The good son

"I like that girl he took to the dance last week." I could hear my mother talking in between the clacking of the knitting needles. I didn't need to see them to form the image in my mind. My mother sitting in her rocking chair in the sitting room. My father sitting next to her grunting as he read the paper. Who reads the paper anymore? My father. He isn't that old, but he is an old soul, as my mother says. He clings to the ways of generations before without electronics or cell phones. He only carries one because he can no longer deny the convenience. I smile to myself as I watch them from the dark hallway.

My parents have always had companionable silence. It used to infuriate me when I was younger, but then I grew to realize how rare it was. I enjoyed it with them, but only recently. We didn't fill the void with mindless chatter. We spoke when needed and asked meaningful questions when we truly wanted answers. My parents were from a bygone era I realized too late in life.

I turned from them and went to my room. I looked around and marveled at how superficial it all seemed to me. I had the latest poster of the beautiful model on my wall. I fantasized like all boys did about having her in ways no one else would. My parents surely did not approve, but they said nothing. I looked at the trophies I attained. I was a product of my parents. They held no value in teams where we got participation trophies and neither did I. All the ones displayed were hard won victories and the others were simply tossed. There is no reward for simply showing up in life. If you do not realize learning from a loss is just as important as the feeling of winning, then you will have lost a valuable lesson. My father taught me that at an age where it made the greatest impression and allowed me to hold onto it for the rest of my life.

I wandered to my desk and stared at the frame from my last birthday. There was someone who had it all. Friends, a future, and even parents in the picture with my friends and somehow it all belonged. I smiled and focused on one face in the picture. Somehow in the presence of happiness, we turn to regrets. This was one of those times. I felt my smile turn down to sadness. I love that girl. She is my heart and soul and looking at the picture, I know I am that for her too. Everyone is looking at the camera except her. She is looking at me. She is looking like the whole world is held somewhere in her gaze at me. It's a love that is so palpable that I reach out to the picture to touch it --

"Do you think he'll marry her?" I hear my father's voice and it sounds so hopeful. I bow my head and silently allow the tears to fall. I wish I didn't have to disappoint them. They deserved better. They deserved so much more.

I suck in a breath and try to remain strong. I look about the rest of my room and I am pummeled with memories of my life. My father and I repainted my room and my mom stepped in and helped me design a room for someone about to be an adult. Gone were the superheroes and childhood decor. My mom remained misty-eyed throughout it all, but she said she knew it was coming. I guess it was hard for her to prepare for it despite the forethought. It was nicely done with dark wood and pale blue walls. I had a larger bed put in and a desk with bookshelves. The toys and children's things were taken to a local shelter and my parents began closing my door when they said goodnight. It seemed like overnight that I stopped being a child. My mother said it was like that for her too when I mentioned it. That was when I pulled out a child's book I purchased because I needed something from my childhood to remind me of how things were. Because at the heart of a man, lays a boy who struggles to still exist. It was "Good night, Moon" and it was a favorite for all of us. I think my mom took it much better after we shared a good cry over the book while reading it.

"I think he loves that girl, but there is still time yet to say who he will marry." I smiled at hearing my mother. She is a realist and reigns in my father when he fantasizes about what will come.

I look around my room and there is nothing else that I haven't considered. I know the time is drawing near. I can feel it like a call to my very being. Telling me something is happening and you can't stop the train. I slowly make my way back to my parents. I am delaying it because I want to hear them more, but hurrying to be able to see them again.

The doorbell rings and I freeze. I am out of time. I am close enough to see the confused look on my parents' faces. My mother puts her knitting aside. I recognize it. She bought the yarn some time ago for a sweater that she was making for me to bring to college. It is cold where I am going and she wanted to make sure I had what I needed. I stare at the yarn like it holds the key to the universe. I'm unwilling to look at her face as my father gets up and answers the door.

"Hello. May I help you?" "Are you Mr. Talbot?" "Yes." The man at the door pauses and then clears his throat before asking, "Did you have a son by the name of Nathaniel Talbot?" I close my eyes and try to block out the face of my father. Then I try to close my ears to the sound of my mother's knitting that abruptly stops. My mom is always knitting. I think she knits in her sleep. It is a sound that has lulled me many times. I cannot bear the silence. The sudden wail of her voice and my father's cries break me. I never heard my father cry and now he is sobbing. It is the quiet sob of a man who is trying to be strong for his wife and to keep composure for what he must do. I feel worse for him since my mother can release everything, but he cannot. The officer tries to talk to them over the frenzied emotions, but I don't know if they hear them any more than I do. But I hear snippets and it pieces together what I know. "Sorry... accident... drunk driver... your son died... the girl, alive, but critical... your son shielded her..." I can't hear anymore and I practically run into my room and put my hands over my ears and recite the story of Good Night, Moon. Then warm gentle hands come over mine and force my eyes open. It is a serene face that tells of peace. "It is time to go." I look to the living room. I chastise myself for leaving. I have to know if they are okay... "They are. Or they will be. They have loved you and they will grieve for that loss, but they will see you again in their own time." I look to the one before me and I am about to ask about her, but he seems to already know, "I cannot speak to what will happen to her, but she is loved and will see you when it is her time." I nod as he extends his hand to the bright beacon that was there and I never saw it until now. I hear my parents cry and it is with tears and heavy heart that I enter the light.