I’m a Boy
Wednesday, August 20th, 2008
Lying on his stomach, stretched out length-wise over the pillow, the boy I’m looking down on is me. His hair is cropped in a bowl shape, and in the faint glow of the night light, its blondeness shines and reflects back white. At that age, we would have been twins though not identical, matched because of the similarity in hair and facial structure – the bubble-blowing cheeks – the blue eyes, the pursed mouth, and the attitude – all boy, all racecars and superheros, all sports and karate moves, just a whirlwind of flourishing kid with frantic arms and jumps from stairs, wrestling matches in the bed covers and couch cushions, and instant tamtrums at any loss and yet easy-going and loving, what I hope could be confused with a good soul. That was more than an hour ago. He’s fast asleep now in the same place, in this blue glow, and I’m about to join him in the dream world where I’ll be waiting one day for good, after my days are extinguished while his light still burns.
