Shot in the Light

“Let me read this part, Daddy.” Christopher stuck the corner of the book page underneath his fingernail and watched as the white sheet picked up the black from underneath his nail. 

“Ew! Chris! What have I told you about doing that?” Christopher’s face scrunched in towards his nose like a French pastry, with a wisp of blonde hair on top. His elated laugh resonated throughout the little living room and echoed, as if in convection currents-- hahaha down to the floor, and hahaha up to the ceiling. 

He was six years old, and the spitting image of his father-- hair that rose and dipped in waves, like fields of grain. His brow furrowed when he pondered the important questions in life. These, for Christopher, included how much water mixed into a cup of juice was justifiable? And how many minutes should he stay up after eight o’ clock after he turned seven? These were the fundamental questions of childhood. 

Like son, like father. Little Chris pondered the ratio of apple juice to water, and his father pondered the ratio of dead bodies to bodies worth being saved. It’s about the same. 

“But Daddy--”

“I told you--”

“Daddy! No, listen, Daddy!” The boy struggled out of his father’s grip on his wrist. “Listen up!”

“Listen up?” Now the man was bellowing a hearty laugh. The sound rose and fell across the living room, but at a deeper frequency, like a rumbling geyser. “Okay, Chris. I’m listening--”

“Good!” Chris feigned an irritated look, but his father pinched his nose and the little blue eyes lit up with sparkling amusement. “The Cat in the Hat does it in the picture, see?”

“Scrapes his filthy finger jam all over books?” 

“No, look! You’re not… you’re no-- you’re not looking! Look! See? You see he has a flashlight for when it’s dark? And…” Christopher pointed at the illustration in the Dr. Seuss book with a playful grin. His chubby little finger went up and down, tapping like a steady metronome, as if somehow that would make his point stronger. “He has a flashdark for when it’s light! I’m drawing a flashdark, Daddy!” The boy let out another jovial, raspy laugh-- the hahaha’s playing a staccato beat-- maracas shaking with joy. 

“Oh my gosh, Chris. Ew! Look how much dirt there is--” 

“Bedtime, Chris.”  a voice meandered out of the dark hallway leading to the living room. Soft footsteps followed, socks on cold tile floor. A man emerged out of the shadows; he had a slick wave of brown hair, light brown eyes, rosy lips and a bit of stubble on his chin. He stood still as a statue, waiting for the boy to acknowledge him.

“Yes, Dad.” Christopher rose from the lap of the one he called “Daddy” and shuffled across the carpet to meet the one he called “Dad.” 

“Go upstairs and we’ll tuck you in. Okay?”

“Okay, Dad.” the boy replied, and half walked, half slid down the hallway towards the stairs. 

“Robert, why does he do that?” the man in the hallway asked, gazing at the man on the couch. 

“Do what?” Robert replied, closing the Dr. Seuss book after inspecting the damage done by his son’s finger dirt. “Are you okay, Bryan? You seem kind of standoffish tonight. I noticed at dinner, too.” 

“Chris calls you ‘Daddy’ but he calls me ‘Dad.’” Bryan entered the light so that his whole body could be seen. He walked with confidence, never letting his gaze fall from Robert as he strode towards him. 

“I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything, my love.” Robert grabbed Bryan’s hand when he was close enough to touch, and pulled him onto the couch. 

“Well, be that as it may, I have something else I wanna talk about.” Riding the waves of Bryan’s vocal intonation was a coldness that once in a while emerged. Robert had spent the last seven years trying to figure out where his husband had gotten that moment’s-notice, deployable and retractable hard exterior-- opossum armor as a defense mechanism-- but honestly, he was afraid of the answer. 

So he never asked. 

“What is it, babe?” Robert ran a caressing hand through Bryan’s hair, but Bryan’s expression remained the same. It was like petting a pissed off dog. 

“You told me that the military was going to start letting refugees in.”

“I know, and we’re working on it--”

“Robert, not only have I not seen any new refugees, but I’ve been hearing gunshots… at day, and at night… not that it makes any difference!” Bryan leapt off of the couch and began pacing the room. 

“Bryan, calm down. You know this is a complicated situation.”

“But why gunshots? Who are you shooting at?”

“There could be threats out there--”

“Yeah but it sounds like you’re just shooting at anything that’s moving like idiots--”

“Now wait a minute--”

“I hear the gunshots!”

“We’re watching for threats, Bryan!” 

“How can you see three feet in front of you, let alone see if it’s a threat out there?” Bryan ran around the couch and threw himself against the curtains hanging in front of the living room windows. As if prying a coconut apart, he thrust the curtains open. A flood of blinding white light screamed into the room instantaneously, as if God had snapped his fingers and brought the moon to their window. Bryan fell over the back of the couch as Robert dashed towards the windows, eyes practically super glued shut, and fished around for the fabric. Finally laying his fingers upon something soft, he smashed the curtains together and the room was once again lit by the lonesome incandescent bulb above their heads. Robert snarled behind clenched teeth. 

“What in the hell are you thinking? We could have been blinded!”

“What about the people who are still out there?”

“Dammit, Bryan… we use special goggles! We can see! I mean we can’t see great, but we can see… some!”

“I’m so afraid of what’s going on out there, Robert.”

“You don’t have to be.” Robert put his arm around his husband’s shoulder. “Listen to me. We haven’t been able to figure out exactly what’s causing this. Blinding light out there for like a week, now. We were fortunate enough to be here, on this base, where we have the equipment necessary to see at least what’s going on within a limited radius. But the government’s gone dark. And yesterday, Bryan, some of those shots were not us. They came from somewhere out there!” Robert pointed to the window, where the curtains were still shifting from side to side after being pulled shut. “So I’ve taken every precaution; I’ve instructed the men to shoot if they see anything that could potentially be a threat. And they have to do what I say; I’m their commanding officer. So I have this under control… I promise. But you can’t open the windows, or walk outside… you can’t do anything until we know more.” 

Bryan clasped his palms tightly to his husband’s cheeks and pulled his face close, so that their eyelashes brushed, and Robert could see the shadowed craters of Bryan’s irises. “Look at me in the eyes, Robert.” He whispered with such intensity that his lips trembled. “Our son turned the knob of the front door this morning--”

“What?”

“Yes! Now… tell me… are you going to shoot him down out of an abundance of caution--”

“How dare you--”

“How dare you! Risking innocent lives! We don’t even know what this is! It’s a stupid, stupid idea to put military caliber guns in your mens’ hands. We all know that towns near D.C. would be threatened if there were an attack from another country. But this is a community with families! Children!” An expression of surrender spread across Robert’s face. He began shaking his head, and laid his hands over his eyes. “I want you to call off that order. Tonight. I want you to go do it, right now.” Robert had never heard Bryan so serious about anything. “I want you to promise me that you’ll change this.”

Robert nodded, more to convince himself than to convince Bryan. “You’re right, Bryan. I’m going to change this. I promise.”

Robert got on the phone and talked briefly with someone, and Bryan watched as his lips moved. Lips expressing a sentiment, conveying a message, to someone that he couldn’t see. 

Bryan remembered when those lips alighted upon his cheeks, descending to his neck and chest. He thought that those lips were sacred ecstasy, only for him. 

But they weren’t. 

Because he remembered when Robert started talking on the phone an awful lot. 

Seven years ago.

And when Robert started staying out later. Supposedly, for work. 

Seven years ago. 

And he remembered the day he saw Robert with her at the cafe. 

Seven years ago. 

And now, Christopher was six. And he called Robert “Daddy.” And Bryan, “Dad.” Maybe because he knew which father he was really related to.

Bryan had a gentle trickle of tears running down his cheekbones for what seemed like weeks. The tears were as perpetual as the suffering caused by Robert’s actions. They steadily flooded the kitchen counter and the bathroom sink. They refracted images of the moon, when Bryan sat alone in the living room, weeping. 

He demanded a promise from his husband: “You have to promise me you’ll change. I’m your husband… and you’re my everything. Why do you want to break my heart?”

He remembered that Robert had promised he would change. 

Two years ago

He started coming home late again. 

Two years ago

Bryan saw him with a woman. A different woman. And…

One year ago

Bryan tried to file for divorce. But Robert asked for another chance. Bryan stared out that living room window, the moon full and brilliant, illuminating the night sky with sheets of white light. “Robert… you have to change. You… please, Robert.” He couldn’t look at his husband. He just stared at the moon until his eyes burned and a circular violet silhouette stained his corneas. In that image, Bryan swore he saw a woman’s face.

 Christopher’s mother. 

He couldn’t unsee it. He wanted to hide away in the dark. Isolate himself. But instead, Robert dragged him into the light. Away from divorce. And into yet another promise Robert wasn’t going to keep:

“I’ll change, baby. I will change.” 

That night, Christopher didn’t go to sleep. He thought about the Cat in the Hat, and the flashdark. He had a flashlight in his room. He thought, if he reversed the battery, maybe it would become a flash dark. Then he would be able to see outside. Then he could go see Daddy, and his father would be proud of him. 

He heard the door close as Robert left the house. He always went with special military goggles, but he never let Christopher try them. He said it was too dangerous. 

Christopher waited for Bryan to retire to the bedroom downstairs, and then grabbed his flashdark. He crept down the stairs, avoiding the cracked old step that creaked every time it was stepped on, as if it were waking up irritably from a beautiful dream. 

The last few years, Bryan had been waking up from a beautiful dream. He never went to sleep immediately. His eyes remained open to the world, to possibilities that never manifested in his waking life. That night, Bryan was wide awake in bed. He heard the familiar sound of old hinges whining, and he tried to visualize the source of the noise. Then, realizing that it was the front door, he leapt out of bed with a scream that rattled the coins on his nightstand:

“Chris!” he emerged into the hallway, which should have been dark. 

But it was not. 

“Chris, no! Don’t go out there! Sweetheart!” Even if Bryan could find the doorway and fish around for his son, he still wouldn’t be able to see. And he might not be able to find his way back to the house if he had to run around outside. 

One hour ago

Robert promised he’d change. 

Thirty minutes ago

Robert said “hello” to the soldiers, stationed on the roof of the city council building at the dead center of town. 

Fifteen minutes ago

Robert laughed with them about sports. 

Ten minutes ago

He told them they were doing a fine job, and no updates.

Five minutes ago

Robert put his goggles on, and began walking home. As usual, the soldiers watched him on his way, to make sure he returned safely. 

One minute ago

The soldiers saw an unidentified individual approaching Robert. They couldn’t make out a face. They couldn’t make out an age. 

Thirty seconds ago

Robert’s movement slowed, then suddenly rose to a dash. A young soldier panicked. He set his sights on the unidentified individual. 

Ten seconds ago

Another unidentified individual emerged out of the ocean of light. The young soldier kept his gun steady. Then he heard a bloodcurdling scream. The three bodies moved sporadically. The young soldier had to make a choice. 

One second ago

He fired his rifle. 

White. Heaven. Silent. An empty street. Carried. By an angel. Approaching. A doorway. Just barely visible in the light. But the doorway was dark enough. Hell. Hell on Earth. 

“Christopher! Christopher! Hold my hand! It’s going to be okay, baby! Your dad’s got you!” Bryan pulled little Christopher back into the house. He had no idea how he found the doorway; it was like heaven’s gate out of darkness. 

There was blood. Deep red blood. And screaming. So much screaming. Bryan yelled at his husband: “Robert, hold this on the wound. Hold it! Wait for a second! I’m going to call for help! Hold on!” Bryan ran for the bedroom, where he’d left his phone. He snatched it up and dialed the emergency number. Christopher was standing over Robert, the reaper in his eyes. 

“Christopher, baby, go to your room!” Bryan shouted at the boy, but Christopher instead dashed towards Bryan and held out his little arms. The boy wrapped around his waist, not letting any air pass between the embrace. He was pale, and shivering. His teeth chattered out words: 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy--”

“Daddy’s going to be alright, Chris--” the boy pulled his head back and stared at Bryan. The little blue eyes had tears welling, and Bryan met his gaze. “Daddy! Daddy! I’m sorry, Daddy!” Christopher’s face scrunched up in anguish. 

Robert held a bloody white T-shirt to a wound the size of a rifle bullet. The wound was in his waist, and it was steadily filling a pool of blood on the floor. Bryan, seeing his husband’s face blurred between tears, crouched down beside Robert. He held the shirt in place. 

“The military is sending a medic.” On each labored breath hung the promise of change. If Robert died, nothing would be the same. But Bryan continued telling his husband to hold strong. 

“I… I… I should have listened to you, Bryan.” The words crept out of Robert like bits of life. Maybe his last. “I promise… I’ll… I’ll… cha--” 

A violent shiver invaded Robert’s body. Christopher’s head was plunged into Bryan’s abdomen. Bryan thought he may have fainted, so he didn’t command him to go to his room. 

The two men held hands. 

Bryan’s eyes sunk, falling upon his son. The little blue eyes were open, sparkling, as if in sight of some unfamiliar future-- a changed world around the corner. 

“Christopher,” Bryan uttered, softly. “Go to your room.” Christopher curled his legs to his stomach as he gripped his father’s waist, as if something inside him were being yanked out. “Sweetheart, listen to me. Listen--” the boy’s tears were flowing freely. A dam had broken. He was violently shaking. “You’re not listen-- listen to me. Okay? Nothing… nothing is going to change. Nothing. Your daddy is going to be fine. Okay?”

Christopher blinked. His head nodded, and his grip relaxed slightly. His fingers began tapping on Bryan’s waist, gently, like a tiny, silent metronome. “Okay, Daddy.” He muttered, barely opening his lips. Bryan shifted his gaze to his husband. He wasn’t sure if he was whispering to Robert, to Christopher, to himself, or to the dark cosmos… somewhere out, beyond the light: 

“Nothing is going to change.”