Page 143 of Gifted & Talented

Or maybe I won’t go at all, I think as Monster burrows into me. Snuggly baby. Sweet boy. I feel carnivorous with love, like I could swallow him whole. Who cares if I miss it, whatever I’m afraid to miss? Life or whatever.

Mom gives my shoulder a squeeze and tries for a kiss from Monster. He pushes her face away. She leaves and I move to sit in the chair, but Monster wants to hold something while he rocks. I try guess what it might be. Doggy? Ball? Teddy bear? Book? Sometimes it’s a sheet of stickers and once, notably, it was a half-eaten strawberry. It turns out he wants to hold a plastic Adirondack chair we bought because he liked the color and it was the first time he’d ever said blue (“aboo”). I wrangle him into the rocking chair with the other chair clutched in his hands. It’s impossible. I rock for ten minutes with a bright blue Adirondack in my face. I call it a Daddy Rondack, which I think is funny. Currently, though, nothing is funny. Nothing will ever be funny again. This is my life, staring down the horrors, thinking about how Meredith had sex on a trail during an apocalypse but I’m here, forever stuck in this rocking chair, putting my cursed child to sleep. He drifts off and so I remove the chair from his hands. He rouses, mewls for me to put the chair somewhere he can look at while we rock. Fine. I sing him the pop-punk of my anarchist youth and he puts a hand over my mouth, shushing me. He yawns widely. Here it comes, sweet release. It’s been half an hour. He can’t find a comfortable position. Every minute or so he rolls over, begins playing with my nose. He pulls on my earrings. I tell him to go to sleep right now or so help me I’ll lose my fucking mind. He whimpers. I feel terrible. I am a terrible mother. I am succumbing to madness. I want to throw myself into the void and never come out. He holds me tightly, so tight you have to wonder how anyone can take this much comfort from another person, how you can ever feel so safe. God, I’m a traitor. He thinks nothing bad will ever happen to him but it will. Oh god!I want to die. I am exhausted. I brought him into this horrible world where people will disappoint him. He doesn’t know yet how, sometimes, when you want to make dinner for someone, everything will go wrong and you will have to serve it anyway and they’ll say it’s good to be polite and you’ll know they’re just lying to make you feel better. He doesn’t even know about bigotry yet. My sweet precious baby! He flips around, and again, and again. Go to sleep!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I roar. He pets my face. I am wearier than any human has ever been. Love is exhausting.

His breathing grows steady. He curls into me and I miss him so powerfully I almost bite his cheeks to wake him up. He’s so funny. He’s so sweet. I know he’s a future man and there are hazards to these impulses, but it is physically difficult not to try to give the world to him. I realize that I can set him in his bed now, and he’ll wake up later. I should be here when he wakes up. I shouldstayhere. Why do I ever go anywhere that isn’t right here?

I shift to bring him to bed. He moves as if he’s going to wake up and I curse the whole goddamn universe.

He goes back to sleep. Thank god. Can you imagine!

Meredith texts me.Pizza will be here in thirty minutes.

Look at his perfect face. My Monster. I feel physical pain again, but I drag myself out of his bed, inhumanly quiet. The best way to do it is to slip out from the end of the mattress that’s closest to the door, to avoid any creaks in the floor. Then you have to push the door toward the hinges. It’s a whole thing. You wouldn’t believe the lightness of my footfall these days. For the briefest second, I think about texting Ben, because he knows this part of my experience, he shares The Fear with me. It’s amazing how close you can feel to another person. It’s also amazing how that closeness can disappear, and still you go on.

I pause in the threshold of Monster’s room, taking a last hungry glimpse of him before I go. I do this every night, even if I’m not going anywhere, which usually I’m not. I watch a little bad TV or read a book. I think for an hour about what it means to be alive, or I stare at the wall and contemplate whether I’ll ever not feel tired again. Everything changes. Everything changes. Nothing is ever the same (affectionate). Nothing is ever the same (threat).

I feel it then. A convulsion of tiredness and longing. The heart-crush of it. It’s not a state of being but a collection of moments, all strung up like fairy lights over a sleeping child’s face.

Happiness.

Then I close the door and text Meredith to tell her I’m on my way.