Jesse Patrick

I look at him and wonder what he’ll be like when he’s older.

He’s not interested in me right now. I’m long hair that he’s not allowed to pull. I’m his mother being distracted by adults. I’m words he doesn’t understand and loud laughter that bugs him when he’s watching Treehouse. He’s interested in little boy things; Thomas the Tank Engine, kicking stuff and yelling. He likes men. He likes my Dad, my brother and his Dad.

“Hi Jesse! Can I have a kiss?”

He looks at me blankly. Sometimes he'll oblige to be charitable.

“Jesse, do you want to watch TV?”

He doesn’t answer. My sister feels bad that he’s not interested in me.

“Jesse, go hug Aunt Katie.”

“It’s okay, Rejane. He doesn’t have to.”

It is okay. I know we’ll be close later. Mike will buy him booze and talk to him about sex, but I can teach him about women, and love, and his mother before he was born.

I picture us talking a lot about before he was born. I’d be curious, too.

...

“So, my middle name is after him, right?”

“Yeah. Patrick.”

“What was he like?”

“Great. Funny. Spirited. You would have liked him. He was great... the best.”

“What was it like after he died?”

I’ll consider if I should be honest. I’ll decide I should be.

“Fucked. Pretty awful. Your mom was really sad.”

“Like how sad?”

“Like...done sad. But then she had you.”

“Do you think she’s still sad?”

“I don’t think she’ll ever be...over it, but she’s very happy now.”

He’ll look sad.

“Don’t look so sad, Jess. Life is strange and bad shit happens to good people but they’re still okay. Your mom has you. We’re so lucky that we have you.”

It will be weird to grow up being his whole family's consolation for a man he’s never met. Patrick is no part of him, but the absence is so heavy that he’ll feel it. He’ll piece together ideas of what he was like from our stories and memories, but the dead can’t talk to anyone.

“Am I like him?”

“You’re a lot like him. He would have loved you.”

“So they really loved each other?”

“So much, Jess. I’d never seen love like that.”

Maybe by then, I’ll have been in love like that.

“Were my Mom and Dad in love like that?”

“Yeah,” I’ll lie.

Then I’ll think that maybe it’s not fair to tell a son what his mother was like before he was born. He shouldn’t know that he saved her life. A dead man’s weight is too heavy for a little boy to carry. Still, every time I look at Jesse, I see Patrick.

So I guess I misspoke. When I look at him now, I don’t only think of what he’ll be like when he’s older.

I see the future, the past and the dreadful wonder of this world.