It was March 6th, the day I heard that sound I still can’t make myself forget. He was screaming, crying the way toddlers do I presume, but he sounded so broken. I raced through the section of “men’s casual clothing,” frantically searching for the poor child I knew I needed to save. It wasn’t until I broke out of the confining aisles and into the tiled hall that I spotted him sitting alone in the “boy’s clothing” section. His face was a sweet kind of red and was twisted into a painful frown. “Da Da!” he shrieked. My heart, at that moment, almost entirely stopped I think. In retrospect, maybe the picture reminded me of myself as a child, so scared and lonely and abandoned. I needed to make that hurt he was feeling vanish. I needed him to know that everything was okay. Once that was decided, my next course of action was obvious. I lightly jogged over to the toddler, scooped him up, and whispered to him the words that I had longed to hear as a child: “Daddy’s here, Daddy’s here.” He was confused, maybe, that he had not been abandoned as he had thought, and I think that’s why he raised his voice. After all, I was a first-time dad.
Once I managed to exit the monstrous department store, I had a while to attempt to calm him while I waited in the bus stop. I shushed him and bounced him awkwardly, still unsure exactly how to hold him. A woman bounced passed us and smiled slyly, even let out a little chuckle. I wasn’t sure if she just thought the kid was cute or found the whole picture funny, me, being so big and buff and brunette, failing to calm this tiny little blonde boy in my arms.
Finally, his sort-of hyperventilating eased, and he looked at me with those wide eyes and articulated the only word I’d heard from him: “da…” It wasn’t a statement, yet it wasn’t a question, more of an idea he dropped that I was to catch. And that is exactly what I did.
“Yes,” I said, “yes.”
The bus wined and pulled up in front of the old building it had struggled so long to reach, and we thudded down the steep stairs and out onto the sidewalk, him and I. A brief stroll took us to my apartment, well actually, our apartment. As I stood in front of the stairs leading up to the apartment, I remember feeling such an overwhelming sense of accomplishment that I had saved this toddler from the heartbreak and loss that was my childhood. I hopped up the dirty stairs desperate for a mopping, and strolled into the kitchen. Nothing could stop me from giving this child anything and everything I could. I could protect him, I could raise him, and I could love him.
The silence was broken by a whimper leaked by the child in my arms. Faster than I was expecting, the whimpering escalated to a cry and then to a full out scream. I frantically but carefully placed the kid on the floor in the living room for lack of a better seat. The yelling pierced the quietness my apartment was used to and the noise echoed through the rooms. I don’t know what made me think that he was hungry, maybe the setting sun outside my window or the grumbling in my own stomach, but somehow I knew. I rushed into the kitchen and threw open the fridge, desperate to make that dreadful noise stop. It was in that moment that I realized that I was in no way prepared for this. I didn’t have baby food. It seems kind of foolish now, that my lack of baby food made me question my whole competence. But it did. I stared at the open fridge for what seemed like an eternity. I felt tears building up in my eyes.
That’s when the coughing came in. It sounded like he was choking, and when I sprinted back into the TV room, I found that I was essentially correct. He was lying down, so he probably had started to gag on his own tears. I grabbed him up and patted his back, probably a little too hard. Eventually his breathing settled and his cheeks returned to their faded pink. I held him then, for hours I presume. Incompetence was not an option. His chubby, pale little face looked so peaceful and his thin blonde hair danced in the breeze from the window. When his eyelids drooped to a close, I grabbed a blanket to protect him from the chill that winter had left behind and headed out the door.
"Back again?" the gruff, friendly man behind the counter tossed me. I hardly gave him the time of day, just turned around and started down one of the aisles of the pathetic grocery store.
"You have any baby food?" I asked hesitantly, dreading the response I got.
"Aisle two on the left... So who's the kid?" I had anticipated this nosy response though so I was all prepared to just let out a quiet chuckle and pivot bouncily towards aisle 2. When I finally found the seemingly too small jars, I grabbed the entire contents of the shelf and lined them up in my cart, all the while balancing the sweet little bundle on my chest. With that out of the way, I could then roam around the store, selecting what this baby would need. I had looked up a list of necessities on my phone on the walk over. The sum was a little more than I had anticipated and, I’ll be honest, more than I could really afford, but it was worth it ya know?
I returned home just as he was beginning to stir (he was a very heavy sleeper), and so I leaned him against the wall on the counter so I could see him at all times and began to spoon feed him the nasty mush.
“Mmmmm yummy carrots and broccoli” I read the label to him in my best high-pitched voice, “this’ll make you big and strong, right bud?” He looked like he was enjoying it alright, so I got another spoon out of the drawer and got a nice big lump of the stuff for me. When I put it in my mouth though, the texture was like eating a ground up frog, slimy and chunky. My face twisted into a horrified mess like that of a little girl when she eats something too sour. I hastily spit it out in the sink and drank about a gallon of water right out of the faucet. When I began to repeatedly shake my head (hoping to get that taste out of my memory) the little boy in front of me started to laugh. That smile. It made it all worth it. Soon his happiness became contagious and we were just two guys, cracking up and having a good time. You wouldn’t believe what I did next. I’m not really sure what got into me, but I picked him up into my arms again and started to dance. His belly laugh remained constant through the entire little routine of twirls and dips and leaps. There was no music, no beat. The deep quality of my laugh harmonized perfectly with his high-powered giggle, creating the only melody there was to be heard. It was just he and I frolicking around my tiny kitchen. What an insane picture it must have been. If I could, I’d watch it over and over again a million times. I don’t think I’ve smiled so much in my life.
Finally I was dressed in my pajamas and he was practically swimming in my softest T-shirt. It was hilarious actually; my little man was wearing a dress. I turned off the light, but kept my lamp on. I wanted so badly to read him a bedtime story like all those good parents do in movies but didn’t have any. So I turned to my imagination.
“Once upon a time…” I began but then was disgusted my use of such an annoying cliché. I tried again: “There once was a football named Marley.” I liked that. It was different, intriguing. I went on to explain how Marley was very sad because he went from one kid to the next by just being thrown. No one seemed to care. I told my little baby that one day Marley landed in the hands of an undefeated high school team’s star quarter back. Once they used Marley to win their games a couple times, they wouldn’t use any other football. That is where I stopped. The tiny bundle next to me had fallen asleep, and honestly, I didn’t know where to go with my story. My natural instinct was to make it realistic, to make it sad. But when I looked down at that sleeping baby I thought that maybe reality isn’t always depressing, maybe happily ever after exists after all. His rhythmic breathing compelled me to close my eyes as well, and I was able to fall into my dreams faster than I had been in years.
I was shaken awake by the vibrations of powerful pounding and a voice deeper than my own barking, “Open up! Open up or we will!” I jumped into action, lifting the sleeping baby from the bed and placing him on a pillow in the closet. I could not have anything happen to my most prized possession. Slowly, I stepped towards the door. The knocking persisted on my weak wooden door like a second hand forcing its way around a clock, tick tocking slowly to my doom. At that point each individual bang sent a shiver through my entire apartment and up my spine. Two salty tears paved their way down my cheeks as I thought about who would find the kid in my closet if I were to be made gone. But I had to be brave. I had to be brave so the person or people at my door wouldn’t get him. I would sacrifice my own life so his could be better. That was my plan. I’ll give you a hint: it didn’t work out. My right hand felt the doorknob and I struggled to unlock then pull open the creaky, pathetic door.
In front of me stood two shiny badges and a woman’s face tinted red. One of the badges grabbed me by both of my arms and forced me to stand at the top of the stairs outside. The other two, they sprinted into my house. I started screaming and thrashing I think, but the policeman was strong. He held me back. The next thing I remember is the two accomplices stomping out of my apartment. The woman was holding my little friend to her chest too tightly, and she looked so happy to be taking him away from me. She was so happy she was crying tears of joy. I looked at the policeman in disgust for assisting this woman in stealing him from me, but he looked at me in the same way. Confusion consumed me in that moment and I was left with nothing but my frantic words to protect my child.
“NO!” I shrieked. “He needs me! You can’t take him from me!” But they did.
Now I’m sitting in an eerily empty room and I know that you are watching me. You told me that child wasn’t mine, but you didn’t hear him laugh when I danced with him. You told me that was his mother, but you didn’t see his distraught expression when she abandoned him in that huge department store. You told me that what I did was “sick,” but you don’t know how much heartbreak I could have saved him from. I told you I couldn’t explain in words and you shoved a piece of paper and a pen in front of me. So I guess this is my explanation. You are so cold.