'Gracie' is a real girl I met at the pool. That's not her real name, her brother isn't named Andre and her sister isn't named Genesis, and as far as I know their mother isn't pregnant. But Gracie is a real child, and talking to her at the pool that day I was inspired to write this story.

I guess the reason she catches my attention is because she is black. In rural northwestern Ohio you seldom see a black kid. She's about seven, with thick hair in a million tiny braids around her head, and wearing a hot pink two-piece bathing suit. She will not need the top part of the suit for at least another five years, I can tell. She plays by herself in the corner of the public pool, at the shallow end, away from the other children.

Should I mention here that I love children? Particularly outcasts?

She is beautiful, radiating beauty, not the kind that comes from one's body but from one's heart, one's aura, one's innocence. Her innocence. She doesn't seem to mind being alone. She splashes by herself in that corner of the pool, feels the jet of water with her little brown fingers, occasionally dives to the bottom which is less than three feet below the surface. I am immediately attracted to her.

She doesn't see me as I approach and she doesn't hear me, though I am not making any special effort to be quiet. I swim across the pool in long easy strokes until I am right behind her, but she still doesn't notice me. So then I grab her around the waist from behind and swing her up in the air.

She squeals in surprise, and when I sit her down she turns and beams at me, her little round smile like a ray of sunshine.

"You scared me!"

"You don't sound scared to me," I say, splashing her gently.

"Well, I am." But she is still grinning toothily, and her deep brown eyes are shining.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Six."

"I thought you're seven." I splash her again, but this time she ducks.

"I'm gonna be seven in September."

"I'm gonna be twenty in October."

"So you're nineteen?"

"Uh-huh." Then I ask her what her name is.

"I'm Gracie," she says proudly.

"That's a pretty name."

"What's your name?"

"I'm Meaghan."

"Do you gots any brothers and sisters?"

"Yeah, a whole bunch of them." Then I tell Gracie their names, reciting them like a schoolgirl recites a lesson from her book. "Sean, Brendan, Brian, Heather, Ian, and Colin."

"That's a lot!" she exclaims

"My mama likes kids. What about you, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I gots two, one of each. My brother is Andre, he's thirteen. And my sister, she's nine, and she's got a ghetto name. Her name is Genesis."

"That's the first book of the Bible."

"I know."

We talk awhile. Gracie tells me about her mommy and her daddy, the house she lives in, how excited she is that she's going into first grade. I play gentle games with her, splashing her and ducking her and dancing with her in the water, drawing her closer and closer to the deep end until she realizes where she is and shrieks in fright and demands to be taken back.

She mentions that her mother is going to have a baby soon.

"A boy or a girl?" I ask.

"I don't know. I hope it's a girl, though."

"What would you name her?"

"I like Emily for a girl. My little sissy Emily. I want a baby. I don't want to be the youngest anymore." And then Gracie rambles on about how her mommy and daddy are painting the baby's room yellow, not taking any chances, and how they shopped for cribs and baby clothes and toys. I don't really listen to her words, but the sound of her voice. Six years old, going on seven. So sweet. So innocent.

I duck underwater and swim a few yards, then surface.

"I can do that!" Gracie exclaims, and imitates me. Or tries to. She can only swim a few feet. She leaps out from the deep with a gigantic splash, soaking me, and giggling maniacally. I grab her and pull her close to me, holding her like I'm her mother. Then I look around. No mother is in sight. "Are you here all by yourself?"

"No," Gracie answers, wrapping her skinny little child arms around me. "Andre took me." She indicates a tall, husky, rather handsome teenager standing in line at the diving board. "He's nice to me. Not like Genesis. She's mean to me. She won't ever share her toys with me and yesterday she took away my cookies that Mommy gave me to eat. She took them away and she ate them herself even though they were mine."

"My big sister used to be mean to me too," I answered, setting her on the side of the pool.

We talk some more.

Such innocence. That's why I like children, is because they're so innocent, so clean, so pure. This little girl could be killed tomorrow. She could start doing drugs at twelve, get pregnant at fifteen, run away at seventeen, become a prostitute at twenty. But here, now, this moment, this place, six years and eleven months old, she still has her innocence. And I love her for it.

But presently I have to realize the time. It's four-thirty, and I have an hour's bike ride home. My mother wants me in the house by dinner. I have to leave.

"Hey, Gracie," I say.

"Yeah?"

"You're a good kid. Don't ever let anyone say different cause you're a good girl."

She stares at me, puzzled, not comprehending what I'm trying to say. Just as I knew she wouldn't.

"I have to leave now. See you around, okay?" Though of course I know I'll never see her again. "You're a good kid, Gracie-girl."

"Bye-bye," she says, and hugs me tightly. I hug her back, running my hand through those shiny braids.

A few minutes later I head to the changing room, collect my stuff, and leave. It feels good knowing that you've made a difference in somebody's life.

The End