A Life, like Vibrant Dreams

Certain memories in one’s life live in the brain like unfading dreams. They grow in their vividness over the years and become more vibrant and alive. These specific memories are oftentimes the most tragic or hurtful. Lighting up the brain when they flash across the eyes where every detail is magnified. The memories rattle the psyche with their powerful sense of now. But it's only an echo.  

I can still see Dennis turning around as we walked up the porch. His face glistening with sweat and the panic like lightning across his eyes. 

“I can’t. I just can’t Sam!” he yelled. And in my memory the colors are bright. The green hedges that flank the stairs toward the gate grow with intensity. And I watch Dennis in his brown bomber jacket moving toward our orange sedan. He gets in and drives away leaving me on the porch holding our newborn.  

Dennis has always been prone to panic attacks. And naturally he had been growing more anxious as the days drew closer to the baby being born. It wasn’t totally out of the norm of how he typically behaves. I didn’t think it was out of the ordinary. After he left me there I didn’t hear from him for nearly three weeks. Now It's been seven years since that day and the image is still so vivid. Despite my efforts to make him more involved in his son’s life, he is still distant.   

The crying infant was on the couch. I was terrified to touch him. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I had some formula available and so made a bottle. I was happy to be able to soothe the child but it wasn’t me who had all the plans for this baby. It was Dennis. It was his idea to have a baby in the first place. It was his idea to source all the breast milk from some network of breastfeeding moms. His idea to look into a surrogate program. His idea (if it was a boy) to name it after his father, David. It was his sperm that fertilized the egg that would ultimately become David. The whole process took two years and in that time we traveled to Paris. We climbed the Eiffel tower one line for the elevator after another until we were at the top. We took a train to London and hung out in Hyde Park. We took a bus to Scotland and had our faces licked by the highland cows. And then we came back to await our baby David. 

At the hospital Dennis started to freak out and talk about how he wasn’t ready. I remember laughing at him and slowly realizing that this could be the mother of all panic attacks. 

“It's a big step, you’ll be fine.” 

“I think I need to take a step back,” he said. 

Looking on that moment I’m still left wondering what that statement even meant. I still don’t know. 

When it was clear he wasn’t coming back home, at least beyond collecting his things, I was initially crushed.

“Don’t you want to see your son?” I asked. “He’s your DNA, not mine. He’s your blood.” 

This of course inevitably sent him into panic. He stared at David in my arms and sort of shook all over before turning and leaving. He would text me later and ask if I could leave his stuff out on the porch. I wouldn’t.  

It took me sometime before I changed the first diaper. Mostly because I didn’t know when I was supposed to do such a thing. I finally changed it after it was bulging beyond capacity and leaking urine. Thinking back on it now I shake my head. I’ve since gotten used to being a single dad. But only because I had too. I developed a “baby routine” like anyone would. And to think back to those days I can’t believe I made it. I’m amazed I never acted on my impulse to drown baby David in the bath. To throw him over the railing of the river I stood at for fifteen minutes while he cried in my arms. To think that those thoughts even crossed my mind brings a horror to me now. I love my son. He’ll be eight years old in three months. 

There was this moment when I finally gave in to my son. That is I finally fell in love. I would just sit there and watch him squirm around and be filled with this overwhelming desire to squeeze him. He gave me a feeling that a cute puppy does, only like ten times more. David has made me smile more than he has ever made me feel weak. It was never his fault. And I hope to God he doesn’t feel like he is to blame for something. Dennis isn’t really in David’s life and it kills me everyday. When kids ask him where his mother is, he tells them, “I have two dads and one of them doesn’t like me.” It breaks my heart. 

My best friend Sasha is always trying to get me to date. When she comes over I watch her on my sofa swiping her finger on the latest dating app. The one time I tried an app the evening turned into a situation where I was talking while my date was obviously swiping his finger looking for the next date... 

“All it is is swiping and fucking. I don’t want to submit to that.” I tell Sasha. But the truth is I think I’m just scared. I have a son. A child. I’m damaged goods. No one wants that. I’m comfortable in a life where I know what tomorrow will look like. And it's this. Here with Sasha swiping on her phone, and David telling me a story about what happened at school. Going to work and coming home. Having a nice meal and going to bed to wake up and do it again. 

It’s a Sunday afternoon and I get a phone call from Dennis. It's always a rare event and he’s usually drunk when he calls. 

“Sam, it's Dennis.” 

“Do you want to talk to your son? I can put David on.”

“Actually I wanted to speak with you.” 

I can hear the slight quiver in his voice, the emotion that comes out when he’s been drinking.” 

“What is it,” I begin to put things away in the kitchen half listening, knowing that this will be his usual spiel about how he misses his son and he knows it's been so long and blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it before and when he sobers up he suddenly forgets we ever had the conversation.

“I miss you,” he says, and the words catch me off guard and I rattle some dishes in the cupboard. 

“It's a little too late for that Dennis.”  

“I wish I never left the two of you.” 

“Well, you did. And it's over and done with. Do you want me to put David on?” 

“I just want to see you.” 

“Can you call me tomorrow when you’ve sobered up?” 

“Sam, I’m serious.” 

“If you're actually serious you’ll call me tomorrow like I’ve asked.” I hang up the phone. The next day to no surprise he doesn’t call back.

“You realize that if I start dating someone seriously I’m not going to allow you to hang out and drink my Gin all day, right?” I tell Sasha who’s just finished her third gin and tonic.

Sasha flutters her eyes, the glass is condensating from the melted ice in the otherwise empty glass. “Oh,” she says, placing her hand on the counter to steady herself.   

“You do realize it's ten thirty in the morning?” 

“I want you to be happy,” she says, ignoring me. 

“My son makes me happy.”

David enters the kitchen. I often worry that daddy’s drunk friend could be a bad influence on an eight year old.

“Dad,” he says. 

“Yes?”

“I’m hungry.” 

“Of course you are. I only fed you a full breakfast thirty minutes ago.” 

I’m always amazed at how quickly time goes by. How fast we get old and forget to be aware of the time we are having when we are having it. And even when we are fully aware and conscious of our experiences that doesn’t stop them from slipping away. 

“There is this new app,” Sasha is telling me. “And before you give me that look just listen to me.” 

“If I meet someone then I meet someone. I’m old fashioned,” I say. “I don’t want to swipe and tap at faces in a collage of possible love partners. It would most likely just be a hook up anyway.”

“What’s wrong with that? I’m having fun.” 

“I don’t just want to have fun. I want to have fun with someone.” 

“Well for your information I have lots of fun with lots of someones.” 

“That’s not--someone. It’s lots of different people.” 

I often fantasize about meeting a guy. But then I think about David. I’ve made a commitment to my son. I love him more than anything in the world. I have this recurring nightmare where I’m always disappointing him. I can’t do that. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. The very thought brings me to quiet tears by myself on the couch with him asleep next to me. A movie he picked out plays on the TV and I’m sobbing like a big dumb middle aged baby. 

“It's called BlindDate,” she’s still talking and I’m ignoring her. I’m making David a grilled cheese sandwich. Sasha pours herself another gin and tonic. 

David is sitting at the table and I’m mortified when he says, “you look drunk.” I turn and give Sasha a look. 

“And you stink,” he says. 

“David!” I say. “Just because it's true doesn’t mean you should say it.” 

“You really can’t keep doing this Sasha. I love you but you drink too much.” 

“I’ve been reeling it in. Give me a break,” she says, taking another drink. “I want you to check out BlindDate.” 

“Let's talk about this later,” I say, flipping the sandwich in the pan. 

“Dad, are you going to go on a date?”

“No. I don’t know. Would that be a problem if I did?” 

“No. Would you date a girl?” 

I turn to face my son. “Is that what you would want?” 

“I just want you to be happy.” 

I turn back to the sandwich, my eyes beginning to tear. 

The premise of the app is that it's supposed to be like a blind date. The user inputs some general data of what one is looking for and the algorithm sets you up with someone without any swiping of any kind. And just like a blind date there isn’t much to go on. The only thing you get is the person’s first name and where to meet. Apparently various businesses are on board too, and they reserve tables for the app to send dates.  

When I give it thought I realize that I haven’t been happy for a long time. There have been these moments of happiness. The vivid memories that trickle in remind me of them. Moments like watching my son walk for the first time. I have found that I'm pretty good at distracting myself from thinking about my own needs. Burying myself in work. Drinking Gin and tonic with Sasha. helping David with his school.

“His name is Clay,” I tell Sasha in my living room. She’s drinking again and I’m beginning to worry that she actually has a problem. 

“I like the name,” she says.  

“Me too.” 

“And where are you meeting him?” 

“Some Thai place in uptown. I hope I can pick him out… this really is feeling like a terrible idea.” 

“It will be fun. Maybe you can walk around the cemetery.”

“I hope he isn’t morbid.”

“I would love a morbid guy.”

“I bet you would. How has your luck been?”

“I’ve gotten laid,” she says with a shrug.

The evening isn’t anything I'm looking forward to. I take an Uber to the northwest of the cemetery wondering If I'll end up here. My life flashes across my eyes in a mirage of future events where I’ve grown old and die alone. David throws flowers onto my coffin as it’s lowered into the ground. I wonder how much it must cost to be buried here. I begin my slow walk to what I can only hope isn’t a complete disaster. 

At this point in my life I’m hoping to create more vivid memories, but of a different variety. I want them to be full of beauty and color. The kind that I’m happy to experience when they flash across my eyes. I want to love again. I want to be made whole. And I’ll take the necessary steps in the direction of such dreams. A future where I can walk through my life in full awareness of all the wonderful things around me. My son, my friends, my little family, my love. My future will be vivid.