His hand clasped in mine, we walked up the sidewalk towards the industrial doors. "Are you ready, Buddy?" I asked.
"Affirmative!" he replied, his newest verbal tick. I smiled, and ran my fingers through his coarse hair, fighting the urge to pick him up, and inhale him like a flower.
Not here. Such displays would embarrass him here.
As we walked towards our destination, a thousand hummingbirds traveled through my body. Fluttering through my stomach, flapping up and down my arms. I felt them struggle---trapped. Desperate to fly away.
He was whisked away from me with the promise of books and Goldfish crackers, and I stood in line. I held my essential documents. His birth certificate. His social security card. Immunization records. A copy of my mortgage. As if pieces of paper could capture a life.
"You can't have him!" the hummingbirds screamed. "It's too fast!"
My left brain replied, "Let's not be hysterical. Haven't you been praying for this? Begging for it?"
"I didn't mean it!" My fingers hummed, then my heart pounded in response. "We didn't go the beach enough. Or the park. I could have read him more books. I miss him...already."
"Really? It's just kindergarten. It's not like he's going away forever."
"I know." I breathed deeply, and willed back the tears.
My left brain spoke, a fresh, cleansing breeze. "You're still his first teacher."
"I know." A flutter.
"You have the power to take him out if it doesn't work. You have your voice."
"I know." A release.
With each word, more hummingbirds poured out of me, and colored the sky. A kaleidoscope of movement.
I inched up the line, and then tenderly offered up my first son. "Please, world." I whispered, "Let him fly here too."
After a brief hiatus, I return to The Red Dress Club. This week, we are to write a fiction or nonfiction accounting of a fight. I think I did that, maybe. Kinda. Concrit is welcome.