Not… before she left. Certainly not after. But that doesn’t matter anymore.
“And there’s one thing I want you to remember, one thing I want you to know for the rest of your life, no matter what else happens in the future, no matter where we end up. I need you to remember one thing for me. Can you do that, Kid?”
He nods as his breath trembles from his body.
“You remember that I’ve got you. Okay? Whenever things look rough, whenever you don’t think you can take another step and those fucking earthquakes seem to be able to tear you apart, you have to know that I’ve got you. I promised you that a long time ago, and I think I’ve been pretty good at keeping my word to you. I may have messed up a bunch of other times and probably will again, but I will never let you down. You hear me? I’ve got you, and that will never change.”
And that’s all he can take, and it’s all I can take, and suddenly he’s in my arms, the weight of him the greatest thing I’ve ever known, and he cries into my neck. I thank God, that malevolent bastard, who’s done his best to knock us down, who’s seemed to have a personal vendetta against the Kid and me. I thank God because the only way that I have the Kid as I do is because of some miraculous occurrence, some unbelievable twist of fate.
Throughout the shitstorm that’s been our lives, through everything we’ve had to endure, something somewhere thought I’d do okay by him. That I’d give him what he needed, and that in turn, he’d give me everything.
It’s moments later, and the Kid’s breathing has calmed, my neck wet and snotty and wonderful. Otter’s arm is still draped over my waist, but his snoring has stopped, and I know he’s awake, but I don’t know for how long or how much he’s heard. That’s okay, though. I hope he’s heard enough to know the Kid is good. Not all the way, but getting there. Just like Otter and me.
“This is probably why I’m in therapy, huh?” the Kid finally says, causing me to laugh.
“Probably,” I agree. “That and the fact that you’re the smartest nine-year-old vegetarian ecoterrorist-in-training on the planet. I’m sure Eddie is going to turn you into a well-adjusted adolescent.”
Tyson raises up and smacks me across the chest. “You wish,” he says, scowling as I wipe away the wetness from his cheeks. “I’m going to be like this forever.”
“I hope so, Kid.”
“Can I go get some cereal and eat it in your bed? I like watching CNN
in here, and Anderson is coming on to do a special morning report on bovine growth hormones that I just can’t miss. It’s supposed to be life-changing.”
“Sure, Kid. We’ll have breakfast in bed. Can you bring up that pizza in the fridge? Don’t worry about putting it in the microwave. It’s better that way.”
He rolls his eyes as he slides off the bed. “I’m going to pick off the multilevel animal genocide you call toppings. Seriously, Papa Bear, you’re going to have a heart attack by the time you’re thirty. Not even Otter will love a bald man with heart palpitations. He told me.”
I throw a pillow at him as he runs cackling from the room.
And then it’s quiet.
“How much did you hear?” I finally ask him.
Otter rolls over on top of me, his massiveness giving me serious ideas of either asphyxiating or getting a boner. I think some people try to do that at the same time. Weirdos.
He looks down at me with the gold-green shining and says the only thing he can, the only thing that’s necessary. There’s that Otter grin, and before his lips touch mine, I think of the sun.
“Enough,” he says as he lowers into the kiss. “And you know what? I’ve got you both.”
8.
Where Bear Marks
the Passage of Time
AND so we lived. Or at least as best we could.
It seemed like time sped up then, and the next few months flew by quicker than I expected. Several things of note occurred, which I will explain here. Some good, some not so good. There were days that were rough, days when Ty needed the bathtub, days when I needed it. Otter would always find himself sitting with us in there, holding onto us both until the earthquakes subsided. They never lasted long. But the one thing that you should know during those past few months is that we did live, and we were okay, for the most part. There were still issues, to be sure, but I think that there always will be. People like Ty and myself aren’t ever going to be completely free of our damnable neuroses, no matter how hard we try.
Acceptance is the next step, I’m told. Hell, at least I’m no longer in denial.
Mostly.
Probably the biggest thing you should know is that sometime in October I received a phone call from Erica Sharp, one that I knew was coming but still could not prepare for. It’s like being aware that a car accident is about to happen. You see it coming, you know there’s nothing you can do, and you brace yourself for impact and hope that it won’t be enough to shatter you into a billion little pieces. I braced for that impact and had apparently been doing so for a while, but it didn’t seem to matter. Hearing the words sent chills down my spine, and I gripped the phone so tight that I thought it would break apart in my hands. Lucky for me, the Kid was in the backyard with Dominic. Otter was going over prints for an upcoming show displaying his work at an AIDS benefit. It was a pretty big deal, and he’d been busy for the past couple of weeks, getting everything ready.
The words?