Reflection

Cool blades of grass tickle my back while I lay gazing at the clouds, remembering the images created in my mind as a child. The soft rustle of leaves in the summer breeze, smells of a fresh cut lawn lingering long after the mower is stored away. The steady hum of bike tires racing across hot pavement.

This is so much better than balancing numbers, filing taxes, and paying bills.

Why, I wonder did I stop seeing images forming in the sky, how have I ignored the beauty of nature that lay before me? Better yet, the question should be when had this joyful experience stopped? I'm guessing it's when I noticed the opposite sex, the weird sensation of flirtation without knowledge. In other words, stupidity of adolescents. Puberty took my innocence and in exchange gave me pimples.

Another question is, does it matter?

Peace like this is hard to find, and harder to keep, so my eyes remain fixated on the clouds. Tuning out the world around me I feel warmth as strong as any love could ever be. A soft xylophone sound ripples along the breeze, lulling me to slumber.

Breathe.

Suddenly, a steady clacking disturbs my thoughts. Turning my head, I see him, a boy, a child of pure innocence. Playing marbles without a care in the world, a smile so large his jaw must ache. Bright eyes, full of life, wide open as if this moment is worth the entire world.

I felt like that once and wonder how to capture that feeling again. Slowly he turns his head my way.

“Hi mister, watcha doing?”

“Watching the clouds.” I reply.

“Why?”

I shrug. “Don’t know, just am.”

He flops on his back beside me. “Are you playing the cloud game?”

I continue staring at the sky. “Well, I was. Now I’m talking to you.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, real cool.” I cannot help but chuckle. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“It’s Sunday.” He says.

“Oh yeah.”

“Without missing a beat, he quips. “Shouldn’t you be at home.”

“It’s Sunday.” I reply.

His giggle trickles like rain drops falling on trees. Suddenly a cool breeze washes over me, and my muscles twitch involuntarily.

Rolling over he says. “Why are you here?”

Without glancing his way. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m a kid.” He replies as if that should be enough of an answer. I guess it is.

“Are you alone?” I ask.

His giggle is sweet as the air. “I’m with my dad.”

“Does your dad know you are here?” I suddenly become concerned.

“That’s a silly question.”

Did he just school me? “I mean, does your dad know where you are?”

“He’ll see me soon enough. I hope.”

I should get up and find his father, but I am so tired and want to close my eyes. Instead, I roll my head towards the kid. My heart pauses for a moment when I stare into his eyes. They are green, just like my wife’s. Until her I never met anyone with green eyes.

Out of the blue he says. “You look sad.”

Not knowing why, he says that, but it is true. I am sad and confused. “What does sad look like?” I ask.

Rolling onto his back he states. “It looks like you.”

Lying on the grass staring up at the sky it reminds me of my sessions talking to a professional. Does this that makes him a child psychologist ? I cannot explain it but for some reason I answer him.

“I’m confused.” Like that makes sense.

“I get confused too.”

Shocked and slightly miffed, I look at him. “What can you be confused about you’re a kid.”

In a serious tone that I was not expecting he softly replies. “I’m worried about my dad.”

I try to bolt up but find I cannot move. That response is not what I had expected. “Why would you say that?”

"He always runs away after."

"Runs away, after what?"

Spinning a dandelion between his tiny fingers he quietly says. “They don’t know, but I hear when they yell at each other.”

My heart began to beat hard against my chest. Memories of my parents fighting burst forth. If parents only knew what that does to a child. I have an urge to hug and comfort the little fellow but know that would be inappropriate.

Instead, I say. “It isn’t your fault. Your parents love you.”

“Mom says love is powerful, but it can’t solve everything.”

My mind becomes heavy like trudging through a muddy swamp. I try wiping away the veil of fog hindering my ability to think. Those are words my wife said to me this morning. We were arguing, I don’t even know why. I said something that upset her but honestly it seems everything upsets her lately. Her moods are all over the place. My brain feels like a sponge that has been soaking up oil.

That’s why I had to leave before saying something I’d regret. Hopping on my bike, I roared out of the driveway to clear my mind and think. There is something about an open road, shifting gears, feeling the wind whipping around me is exhilarating. I’m not sure how long I rode but it wasn’t long before I found myself staring up at the sky, Hiding away in the imagination of the clouds. wishing life could be so simple, so free.

My problems suddenly seem weak, shallow. No child should have worries about a parent. I turn my head to him and say. “I believe your father will do his best to be there for you. Most fathers try.”

His chubby fingers reach out and cup my face. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

His cherub face leans closer. “Be there for your child.”

I think about his question for only a moment as fears of becoming my father rise to the surface. “Yes, I would, but I don’t have children.”

His tiny fingers dig into my flesh. “Do you want a child?”

My eyes become warm, and my heart beats faster, as the answer washes over me.

I whisper. “Yes.”

“Do you wish to be a father?”

“I just said yes.”

His emerald eyes lock onto my soul. “No, you said you want a child. I’m asking if you want to be a father.”

And there it is the question. Like the radiance of the sun, a realization fills me with warmth. I am not my father.

Exhaling my demons I sob. “Yes.”

“Will you be a good father?”

My lips quiver as I reply. “Yes.”

Removing his hands from my face he rears up and like a hammer his pudgy fingers slap my cheek.

He screams. “Then wake up.”

My eyes fly open.

A numbness radiates throughout my body. Gone are the joyful chirps, warble and tweets that once emanated around me. Their soulful songs have become sirens blaring and people screaming. My mind tries to understand the jumble of words echoing around me.

“His eyes are open, he’s moving.”

The once cool grass suddenly becomes warm and sticky, the world spins like a carnival tilt a whirl. I try to speak, but bile rises before words reach my mouth. A blurry collage of images is all I see, focusing becomes impossible.

“Lay still, help is coming.”

My nostrils burn from carcinogenic fumes, while a taste of melting rubber and hot metallic fuel coats my mouth. I try focusing on my surroundings. But it is all a blurry haze of confusion. My lungs feel thick. Every breath is like trying to suck air through a wet cloth.

“He’s having trouble breathing.”

Soon hands are jostling me, tossing me about like a log in a raging river. The beautiful blue sky is replaced with flashing lights, gone are my fantasy clouds of childhood. Something harsh and unyielding is being forced down my throat. It is painful yet I can breathe once more.

Through watery eyes, I see the child... my child. Standing amid the crowd. I can no longer hear him. He silently mouths. “You promise you will be there?”

Reaching for him, I cannot speak, so I nod. He smiles and fades into the sky, dissipating like clouds in the wind.

“Hey Buddy…can you hear me.” A warbly voice breaks through my misty head.

I nod.

“Stay with us.” The voice assures me. “You’re going to be ok.”

Before they close the ambulance doors, I catch a glimpse of the pale blue sky, white marshmallow clouds drift away, along with my pain and fears.

My lids are heavy, slipping over my eyes. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be a father and have a promise to keep.