Not Quite Reaching Him

“Well, fuck.” The words shock the air with an icy current. My limbs freeze, sponge in hand, pan in the other. A sigh. It brings a calm in a short wave. One that beckons me to lower the objects and slowly turn, words of warning slipping from my being. He sits, innocently, popsicle in hand, a trail of orange goodness slipping down his forearm. His eyebrows narrow in confusion, my words not quite reaching him over the sound of running water. 

“I said, don’t use that language, please.” He hears me this time. His tiny body jolts as he swings his dangling legs back and forth not seeing the wrong in what he had said. Not understanding.

“Mommy does.” His voice is small in age but powerful. They never lie when they say children are honest, but they always forget about their certainty. Certainty that adds the power to their voice. A power that could knock any single being right off balance. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s right.” I turn back to the sink, my eye catching on the gray slowly inching its way into the sky. “And she’s an adult. She can do as she pleases.” I’m not sure if my words make it to his ears until he’s there beside me, sticky arm leaning into my bare thigh. I ignore it, though it sends a jolt of irritation through my veins. I put my limbs back in motion scrubbing the remaining bits of the pan rather than lashing out. 

“I can’t wait to be an adult.” A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. It’s a tragedy. The innocence that must be broken for one to enter the world of adulthood. Is innocence a curse or a blessing? Because I would argue it’s a blessing. But in some instances it could be a curse. Maybe it’s just both. A curse and a blessing.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, buddy.” I turn the faucet off, shaking water from the pan before laying it out to dry.

“But you just said…” He pauses for a moment to stick the popsicle in his mouth and slurp off the drooling bits. He continues for a moment, not bothering to be quiet in any way. He studies it for a moment once it’s free, his eyes gluing themselves to the treat as if it’s the only thing in the world. And then his concentration breaks, his thoughts returning. “You just said adults can do as they please.” My head shakes, a smile playing in my eyes as I grab a napkin, wetting it before wiping the mess from his arm. 

“It’s not that simple.” A crash follows my words instantly. It scares us both. It’s a crash that signals the opening up of the skies. It’s a crash that scares the remaining bit of his popsicle to the ground.

“Fuck!” His voice calls out over the thundering of the rain from above. This time it’s followed by a pout and the tiniest of screams. 

“Hey, language.” He glares at me with those innocent, green eyes, so small, yet so wide. You can see right past the anger, right past the frustration. A child’s anger only lasts so long. Or so my research has proven, my only research being babysitting. You never have to wait long for the shadows to leave their eyes. They don’t have much to be angry about. They’ve only been around for a few short years. Ones that haven’t yet broken through that innocence. Ones that haven’t shown the evils of the world.

“Hey, bud.” No reply, no signal that he heard me. His back’s turned to me, arms crossed. Maybe my research results aren’t quite right. 

“Hello? Buddy, you there?” No movement. Not even a twitch. I place my hand on his shoulder, stepping over the slowly growing orange puddle and sliding into his line of sight. His eyes are open but distant. They don’t register my form in front of him. They’re staring into something I can’t see. 

I shake him, utter his name, but nothing. It’s as if his soul left his body but didn’t leave it to die. It’s frightening, I must say. A child, wide eyes, unresponsive, standing stiller than they ever have before. And it’s a child that’s not yours. One you were entrusted with for a few short hours. One you seem to have broken. 

“Hey, what are you doing? What’s going on?” One last question. One last plea to ease my slowly growing anxiety. But no response. Only the pounding of a month’s worth of rain, the crack of thunder, the shake of the natural world. And then his eyes are widening at an all too terrifying pace. His arm is rising slowly as his finger uncurls, pointing. Pointing at something behind me. Nothing. Nothing I can see. 

“Look.” His hand is on my shoulder now, his word is in my mind. I follow his finger with my gaze, slowly. More unsure than ever. I follow the line until I’m eye to eye with flaming eyes. They’re golden. A color I’ve never seen, never knew was possible. The eyes sit in the face of a woman. One with tumbling curls, each strand a different color. A bit of green sticks to the corner of her all too thin lips. A curl she removes with the flick of a slender finger in one fluid motion. She smiles. A smile of love, understanding. A smile every soul craves. It’s the smile of a mother. The mother we all wish was ours. My body doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to think. The smile is all I want. 

And just like that it’s gone, no longer the smile of a woman but the tongue of a flame. A scream echoes through all that I am as I’m thrown back into the counter that turns to blackness. A blackness that takes me, pulling me deeper and deeper into its being until I’m falling just slow enough to be aware but too fast to know what exactly I’m aware of. I’m not sure if my eyes are open or if the darkness I’m seeing is brought about by my closed eyelids. But I can feel the motion, can feel my body falling through space. There’s wind that tears through my hair, whips the loose fabric of my clothes. My mouth hangs open, wanting to scream, but unable. My voice is gone, no longer mine. I wonder when the end will come, what it will feel like. But it never comes. I’m left falling through this void unable to stop it, unable to grab hold of anything. I fall. I keep falling. I never stop falling. This is all I am, all I will ever be. Just a form floating through darkness, wishing for the moment I will escape. It may never come. It may be all there is. 

Until it’s not. A voice echoes through the air, small, half panicked. I feel a hand in mine, but see no one. I’m falling slower, surroundings coming into view. A light, dim shines from above. The sun? I blink, the feeling returning to my skin. The world is blurry, shutting on and off as I work to clear the image. A ceiling. I’m inside. My eyes shoot to the side, scanning my periphery for any clue of where I might be. And then I see him. Green eyes dancing with worried tears. My eyebrows furrow, my eyes shooting to the other side. My shoes. By the table. Where I had left them. My eyes slide back to him; his orange stained lips forming the shape of my name. I can’t quite hear it above the ringing in my ears, but I make out the word. Ellie. Me. I’m back. He’s here. The darkness is gone. 

“Xavier?” I hear my voice, it’s rough at the edges, the way it is when I’m just waking up. “What…” I sit up, slowly, unsure just as his arms wrap around me, squeezing as tight as his small being can. 

“I thought you died.” His voice is so small, so scared. I wrap my arms around his form, offering comfort. My eyebrows haven’t returned to their usual position. My mind is spinning with questions, concerns. How much had been real? The house shudders, thunder an explosion from above. I jump, just the slightest, but enough to send his body into a fit of laughter.

“Well, fuck.”