On The Run

I sit staring at my son as he sleeps in the motel room.  We can barely scrape by, selling the odds and ends I make every day. No eleven year old should have to sit on random streets selling wooden wares just to keep the dive they were staying in.  I was worried he would start getting sick from the bed bugs he shared his bed with.  But as he lay there he looked peaceful, he still doesn’t know the reason we had to leave our home so suddenly. He would never know.

I look down at my hands to see them shaking.  I can’t sleep because my dreams are plagued with the horrendous act I have committed. The only thing I can do is keep moving to protect my son.

I place my head into hands.  I can still see the day my sister brought him to us.  She was out of her comfort zone, he was too smart for her to deal with anymore.  She hoped that by living with me he would flourish and learn more than she could ever give him. My beautiful nephew.

He was everything I hoped for in my son. Unfortunately, he was born to my sister instead of me.  I thought I had come to grips with my hopes not being met. I love my son, but by being around my genius nephew, I was reminded once again of the lacks my son has. 

I look once again at him.  Happy and peaceful in sleep. I am grateful he can still dream and sleep.  Children really are so innocent.  They have blinders on to the horrors of the world.  My son definitely has them, because he can still look at me with love in his eyes. 

I know that while my nephew was staying with us he was trying hard to get my attention.  He always tries so hard to be what he knows I want him to be.  But there is no changing of nature.  He is a normal child, and I could not see him next to the light that I saw in his cousin.  I was blinded in my own way. 

Every day he was with us the more I grew to rely on his ingenuity and creativity.  I had lost that in my old age and he gave me ideas I would have never come up with if he wasn’t there.  And the more I saw him, the more the feelings grew within me.  Before it happened, I would have never thought myself capable of it. 

My son turns over in his sleep.  He is facing me now, his blond hair illuminated by the rising sunshine coming through the moth eaten curtains.  Soon another day of working while happy people pass by is approaching.  We will have to move again tomorrow, we have been here too long already.

He thinks we are on an adventure, not on the run.  Another example of a child’s innocence.

As I start to smile, the memory comes to me again.  We were on the balcony of our sixth story apartment watching birds.  Birds were rare in the city, but migration season had started again so we went out to see what we could.  My nephew and I kept talking about the aerodynamics of flying and how we could improve the technology of airplanes and my son was leaning over the railing not paying attention.

“Can’t we have dinner now? I’m starving.” My son had said, at the time I hadn’t realized that we had been out there for three hours.

“Just a little longer.” I snapped at him. I wanted him to go so that the smart ones could continue our conversation.  That wasn’t what I was thinking at the time but in retrospect I know that’s what was coursing through my mind.

“But dad…” my son had begun.

“Fine! Go inside have dinner. We will come in when we are ready.” I hadn’t looked at him as I yelled at him. 

“I guess I can wait a little more.”

“No, just go!”

He turned and walked inside and I turned to my nephew.  The hawk we were observing landed on the building next to us and we had quieted down to see it. 

As I gazed into the hawks eyes, I heard a voice that was very distinct.

“You hate your nephew.” It said, “You are angry that he was born to your sister and not you.  He is everything that you wanted your son to be, but did not get.”

“No.” I muttered to myself, “That’s not true, I love him.”

“You don’t. You hate that he reminds you every day that you couldn’t have a son like him.”

The voice kept repeating in my head.  Over and over.  The same words but said in different ways.  The voice seemed to be coming from the hawk which had not taken its’ eyes off of my since it landed.

“I wish I could fly without an airplane or harness.  To have the feeling of flapping wings and control over the tail spin would be magnificent, don’t you think Uncle?”

I don’t know what came over me.  “You want to fly?” I asked hysterically.  I grabbed him by the arms and swung him around.  I kept going and going until his feet were flying over the railing.

“Uncle, stop it.” He kept repeating. But I couldn’t stop, I didn’t know how. 

Then my hands slipped and he fell over the railing.

Luckily he grabbed the rail and I quickly grabbed his hands.  He was crying and all I could do was apologize.

“Don’t let me fall, please.” He sobbed.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeated.

Then his hands started to slip and his yells became louder.  I looked around and saw that no one was looking.  No one could hear him over the sounds of traffic from the streets below. 

When he started to fall, time slowed down.  He took forever to drop the six stories, until the ground met him as a bed and helped him fall into the final sleep. 

I ran then and there.  I grabbed my son and ran states and states away.  We are constantly on the move and I know that one day the feds will find us.  That’s what worries me the most.

What will happen to my son when they catch me?