The bullet hole oozes thick blood and I stand there, petrified, but unable to look away. He whispers, “Baby, look at me. In my eyes. You know I love when you see me.”
Blinking through my tears, I tell him, “I haven’t thought of names. It’s too early.”
He half-smiles. “Maybe we’ll do it together when I’m better, yeah?”
I reply immediately, “Yes. Okay, honey.”
The sounds of sirens blaring along with red and white flashing lights stall my happy thoughts. Hands come to my shoulders, and when I look up at the paramedic, I see his mouth moving but the words don’t reach me. The blood roaring in my ears has me temporarily deaf. Fear has me immobilized. Then Twitch is being loaded into the back of the ambulance, smiling at me faintly. Happy jumps in with him and yells out to me, “Meet us at the hospital, Lexi.”
Nodding through a torrent of tears, I order shakily, “Don’t die, okay?”
He responds as firmly as he can, “Gonna be okay.”
And he says this so fiercely that I believe him.
I believe him.
Five years later…
Waking in the morning to something wriggling at the foot of the bed, I smile sleepily.
“What on earth is that? Is there a monster in my bed?” I try my best to sound horrified.
The hysterical giggling is enough to give him away, though.
In one swift movement, I pull back the covers and roar like a lion. AJ squeals, completely giddy before jumping into my arms.
I wrap him up tight and rock him, placing kisses on his forehead.
Spotting something on his hands, I double take and choke a laugh in my throat before I ask, “Sweetie, what happened to your hands?”
Looking up, he smiles, and I catch my second laugh at the gap made by the missing top two front teeth.
I know he’s my child but, by God, he is adorable.
He points to the backs of his hands and explains, “I’m like Daddy.”
Checking his hands again, I look closely at the marker drawings all over his hands.
No one ever accused him of not loving his daddy.
Speaking of which, we need to get up.
The two of us live alone in a three bedroom home on the outskirts of Sydney.
Living with Twitch is not an option.
I quit my job as a caseworker and now proudly wear the title of stay at home mom to my four-and-a-half year old, black-haired, brown-eyed baby boy.
And he’s so much like Twitch it’s scary.
Same looks. Same attitude. Same everything.
Sometimes I wonder if this kid is even a little bit mine.
Knowing Twitch, his sperm probably got to my womb and decided he was going to do the whole baby thing on its own. The stubbornness must be in the genes, because AJ has it too.
Being a single mom isn’t always easy, but when I look at my son, I couldn’t picture my life without him. He’s completely worth it. And he means everything to me.
Placing one last kiss on his head, I tell him, “C’mon, sweetie. Time to get ready. We’re seeing your dad today.”
He jumps up and shouts, “Woohoo!” Then takes off like a rocket down the hall to the bathroom. I hear the water start and I know he’s brushing what’s left of his loose teeth.
Chuckling to myself, I get out of bed, stretch, and start getting ready.
AJ runs down the hall wearing a tee and underwear; looking panicked, he asks, “What do I wear?”
Dipping my chin, I hold back my laughter.
Twitch.
Total Twitch-ism right there. The day he starts telling people to ‘Dress nice’, I’ll have a heart attack.
Knowing he wants to dress nicely to see his dad, I tell him, “How about the black jeans and your Spiderman sweatshirt?”
My son looks up at me wide-eyed in awe as if I’m a genius, and without a word, runs back to his room. I hear things being thrown around and I can’t stop it.
I quietly laugh while shaking my head.
He comes back out all dressed and I say, “There! You look great, honey.” And he does.
Then I spot his hands still messed up with marker, I suggest, “Maybe we should wash those hands, though.”
AJ gasps dramatically, “Mum, I have to show dad!”
And that settles it. How can I argue with that?
I quickly dress and call out, “C’mon, AJ. Let’s go.”
He follows me out the door and we’re off.
AJ tells me to wait at my normal spot while he talks to Twitch, loud and animated.
Pretending to read, I sit on the bench and watch as AJ shows him his ‘tattoos’ and some of his new toys. His new favorite being a Buzz Lightyear doll he got just last week.
AJ plays spaceman for a little while, then he sits in front of his dad and talks his ear off some more.
When a half-hour passes, my chest squeezes.
Reluctantly, I approach them and ask AJ, “Hey bud, you mind if I speak to your dad alone for a little while?”
AJ doesn’t look happy, but he mutters, “Okay.”
I tell him, “Stay where I can see you, baby.”
He moves to sit at the bench where I normally wait, and I turn to Twitch.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” I ask.
But, as per usual, the shiny white headstone doesn’t respond.
And my heart aches.