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Posted on: 17th July 2014
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“Daddy, where did Mommy go?” Bobby said, looking up at me.
I drew in a breath and looked down at his face on the pillow. His dark curls were still stuck to his forehead, from sweat, from flashlight tag.
“Sweetheart…” I stroked his head and hair, “Remember I told you? Mommy’s with the angels now.”
“Yeah…” he said looking away across the room, probably at his aquarium, “… I remember”. His eyes lingered there awhile, I don’t know for how long. Then they darted up looking straight at me. “Is it cold there?”
“I don’t know Bobby.”
His eyes drifted away again.
Not knowing what to say, I added, “I suppose if it was cold there, the angels would help her stay warm?”
His eyes stayed away, transfixed by the blue light of the aquarium. Then Bobby’s mouth opened and he said, “You don’t really believe that do you?”
Tagged. I felt tagged, like I had tagged him earlier that evening. My lips began to quiver and my cheeks tensed. My eyes warmed and I felt tears welling up inside. I removed my glasses and put my hand over my eyes, fingers stroking my brow. Inhaling long, I heard the air race through my nostrils, through whatever forest of stuff was in there, making an audible Shhhhhhhhh sound. The pulse inside my head pounded. The well was damming up. Vibrating with strain, I managed to breathe out the words, “I don’t know what I believe anymore, Bobby.”
He looked at me and I shuttered. The quivering worsened. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t control it. My cheeks were wet, eyes stinging.
“I’m sorry Bobby.”
I lowered my head down next to his — maybe so he couldn’t see me? — and whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry Son.” The dam brimming over finally, I sobbed trying not too.
He raised his chubby little arms around my neck and shoulders and brushed his cheek next to mine. “That’s OK Daddy”. His hands patting me, he said, “Everything’ll be alright.”
I woke up in the morning laying next to him, amidst a tangle of sheet and blanket, with a crick in my neck. His sheets had rockets on them. And stars. Planets. And the Moon. I gazed along them, thinking of a similar set of sheets I had when I was a boy.
I climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him. He was wearing his Superman pajamas. I looked at him dreaming about his future — of what might be and what could have been — and caught myself about to cry again. I miss her so much.
He shifted and turned, pulling the top sheet up to his shoulder. And so will he.
Then I muttered, “Pancakes”, and went to the kitchen.
I pulled out the fry pan and the eggs and the milk and then realized that Joyce had always been the one who made them — and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I stood there staring out the window above the sink. Harry, next door, was already mowing his lawn. My eyes watched him travel back and forth, back and forth.
I must have made quite a racket, because Bobby appeared from the hall rubbing his eyes with a quizzical look.
I turned and said, “Morning Buddy!”
His hair looked like a ski jump.
“We’re going out for breakfast, Champ!” I said, picking him up in my arms, rubbing and tickling his belly. He wiggled like a firework out of control and squealed the same. His giggles echoing, as we walked down the hall, made me think of her again. But this time I smiled.
Not sure if this was an obvious place to go with this prompt, but I’d appreciate any feedback from listeners/regulars here to the site. I enjoyed writing it.
To the Webmasters here: I really enjoy your writing prompts on the site. This one spoke to me in particular today. And another one a while back did as well, to the point that it has spawned a novel idea — a murder mystery. So keep ’em coming!
Thank you, Brendan.