Aaron 2

When Aaron was two, near enough to three, a voice spoke to him, and it said, “Remember”.

Being new to language he wasn’t quite sure what he should make of that word, nor did he have the faculties to know where the voice was coming from.

But there it was again, “Remember.”

Aaron, not comprehending the meaning of the word, or it’s direction, could only respond by saying, “goop”.

The voice, not to be put off, replied “Remember.”

Aaron, not to be rude, replied “lup”.

The voice, understanding the situation, replied, “It’s okay, you will remember.”

To which Aaron responded with a clap of his hands, “Yayee”.

And the voice said, “There’s no rush. We will get through this together. But first, we have to do something about that man.”

The cops wanted to call it a murder. The problem was it was impossible to call it that. They would have to report that a 2-year old child had intentionally left some building bricks right where his father would walk, making him trip and fall face first onto one of those children’s toys, the one with the colored rings, the stacking toy. Three things made it evident: The father was just coming out of the kitchen with a hot cup of coffee, which kept his hands busy. The toy was empty and missing the rounded top of the short pole that supported the rings. And when it was discovered, the toddler’s hand was caught between his father’s face and the floor, almost as if he had guided it into his left eye. He was dead on impact.

The investigator looked at the mother, seated in the kitchen with her baby held tight on her lap. His hand was bandaged with a splint, the result of his father crushing his hand. She looked a mess, of course. One of the uniforms tried to question her, with terrible results. He tried to convince her that her baby made this happen, that with all of the late nights he was keeping maybe Aaron felt neglected. She almost tore his head off. That’ll teach him. There’s an old adage, never try to get between a mother and her child. Or accuse the child of terrible acts and expect the mother to go along with it. The uniform just learned a valuable lesson. Or not. Anyway, nothing left to do here but file this as an accident and go home. Let the grief counselors handle the rest.

As for Alice, between the tears and the shock, all she could think was what do we do now. She had put all of her faith in Aaron bringing them together. Only it didn’t work out that way. His nights, and some days, got later and later. Sometimes he came home smelling of other women. Sometimes booze. Sometimes both. She chose to ignore that, because he would come home at least. He provided for them, but now, with him dead and gone, she could see with opened eyes, that they were a burden. And now he’s gone. For good.

She looked at Aaron, resting quietly nestled in her bosom. His broken finger was set and  laying in his lap. His head rested against her like he was sleeping but she could see he was awake. She ran her fingers through his hair, and wondered what were those cops thinking. The idea that Aaron was a murderer was beyond belief. Were they that desperate to put someone behind bars?

No, no time for that. She had to think of their future. Things had to be done. She had to get a job. She needed to prepare Aaron for preschool. They had to move. Yes, lot of things had to be done.

But something was missing. Oh, right, she needed to mourn. Only she didn’t feel like mourning. She was sad he was gone, but not by much. It seemed out of place to be glad he was gone, but him dying did put things in their proper perspective. Yes, she had wanted a family. But she didn’t get one, and now it was time to move on. So she would go through the motions, bury him, find an apartment, get a job, and take care of Aaron. And love Aaron with all her might. In the end, that’s all she really wanted, a son to take care of.