The
living room was spacious and dimly lit, partially illuminated by a
lamp in one corner. Ice had begun to form along the edges of the
windows. Through the thick frost covering the windowpanes, one could
only imagine the harshness of the winter night outside.
His
younger brother was asleep while their mother was working the night
shift. We were sitting on the sofa, watching one of his favorite
shows on TV, side by side, closely together, as if to ease the
feeling of loneliness. The large living room always made me aware of
that solitude, which, somehow, seemed more intense when his mother
was absent.
“How
come kids have fun all day long?” he suddenly asked.
“That’s
just what kids do; they have fun all the time,” I replied, somewhat
surprised by the question, not knowing exactly what he meant. “When
you’re young, there’s no need to worry because your parents take
care of you. But once you grow up, you’ll need to work, get
married, and have your own kids,” I added in a casual way, keeping
my focus on the television set.
“How
come?” he inquired in a serious tone, as if demanding my full
attention.
“Well,
all children eventually grow up and get married, just as you will one
day,” I answered, knowing that my words didn’t make complete
sense.
“How
come?” he insisted.
I
didn’t know exactly how to reply, but I knew that I had to come up
with a better justification. “Sooner or later everybody gets
married. You will meet a girl, you will like her, she will like you
back, and then you will get married,” I added, still uncertain
about that response.
“What
if she already has a husband?” He fired relentlessly, making me
uneasy.
It
suddenly became obvious to me that the time I was afraid of had come;
the time when my children would start asking serious questions about
life’s big issues. I realized I was trying to avoid the pitfalls of
giving the wrong answers or giving too much information. “You never
marry a girl that already has a husband,” I said, knowing that it
was perfectly possible to fall in love with a girl that was already
married to another man. But, of course, I wasn’t going to start
rationalizing that predicament with him.
“I
will never get married,” he said indifferently.
“Why?”
I inquired, feeling more at ease and seizing the chance to pose the
questions.
“Because
I want to stay with you,” he replied as if the answer was obvious.
I
wanted to respond logically to that, but nothing came to my mind.
Before I could formulate a thought, he continued with his
interrogation.
“How
will you look when I am a grown-up?”
“I
will be older; I will probably have gray hair,” I stated, rather
relieved because, in some way, he had changed the subject. The
instant I said those words, however, I knew I had taken a turn I
shouldn’t have. The respite didn’t last.
“How
come people get old and die?” he promptly inquired, just as I had
feared he would.
We
had arrived at the point in the conversation that I was trying to
avoid. “I’m not sure, but that’s the way it is,” I replied,
lacking conviction.
Without
letting up, there came another query: “If you die, who will take
care of me?”
“When
you grow up, you won’t need me; you’ll
take care of yourself. Just
look
at me: my parents live back home, and I live here. I manage
on my own now without needing them to fix my problems.
You’ll
be able to do the same,”
I asserted
in a more confident tone, feeling
as
if I had finally
found
the right way
to navigate this challenging dialogue.
“What
if you die while I am still a child?”
“You
have your mother.”
“What
if Mommy dies?”
“There
are always your grandparents.”
“True,
but they are so far away. How would I get there?”
“You
would go to the airport and buy a plane ticket.”
“And
if the grandparents die, who will look after me?”
He
wouldn’t yield, set on obtaining every answer immediately. Feeling
troubled and unsure of how to respond or react, with the intention of
putting an end to the questioning, I repeated rather impatiently,
“I’ve already told you, you will look after yourself.”
He
began to sob and then moved in closer to hug me. “I don’t want
you to die,” he firmly said. It sounded like he was commanding me,
“Don’t you dare die on me.” He appeared to be invoking the
powers that govern the universe, delivering his ultimate decree: “I
prohibit you from claiming my father’s life; that’s my definitive
statement.”
I
was feeling cornered and agitated. The conversation I had been
dreading unfolded just as I had feared. A wave of anxiety churned in
my stomach. I fought to keep the tears from spilling over my eyes. In
a moment of desperation, as if I were offering a lifeline to either
him or myself, I held him close and softly whispered, “Everything
will turn out alright. You don’t need to worry about that. It won't
happen anytime soon. In fact, I’ll never die.”
It
was getting late, and he had to get up early in the morning to go to
school. I thought it was the ideal reason to wrap up our
conversation. I told him that it was time to go to bed. He kissed me
goodnight and went to sleep. Then it was my turn to go to bed. While
I was in the washroom brushing my teeth and reflecting on our
conversation, I noticed him standing by the door.
“I
want to be with you,” he said.
After
I finished brushing my teeth, I took him to bed and pulled the
blanket over him. As I sat next to him, I gently stroked his hair
until he dozed off. I stayed there a while after he fell asleep,
feeling guilty and pondering how I might explain the complexities of
life to a six-year-old without lying. How could I provide an answer
when I didn’t have a reasonable explanation myself? How could I do
it when I felt that despite all my experiences, I still didn’t
understand things any better than he did?
©
William Almonte Jiménez, 2011
