Boots

Matt is six. I'm babysitting him tonight, trying to give you some time to yourself. A little time alone, so maybe you can just sit, get quiet, close your eyes, take in some really deep breaths.

I can hear it in your voice when you're getting sick again; it gets sort of gravelly and low, like a wounded animal. You seem quick to lose your temper, you lose that go with the flow easy way of yours. Your smile is weak, seems a struggle to summon one to your face. And then it's gone before I see your teeth. Your illness is usually held in check by the medication. But there are times when it claws its way to the surface, gets in there behind your eyes and tries to suck your soul down to your feet.

I see you there in the window.

Collect yourself, Mag. Please. Hold on.

Matt comes bounding out of the apartment. You just wave to me from the window, your hand swiping the glass in a slow arc.

His coat is unzipped in this fierce cold. No hat. No gloves. More fallout from the monster inside you, your mom skills drop away. He climbs into the warm car and I try to buckle him in. But he's turning to you. He presses his nose and both hands against the window, and softly says, "Bye Mom..." You wave again and then the curtain drops. As we pull away, I can see you through the gauze, just sitting there... so still. As you disintegrate, he follows in your wake.

He turns to me and I can almost see a shade pull down and then another one go up. For awhile, he can pretend that life is only about this outing with me. About that big cheeseburger with extra fries and lots of catsup. And his favorite-a hot fudge sundae-with extra cherries.

He looks so tired tonight.

As we pull out of the parking lot of the burger joint, the street light paints a swath of light across his legs. He's wearing knee high rubber boots and his legs are tucked underneath him. I shoot looks over at him, study his profile against the misted window. He's lost there in his own head. Somewhere happy, I hope.

Just then, I spy a glint of green, a cat's eye, peering back at me. I look again. There's a hunk of glass, submerged in the rubber sole of his right boot.

"Hey, what's that?" I say, poking at the smooth curve of glass.

His hot fudge smile melts, and he quickly straightens his legs, so that the boot soles face forward. "Nothing... I dunno. Can't we go to Walmart now... for my toy?"

"Sure.... but can I see the bottom of your boot? I swear I saw a piece of glass...we should check that out, Matt. If it's glass, you could get a bad cut."

"Can't we just go to Walmart...for my toy?" He deflects my question again, a professional at this, like a goalie in the net.

We head into the store. He trots across the parking lot, sort of skitters a bit, up on one toe like a crab.

"Matt! What is up?" I say, looking quizzically at his feet. He looks up at me from under an awning of brown bangs, but there's no reply.

I see the bubble gum machines just inside the sliding doors. My opportunity to pause the action.

"Hey, Matt! Let's get some bubble gum! I want a red one! What color do you want?" He looks up and away, like he's choosing what color to paint the sky.

"Blue!" he shouts.

"Alright! C'mon, BLUE!" I sound like I'm in Vegas at the roulette wheel.

He holds his palm outstretched and I give him three quarters. He fumbles with the big coins and then, one at a time, he lays the coin flat in the slot. He has to kneel to crank the handle. And just as he does, I spy the green eye again, winking at me from the bottom of his boot.

"It's BLUE! And I wanted BLUE!" he squeals, as the third ball drops.

As he kneels there, I grasp the heel of his boot between my thumb and forefinger. It's a marble! And it's stuck in a hole on the bottom of his boot.

"Matt! What's that? A marble in your boot? What's that all about?"

He drops the blue gumball and quickly stands up. "I just want to get my toy!"

"No, wait, buddy. What's with the marble?" As the words leave my foolish mouth twice, I see the shame pour over his face. It drags his eyebrows down. The corners of his mouth quickly follow.

"It's stupid! I wanna go home! It's just a marble. I put it in the hole in my boot...so the water won't come in!"

I wish I had a big white sheet... I'd throw it over our heads, over my stupid mouth. And I'd pull you in, Matt. We could just hide there awhile, under the soft billows.

If I could, I'd pull you under there too, Mags. We could hide from this pain of yours, this pain that's hanging all around us here, so dirty in the air. And we could all just wait, under that white, until the thunderheads clear and the sun comes out again.