First Bricks
Palo Alto, California
The Lego Shop hums with a Saturday-afternoon crowd. Children crouch over bins of colorful bricks, small hands rummaging through plastic mountains of pieces. On a low table near the window sits a green baseplate, mostly empty — just a single block placed dead center, like someone ran out of ideas after the first move.
David crouches beside it, unimpressed.
“Just this?” he mutters, tilting his head. “That doesn’t look very creative.”
He doesn’t wait for permission. His hands dive into the nearest bin, pulling out a fistful of mismatched bricks — reds, grays, the odd curved piece nobody wants. He gets to work immediately, murmuring to himself.
“Already got Everest done on that side. Now... a village goes here.”
A boy — maybe seven, missing a front tooth — reaches into the same bin for a piece. David’s hand closes around it first, half a second faster.
“I need this.”
The boy freezes, eyes wide, then bolts.
David doesn’t notice. He’s already lost in the mountain range rising out of gray brick, muttering something about slope angles.
“Don’t ruin my momentum,” he says, to no one.
An hour disappears. The village takes shape beside the mountain — rooftops at odd, believable angles, a market square with bricks stacked just enough to suggest a crowd. It shouldn’t work. It does. David hasn’t looked up once.
“Excuse me.”
He blinks, the spell breaking. A retailer stands over him, arms folded, her expression somewhere between confused and done with this shift.
“Yes?”
“How old are you?”
He straightens, momentarily thrown. “I’m not playing. I’m creating.”
She doesn’t smile at that. “This section’s for kids under eighteen. Look around — half of them won’t even come near this table anymore. Parents have been complaining.”
David glances around and sees it for the first time: the wide berth the other children are giving him, the way a couple of parents are watching him like he’s a stray dog that wandered into a nursery. His ears go warm.
“Sorry. I got carried away. These are more fun than they have any right to be.”
The retailer studies the village and mountain range for a moment longer than she probably means to. It’s genuinely good.
“It’s a nice build,” she admits. “Even with the wrong bricks. But you’re an adult. If you want to keep playing, buy your own set.”
David checks the price tag clipped to the display and winces — forty-something dollars for a fraction of what’s spread out in front of him, bricks he could build a hundred worlds with, gone the moment he walks out the door with them boxed and unopened.
“It’s fine,” he says, already stepping back. “I was heading out anyway.”
As soon as they stepped out of the shop, his niece, Ramny — barely into elementary school — was waiting for him, arms crossed in a decent impression of the retailer he’d just left behind.
“Uncle, you did it again,” she said. “I thought you were only going to play for a little while. I waited so long, you know! You were worse than the kids who were actually playing there.”
David let out a small laugh, unbothered. “Okay, how about this — since I made you wait so long in the shop, how about I take you back to my place? We can meet Sara and Mira, and you all can play together.”
“I want to!” Her face lit up before doubt crept back in. “Hmm, but wait... won’t Mom and Dad be mad if I stay at your house?”
“It’s fine,” David said, already walking. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be babysitting you, right? I’ll tell your mom and dad later.”
Menlo Park, California
David stepped into the house with Ramny trailing behind him, her small hand still clutched around a plastic bag holding a change of clothes. The door had barely swung open before his mother appeared, wearing a smile that suggested she already knew exactly what had happened.
“You must be Mr. Fern’s daughter,” she said, her eyes going straight to Ramny before David could get a word in. “He called earlier — said David was taking her out for a walk. I thought he’d gotten the name wrong, he sounded so rushed.”
“Rushed?” David kept his face carefully neutral, as if there were nothing at all to be concerned about. “I was just... helping him out.”
“Helping him out by going to the mall and bringing his daughter home with you?” His mother crossed her arms, one eyebrow lifting. “David, this isn’t the first time.”
He shrugged. “We’re basically family at this point. Ramny’s fine with me.”
His mother’s gaze shifted to Ramny, her tone softening instantly. “Is that true, sweetheart? Did Uncle David take good care of you today?”
Before David could answer for her, Ramny burst out, “Uncle took forever playing with Legos! I got so bored waiting!”
“Legos?” His mother’s eyebrow climbed higher, her attention now fixed squarely on her son.
David cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her. “...That’s a long story.”
His mother’s smile faded, just slightly. “David. You took a child out for the whole afternoon without even calling Mr. Fern first, didn’t you? Anything could have happened — she could have gotten lost, hurt, anything — and you were so deep into your Legos you probably wouldn’t have noticed until she was already gone.”
“That’s not fair. I was watching her.”
“Were you?” She said it gently, but she meant it. “You said it yourself — she waited so long she got bored. A child bored and wandering around a mall while you’re somewhere else in your head isn’t ‘watching her,’ David.”
“I know, Mom.” David’s voice lost some of its ease. “I hear you. I’ll be more careful next time — I mean it.”
She studied him a moment longer, then let it go, the smile creeping back — not quite as easy as before. “Fine. Just don’t disappear on me. Not with her, not with anyone.”
In the living room, David crashed onto the sofa and watched his nieces, Sara and Mira, already absorbed in play — a set of oversized kindergarten blocks built up into a castle.
“Can I play with you guys?” Ramny asked, holding up her doll. “I brought my doll.”
David watched them with a blank stare, his mind somewhere else entirely. Girls playing — it always had to involve castles and knights. Dreaming of being princesses, probably. Kids had such wild imaginations. What if he built something like that, but genuinely interesting? A game worth playing. That might actually be a good idea.
Caught up in her own play with Sara and Mira, Ramny noticed him staring, unblinking, in their direction.
“Uncle, you look scary,” she said. “Can you go away?”
David coughed, startled out of his thoughts. “Ramny, that hurts. What did I do to make you say that?”
“I don’t know... you just look like you really want to join us.”
But it’s girls playing, he thought. Why would I want to join that?
He only chuckled softly. “Okay, okay, I’m leaving. But don’t go missing me.”
“Nah — I’m fine,” Ramny said, already turning back to her doll.
“Hmm. Kids.” David shook his head, half-amused, half put out.
His mother, seated nearby, only smiled. “Kids will be kids. Just let it go.”
David crossed the room toward her. “Umm... Mom, I need to head back to the dorm. I’ve got some things to work on. I’ll leave Ramny here, okay? I’ll let Mr. Fern know later.”
“So now I’m the one who has to babysit?”
“Sorry about that. Ramny doesn’t seem to like me very much right now.”
“You must have done something,” she said, “if she’s already tired of you.”
“Haha, maybe.” It’s fine, he thought. Once I build this game, they’ll like me.
His mother caught his arm before he reached the door. “David. I mean it — don’t disappear.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Promise.”
