Page 43 of Way Down Deep

Anyhow, this time when my aunt called, I answered my phone. I was feeling stronger than normal, no doubt thanks to you. To us and this little Charlie Brown-looking tree of a friendship that we’ve managed to plant and sprout together.

I told my aunt everything and did an okay job keeping my shit together. She asked what she could do for the boy. I said we have everything we need. Material stuff, at least. I was sitting on his bed while we talked, and I was looking around, realizing just about everything in his room is from the Time Before, as I think of it. The Time Before I showed up, when his life looked like god knows what. I kept it all, because I figured something should be familiar. Now I think maybe I had that all wrong.

It made me worry what memories are tangled up in his plaid sheets and faux-quilt bedspread and the pictures on his walls, and in his few and largely untouched toys.

I told my aunt maybe I ought to redecorate his room, new covers and pillowcases and pictures, maybe buy some curtains. She got really excited and told me she’d send money, that she wants to be a part of it. I don’t really need the money, but I told her sure, if it makes her happy.

Now I’m kind of excited myself, to take the boy to some stores and pick out new bedding, maybe a mobile of the solar system like I had … only without Pluto these days, I assume.

He’ll probably be as catatonic as always on the mission, but he’ll know we picked this stuff out, that it’s new, nothing to do with whatever came before. That whatever memories get woven into it all, they’ll be safe ones, if not necessarily joyful. I’ll do that tomorrow, maybe, or start on it, at least. If my legs work by then.

Wow, check me out, going on and on, and only halfway through my first cup of coffee. I’ll shut up now. What are you up to today? What did you get up to after I disappeared on you?

Tell me everything. Fill my eyes all the way up to the brim with you.

11.42am

First of all, it’s not silly. I’d be your hollowed out elk any day, and you should know that by now. Second of all, how dare you disparage the correct way to pronounce vitamins! Third of all, your aunt is a wise woman, and you are amazing. The boy will know that you’re doing this for him, and it will matter to him. Fourth of all, anything I do that helps you is awesome, the end. Fifth of all, brace yourself for brim-filling.

Things I did after you disappeared:

1. Fantasised about what being there with you would be like. Mostly it was amazing. Sometimes it was terrifying. I managed to stop short of filming the side of my face while I said words to see if I looked like a normal person.

2. Told myself I would never tell you the above in case it made me sound like a serial killer who doesn’t understand how to be human.

3. Tried to get some sleep, but failed completely at it. In fact, I haven’t been to sleep at all. Something about our movie night just turned me into a jittery, overjoyed mess. Like I’d drunk ten cups of coffee and then discovered my numbers came up on the lottery.

I don’t regret comparing you to winning the lottery.

You make me feel like I’ve won something all the time.

I got all the way to the elevator before I had to go back.

2.45pm

Be careful with your comparisons—doesn’t winning the lottery only ever ruin people’s lives? Or maybe it’s different in the UK.

The boy is down for a nap. He passed out on the couch, half sitting up, so I’m camped in the chair by the window with my feet up on the sill, listening to the tick of the radiator and the drone of some construction truck or other working down the street.

I wish you could have seen me getting my legs into position. They hurt so much, I had to haul each one up with both hands hammocked under my knee. I don’t know how I’ll ever get them back down.

I meant to tell you, I started Earthsea yesterday. I’m about halfway through already, at the part where what’s her name reveals her powers. Some parts of the story hit a little close to home, but I bet the ending’s going to cancel out any anxiety it’s giving me.

I hope you’ll be around tonight. Or rather, I hope you’ll be up for talking more. Letting me maybe ask you some questions. If I came right out and asked, would you tell me anything about your parents, I wonder? Or your brother? Would you tell me where you’d go if you found the nerve to hit the call button and step inside that elevator? (You’re beyond amazing, you know, to have made it all the way to the elevator. You blow my mind anew every goddamn day.)

If any of those questions sounds like too much, that’s fine. I don’t want you to be anything more than what you’re ready to be, with me. But I think you know … I think you know I have feelings for you. The kinds of feelings you’re not supposed to get for people you’ve never seen or even really spoken to, not for someone you might never meet. But I have, and they’re not going anywhere, so I figure it can’t hurt to ask.

We could take it slow. I won’t barge in like I did when I asked your name.

You can take your time. You can tell me, not that question, not yet.

Or you can turn yourself inside out and tell me everything. I don’t care if it’s ugly. There’s nothing you can say that’ll scare me off.

Know that I’m only asking because I want to know you. I won’t even say it’s because I want to understand you, because that’s too fucking grand and too fucking patronizing. I just want to know. There’s so much I’ll never know about my own son’s past, I guess maybe hearing a few bits and pieces of yours would make me feel less alone.

Anyhow, I’ll pester you tonight after ten. Until then, keep practicing your normal human speech mechanics.

P.S. I started writing a song about you. I haven’t written a song in probably five years. If I drink enough later, maybe I’ll share a few of the corny-ass lyrics.