The repetition.
Predictability.
Every time the train whistle sounded, he tapped the dinosaur twice against his knee.
Tap. Tap.
That was his way of saying he was okay.
“You’re doing great, kiddo,” I told him once, brushing his hair back.
He didn’t answer, but he glanced at me for a moment, which was enough.
The Flicker
Problems rarely announce themselves with a warning.
They slip in quietly.