Z

I remember the first time I saw their little heads. I had met T for dinner and followed him home at his invitation. The house was dark and they were curled up on the couch, watching the laptop. Two small bobbles bathed in the blue screen light, huddled together. Their voices were soft, small. Deferential to the man who had just walked in.

When I turned my gaze up to the painting on the mantle, they jumped up to comically praise it, and I saw immediately that they were an amusing blend of him and her. If I had known how things would grow, I would have locked in more detail. I would have savored this first meeting. But we never know what moments will be important later.

The following day they introduced me to Minecraft, offered me food, and they were kind to me. Z set the example and R followed. I can still recall Z saying “I don’t mean to upset you but this level is based on hell.” Already so polite and thoughtful in his way. R kept distance but would animatedly parrot whatever Z said to me in excitement.

Now, so many months and adventures later, he’s curled up against me while we watch the latest Incredibles movie. I have my arms tucked around him and his little hand is resting on my elbow. It’s these minute details that show he’s not humoring me, but enjoys the affection genuinely. He and I both thrive off of affection and cuddles. Middle children united. 

When I ask him to help me with a chore, he jumps up that instant. No hesitation and no complaint. I make sure not to abuse this and ask him to help me or teach me or work with me to figure it out together. When there’s a task he’s loathe to do, I put on my shoes and return the favor, going out to help him.

And so we have grown. When we go out he sits next to me, when we watch movies, he curls up with me and when I dream of the future, he’s there. They all are, but Z will hold a special place. He was the first. The burden of caring for a strange woman on his couch fell on his slender little shoulders and so he will have that reward. That distinction.

My mind turns out, turns forward, looking out into what could be. I’ve asked for him to join me this year at my familial cabin. I was braced for reluctance from T, for a flat refusal even. This would be a rather large step, to trust me with their first born son. To allow us time together, away from home. To allow me to show him my old world. 

He will not see it as it was in my youth or understand the magic it holds for me. Nameless, vague shapes of memories of men long dead whom we still talk about over dinner. My great-grandfather helped build it with his own two hands, but Z will politely listen and then it will pass from his mind. That comes with age, and with a longing in the soul for things of your own past.

But there are other reasons. Other forms of magic. Watching the moon rise on the lake. Beach fires. Kayaking. Taking walks with me on the forest trails. All the things I loved to do at his age that planted the seeds of the nostalgia and love I feel today. I don’t expect him to walk away from the cabin in love with the trees and sand and water, but I’ll leave room for it anyway in case  it ensures him the way it ensnares so many others. 

I can see him, riding in the truck to spot deer on the back country roads while my sister and I talk about all of our old adventures and stories. Showing him my dad’s legacy of Bill the Thrill, jumping out of the car at deer too frozen to run away and making odd faces while jumping around like a lunatic at them. How his name is whispered in hushed tones among the woodland creatures. The mad human with the bushy beard.

Friends have boats on the neighboring lake, and I hope to take him out there, let him see the water and the distant shoreline while their boys his age show him how to dive off the top of a pontoon. Or take fishing poles out to the fisheries and spend an afternoon in catch and release while bald eagles and osprey soar overhead. 

I want to show him the ten year old version of who I used to be. That I didn’t just spring full grown into the world with all these crazy stories, but where they came from. Because he’s growing on me. He’s growing on me hard, gunning for places in my heart that have been cold and empty. Places boarded up, and colorless. Little by little he’s opening the doors and waking up long dormant dreams. 

He doesn’t have to understand who my great-grandfather was, or care why such an old cabin is so revered. He just has to run in the sand and splash in the water and show that look of joy on his face when he is having a moment of fun. All he needs to be is himself. 

I imagine the road trip up. How much would I have loved to be on a special trip like that as a kid? How singled out and marked for something special would that have made me feel? How visible? Perhaps, if I had had such an experience, had been given that chance, then it would not have been so easy to manipulate me. My ex husband wouldn’t have been able to work his creeping fingers into my brain with something so simple as making me feel seen. As making me feel like I mattered. 

Z is a pleaser, like most middle children. We cannot find value in defiance, so we try to find it in obsequious behavior. Let me be so helpful that my absence is noted. Let my presence add value. 

And I want to show him I know these roads. I know this life. He’s on the cusp of having to figure it all out and I’m not going to snatch the puzzle from him to sort it, but I can let him know that I see him and no matter how hard the figuring out, he’s not alone. I see him. And sometimes that can make all the difference.

***

I’m pacing my room, trying on different outfits. Why am I so wound up? What makes this any different? 

Mardi Gras.

With T.

It’s the first big trip I’ve taken with a partner like this before we were living together and engaged. No assurances other than words. The other unmitigated disasters shouldn’t even be allowed to count. 

Nothing fits right. No, everything fits fine, it’s just that my brain still finds no peace in it. I want him to be happy he chose me. 

Oh. I’m seeing the parallels now. I’ve been chosen. I get to go. I get to feel special. 

That old bee in my bonnet, zipping around, making me feel forgettable. Over-lookable. Easy to take for granted. 

Remember how this feels. Remember how this can be exploited so you can remind Z and do better by him. This demon doesn’t have to be his too.