"Dad!" I jumped. I lifted my head to see my son staring down at me as I lay down.
As my nerves calmed, I sat up. "Hey...I thought you and Couro were on a walk with Dot."
"We were," he drawled. Hesitantly, he made his way to my bedpost. "But then Serena came outside and she and Couro wanted to play with him together." I gave him a moment to continue and tell me that he didn't leave my eight-year-old daughter alone on a whim. When he didn't say anything, I started to worry.
Pushing myself off the bed, I asked, "...Where are they now?"
He shrugged. "Told them not to leave the area though, so they can't be too far." Taken aback, I stared at him for a moment. It wasn't as if she'd never played outside alone before. I just preferred to take precautions, such as giving her an old phone, setting a curfew, and giving her firm playing boundaries. 'The area' was too loosely defined for my liking.
Sighing, I reached for a jacket and quickly put it on. "Gora--"
"Wait!" He jumped into my walking path. "I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you. About Mom." His desperate brown eyes begged me to stay and I gave in. I let the jacket slip off my arms and leaned against my bedpost.
"What in particular?"
"You never gave me the details of it," he said finally. "Told me almost the same story you told Couro." Thinking back, I remembered how important it was to Kutu that Gora wasn't fully aware of her condition. She believed that she'd one day get better and didn't want to scare him. Right after her passing, it was a mixture of grief and fear that kept me from telling him anything.
Since then, it was just fear. Something I was slowly realizing I was gonna have to start facing to fix my mistakes. "Gora..." I took a deep breath, "I have been so scared of telling you. Scared of pitting you two against each other. Scared that Couro might blame herself."
"What?" Pausing, I beckoned him to come and sit on the edge of my bed with me. He delayed for a moment--it had been years since he last sat on the bed--but he eventually joined me. It reminded me of when Kutu would push me to make him sleep in his own room as a toddler. All I wanted back then was to never let go of my son. We would sit on this very side of the bed, whining and complaining to Kutu, begging her to allow him to sleep between us. She would giggle from the opposite end, mock scolding us until I picked Gora up, threw him over my shoulder, and carried him to his room. We were only joking, I once had a talk with him to make sure he knew that his mother had a valid point. A three-year-old Gora then looked up at me from his rocket ship bedding and told me that he knew. "Mommy's only trying to help me."
I looked at Gora now, around thirteen years after that memory. "Taking care of the three of you was hard," I started. "I had been your mother's organizer for so long, I never really considered anything else. But she didn't make any art for those last few years. And you can only do the same shows over and over before people get bored. Picked up a dozen or so strange jobs in those years. I had a rapidly growing toddler, a rapidly changing adolescent, and a rapidly dying wife--all depending on a sinking business and several crummy part times that I kept losing and picking back up. I was falling apart at the seams and had some morbid thoughts here and there. I can remember coming home after a dozen or so hours of working to an infant Couro crying for her mother who was too sick to even stand. I looked my baby--my baby, Gora--in her eyes and briefly wished she had never been born.
"I don't want you to look at Couro and feel that way. The twisted relief I sometimes felt in the months after Kutu's death..."
"Relief?" The crack in his voice brought in a wave of shame. I put my hand up, asking for a moment to recollect. On the dresser beside the bed was my half filled water bottle. I stretched over to get it and downed what was left.
As my nerves calmed, I sat up. "Hey...I thought you and Couro were on a walk with Dot."
"We were," he drawled. Hesitantly, he made his way to my bedpost. "But then Serena came outside and she and Couro wanted to play with him together." I gave him a moment to continue and tell me that he didn't leave my eight-year-old daughter alone on a whim. When he didn't say anything, I started to worry.
Pushing myself off the bed, I asked, "...Where are they now?"
He shrugged. "Told them not to leave the area though, so they can't be too far." Taken aback, I stared at him for a moment. It wasn't as if she'd never played outside alone before. I just preferred to take precautions, such as giving her an old phone, setting a curfew, and giving her firm playing boundaries. 'The area' was too loosely defined for my liking.
Sighing, I reached for a jacket and quickly put it on. "Gora--"
"Wait!" He jumped into my walking path. "I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you. About Mom." His desperate brown eyes begged me to stay and I gave in. I let the jacket slip off my arms and leaned against my bedpost.
"What in particular?"
"You never gave me the details of it," he said finally. "Told me almost the same story you told Couro." Thinking back, I remembered how important it was to Kutu that Gora wasn't fully aware of her condition. She believed that she'd one day get better and didn't want to scare him. Right after her passing, it was a mixture of grief and fear that kept me from telling him anything.
Since then, it was just fear. Something I was slowly realizing I was gonna have to start facing to fix my mistakes. "Gora..." I took a deep breath, "I have been so scared of telling you. Scared of pitting you two against each other. Scared that Couro might blame herself."
"What?" Pausing, I beckoned him to come and sit on the edge of my bed with me. He delayed for a moment--it had been years since he last sat on the bed--but he eventually joined me. It reminded me of when Kutu would push me to make him sleep in his own room as a toddler. All I wanted back then was to never let go of my son. We would sit on this very side of the bed, whining and complaining to Kutu, begging her to allow him to sleep between us. She would giggle from the opposite end, mock scolding us until I picked Gora up, threw him over my shoulder, and carried him to his room. We were only joking, I once had a talk with him to make sure he knew that his mother had a valid point. A three-year-old Gora then looked up at me from his rocket ship bedding and told me that he knew. "Mommy's only trying to help me."
I looked at Gora now, around thirteen years after that memory. "Taking care of the three of you was hard," I started. "I had been your mother's organizer for so long, I never really considered anything else. But she didn't make any art for those last few years. And you can only do the same shows over and over before people get bored. Picked up a dozen or so strange jobs in those years. I had a rapidly growing toddler, a rapidly changing adolescent, and a rapidly dying wife--all depending on a sinking business and several crummy part times that I kept losing and picking back up. I was falling apart at the seams and had some morbid thoughts here and there. I can remember coming home after a dozen or so hours of working to an infant Couro crying for her mother who was too sick to even stand. I looked my baby--my baby, Gora--in her eyes and briefly wished she had never been born.
"I don't want you to look at Couro and feel that way. The twisted relief I sometimes felt in the months after Kutu's death..."
"Relief?" The crack in his voice brought in a wave of shame. I put my hand up, asking for a moment to recollect. On the dresser beside the bed was my half filled water bottle. I stretched over to get it and downed what was left.
Refreshed, I explained, "It was sepsis. Technically postpartum. Back in 2010, your aunt Gigi had fallen sick with infectious pneumonia and Kutu rushed to be by her side the moment she heard. As Gigi recovered, Kutu started to not feel well and next thing I know, she's in the hospital too. I don't know, maybe something wrong with the IV, but then we're being told she had a blood infection. It was then, early 2011, that Kutu told me she was pregnant. It wasn't too bad at first. But her sickle cell and pregnancy made it worse. Three days after Couro's birth, it was full-blown sepsis.
"Couro wasn't really affected. She had unrelated breathing problems and a bit of flat head later on. Also, she inherited Kutu's sickle cell. After two weeks in the ICU--she couldn't breathe and her mother couldn't feed--I had to take her home alone. Kutu stayed much longer. The sepsis did a number on her lungs and immunity. Over the next few years she was constantly falling sick and hospitalized four more times due to me not knowing what to do. About a year before her death, a lung failed, then we had to constantly treat her at home. I remember how much she hated it. Sometimes, she'd ask me to just let her die and focus on you two.
"One day, we were out shopping for pumpkins. We had Gigi watching you two--she felt so guilty and always offered to help any way she could. Kutu was eyeing a particularly large pumpkin and I was holding her hand until she just...fell. A stranger called the ambulance while I did everything I could to wake her up. Then they came and took her away. A white stretcher and a matching pillow. Kutu looked so...hollow. And just like that, I have a funeral to plan. I don't remember which treatment she missed, but it was intentional. The police tried to blame me, seeing as I was her sole caretaker. That was a whole another heartbreak, but they let me go eventually once they pieced it together.
"But suddenly, every thing eased up. We still had older hospital bills, but they stopped charging us more. No more juggling medications and therapy and treatment. Longtime gallery visitors heard and were willing to offer up donations and condolences. I was able to drop down to just two part times and finally had time to search for an employer. It allowed me to mourn in peace. But honestly, there would be days when I wouldn't even feel the grief. I would just be so numb and checked out of everything, and on those days, I felt relief at how much less I had to do."
Gora let the words hang in the air, taking in every bit of what I just said. I could almost see his brain processing everything. "I... I think I remember that. I remember how much I just wanted you to acknowledge Mom's death. You wouldn't. I seesawed between hating and loving you for that."
"Even in my frenzy, we still spent so much time together back then." I scoffed and playfully pushed him "Well, more than we do now."
While he bobbed back up, I could see his nerves relaxing. He looked at me, it was the same look I had given him earlier. "No, Dad. We just used to actually get along."
I swallowed my smile. "Why don't we now?"
"You don't like to listen." He waited for a moment, before huffing and sliding off the bed. Almost immediately, I grabbed his arm.
"Wait, no, I'm sorry," I begged. "Please, talk to me."
Rolling his eyes, he shook my arm off of him. He then sat back down and explained, "I'm not saying you're a bad father. I see how you are with Couro, you're a good one, really. But I had a couple issues going on a while ago, and you've just never let them go. I was fourteen when I lost my mother, Dad. I lashed out because I was barely processing. But ever since my freshman year outburst, you've always seen me as if I'm about to do something. In your eyes I'm always plotting, always unhappy, always looking to irritate you and Couro. I want to do better, but I can't if my own father doesn't believe I can or will.
"Even in my frenzy, we still spent so much time together back then." I scoffed and playfully pushed him "Well, more than we do now."
While he bobbed back up, I could see his nerves relaxing. He looked at me, it was the same look I had given him earlier. "No, Dad. We just used to actually get along."
I swallowed my smile. "Why don't we now?"
"You don't like to listen." He waited for a moment, before huffing and sliding off the bed. Almost immediately, I grabbed his arm.
"Wait, no, I'm sorry," I begged. "Please, talk to me."
Rolling his eyes, he shook my arm off of him. He then sat back down and explained, "I'm not saying you're a bad father. I see how you are with Couro, you're a good one, really. But I had a couple issues going on a while ago, and you've just never let them go. I was fourteen when I lost my mother, Dad. I lashed out because I was barely processing. But ever since my freshman year outburst, you've always seen me as if I'm about to do something. In your eyes I'm always plotting, always unhappy, always looking to irritate you and Couro. I want to do better, but I can't if my own father doesn't believe I can or will.
"Don't get me wrong, I fuck up a lot. A lot. And I'm not going to say you're responsible for any of it. But you're not at all helpful. You get so mad at me for the littlest things and I sometimes can almost see the hatred coming out your ears. It hurts. Makes me not really care because apparently, I have to make extravagant gestures for you to not suspect me." He gestured towards the red wrapping in the corner of the room, from the sweaters he bought a few weeks ago.
I hung my head. "I am a shit father sometimes--"
"And there you go not listening again," he raised his voice. But his eyes weren't angry. It was a mixture of fear and frustration. "Very first thing I said was that you're a good dad. I'm pretty sure you do this subconsciously because of how I behaved. I was a shit child--still am--and you do is treat me like one. It's my fault." His eyes started to well with tears. I tried to pull him in but he fought me. "Remember Casey?" he hiccupped. "You said she was just toying with me and my dumb ass snuck out to go dump my birthday money."
I hung my head. "I am a shit father sometimes--"
"And there you go not listening again," he raised his voice. But his eyes weren't angry. It was a mixture of fear and frustration. "Very first thing I said was that you're a good dad. I'm pretty sure you do this subconsciously because of how I behaved. I was a shit child--still am--and you do is treat me like one. It's my fault." His eyes started to well with tears. I tried to pull him in but he fought me. "Remember Casey?" he hiccupped. "You said she was just toying with me and my dumb ass snuck out to go dump my birthday money."
"...You did that?"
"My point exactly," he laughed. "And, uh, remember Kylie Rivers? Tall--taller than me, actually--red, waist-length hair, dark brown eyes, pale skin. She's sixteen now." We shared a face, one that confirmed my assumption.
"My point exactly," he laughed. "And, uh, remember Kylie Rivers? Tall--taller than me, actually--red, waist-length hair, dark brown eyes, pale skin. She's sixteen now." We shared a face, one that confirmed my assumption.
I smiled at him, "Hey, she's in your age range this time."
He nodded, wiping his eyes, "I've been meaning to mention it. Among other things...like how I really need help finding a job."
"Anything in mind?"
"If it pays, I'll look at it." Clicking my tongue, an idea came to me. I pulled out my phone and printed out a flyer Mr. Evans had been passing around. I signaled to the door and Gora got up and went downstairs. He came back analyzing a piece of paper. "So what, I'll be working for you?"
"On the same floor as me, sometimes," I confirmed. "And if you sign up soon enough they might ask you to help out at this year's holiday showing."
Keeping his eyes on the flyer, he slowly eased out of the room. "Thanks, I'll think about it." He closed the door on his way out, leaving me in the silence on my room once again.
I fell back onto the bed, sighing, only able to think one thing: I needed to go get my kid.
He nodded, wiping his eyes, "I've been meaning to mention it. Among other things...like how I really need help finding a job."
"Anything in mind?"
"If it pays, I'll look at it." Clicking my tongue, an idea came to me. I pulled out my phone and printed out a flyer Mr. Evans had been passing around. I signaled to the door and Gora got up and went downstairs. He came back analyzing a piece of paper. "So what, I'll be working for you?"
"On the same floor as me, sometimes," I confirmed. "And if you sign up soon enough they might ask you to help out at this year's holiday showing."
Keeping his eyes on the flyer, he slowly eased out of the room. "Thanks, I'll think about it." He closed the door on his way out, leaving me in the silence on my room once again.
I fell back onto the bed, sighing, only able to think one thing: I needed to go get my kid.
No comments:
Post a Comment