she plays next to me, hesitant and proud, cautious but prideful: she’s gotten somewhere with this piece, she knows some secret about it, she knows how to get there.
and she plays next to me as i write, a shy confidence building with each repetition: i can hear her little breaths, a slight cold but fingers dancing, stumbling but finding themselves again, righting themselves, moving forward, beginning again. a spiral, she’s spiraling outward and possibly away. departure.
and my boy yesterday, my boy today. it was as if nothing happened. slighty sore but walking about. rotating specialists came in checking and double checking: why are we here today, who are we here for, how do you spell your last name. and each time a little further, from one room to the next, from one stage to the next, spiraling closer, honing in. arrival.
after the pediatric surgeon explained the problem, the procedure, the afterwards of what should happen, he asked: any questions for me and i turned to him and said, where do you live. of course: silliness, useless sense of over-protectiveness that would be impotent and frail in the face of any real sort of tragedy.
i didnt get to hold his hand when he went under. i gave that to mari, let her have that. so hard to give that up.
by the time they led us back to him after, he was already awake, cranky but focused. he didnt want us to talk to him. not in pain exactly but uncomfortable with the pins and needleness of being numb where they cut him. he didnt want any overt affection or concern for him. he didnt want us looking at him, embarassing him. he wanted all that worry to be put somewhere else, anywhere else.
as the final wisps of tha anesthesia wore off, he was anxious to be home again. the nurse told him to eat just a little more of his icey. he nodded sweetly but the minute she turned, he frowned and dug the pastic spoon in the blue icey with a ferociousness. i’m down with this place, i’m outta here.
when we got home, he went about his usual routine: rubbing the dog’s nose, circling around the living room asking for a snack, heading downstairs to play the Wii. no whining, no complaints. he was worse in the morning, constant whine and moan about his hunger, his thirst, his hunger. after the surgery and now, the next day, just a slower pace in his going about, but the same going about, the same climbing of stairs that he shouldnt be doing, the same willfullness just a notch below the standard stubborness.
as if nothing happened at all. as if he was just getting over the flu.