"It's surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time." -- Barbara Kingsolver.
There was a boy walking down the street. He couldn't have been more than eight. He had glasses and a collared shirt, unusual for a child that young. He seemed to be thinking about something important, his face down, eyes studying the ground.
"Spencer!" He heard his name and turned as a little girl came running down the street after him. "Wait!" So he waited until she caught up to him. "Where are you going?" she asked, out of breath.
"Just walking. Do you want to come with me?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, grabbing his hand, and they began walking toward a park. The girl was much younger than him, probably only about four. She had short black hair to her chin, her baby fat still obvious. She was wearing her favorite dress and sneakers.
They walked in silence for a while, her small feet trying to keep up with his big steps. "Why are you sad?" She asked, looking up at him.
"I'm not sad," he said, wrinkling his brow even more.
"Yes you are, and don't do that, my daddy says your face will freeze that way someday." He was quiet for a while, but he stopped wrinkling his brow. "What's wrong, Spencer?"
"Nothing, Kina. I'll tell you about it when you're older." She looked at him. "When you're in sixth grade."
Her face fell, "But I'm only in... first grade! That's five years!"
"Yes, well... wait, you're in first grade? Since when?"
"Since September, silly. Mommy and Daddy said that I was too smart for preschool and kindergarten so they put me right in first grade!" She leaned in as if to tell him a secret. "And don't tell anybody this, but I'm the best artist in my class. Look," she pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket of her dress, "my people actually look like people. Not the stick figures the other kids draw." It was true, her drawing showed depth and shape rather than lines and two dimensions. This was unheard of for a child.
"Wow Kina, that's really good."
"My teacher didn't seem to think so. She wouldn't let me show anybody and she made me sit out during arts and crafts." The boy just looked at her. He knew how much art meant to her.
"Come on, let's get you home." They started walking in the other direction.
The girl looked up at him. "Spencer, will you be my big brother?"
"I... can't really control... I mean..." He looked at her, his best friend. "Yes," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder like a protective sibling. She wrapped her arm around his waist, and they walked home, the sun setting behind them.