Zones by Elyan Smith
We’ve got zones.
Right now I’m with the FIFA 12 and she’s on the phone to the school, sorting out a sporting event or a singing event or something. We’re good with the me-time and the don’t-touch-there moments, her night-job and my days looking for something, at least until life wriggles through the carefully constructed layers and pins them together.
“You have to go in harder.” Romero is her youngest at six and he sits in my lap as I play, then grabs for the controller and puts the goal in himself. When he hands back the controller his fingers fist the fabric of my skirt instead as he watches me, entranced by the pixels on the screen while I focus more on his weight on my lap than the players and the ball.
“Go United!” he shouts, spurring on the team I’m playing,
