he'd made and I gave him a denim jacket that I had decorated with iron-ons of cars and trucks. Saying goodbye was awkward, we promised to stay in touch and he promised to be good even if it was hard. I promised that I would always love him and that he could always tell me anything. We solemnly shook hands, then chanted, “D.T. and Grammy D! Together we can do anything! Hey!” and high-fived. It was our own special secret saying we'd made up after Don's birthday. We waved goodbye until he was out of sight, then I cried because I was going to miss my best buddy and I said a special prayer that all my good work wouldn't be undone over the winter.

It's been sixteen years and D.T. is still my best buddy. I love it when the phone rings and a very masculine voice says, “Grammy D, what do you think of…?” He still calls when he needs advice or just wants to hear he's loved. I'm very proud of the young man he has grown into and he still thinks I'm a great old lady. That is what love is all about.

Written by Debra Cone
Fiction