Mother tousles my hair. Sunlight prickles my eyes. I wake up. I go down for breakfast. I look out the window. I see the swing draped in sunshine. It is dusty and worn. Its ropes are fraying; less taut than they were before.
Before.
When Cynthia used to push me on it. And Cole and Jack wrestled in front of us. It was clean then; its ropes were very tightly wound.
I turn and look at Mother. Tears well in her eyes. She tousles my hair. She kisses my forehead.
“They’ll be here soon…” Mother sighs. She hugs me and cups my cheek. “Who will take care of you now?”
Mother thinks I can’t understand her. I understand. I just don’t know the words. I can’t make the signs anymore either. My hands have gotten slower.
Cole comes in first. He pats me on the shoulder. He doesn’t say anything to me. He is wearing a fruity perfume. It smells like strawberries. He goes in the dining room.
Jack comes in second. His wife, Lydia, comes in after him. She smells like strawberries. Dylan doesn’t look at me and goes in the dining room.
Cynthia comes in last. Her eyes have bags under them. She is sad. She has been sad since little Timmy went in the clouds. She smiles wearily when she sees me. I smile back. She tousles my hair and kisses my cheek. She goes in the dining room. I follow and listen.
“Listen Jack. I’ve still gotta pay off my car. And I’m already two months behind on rent. You make loads at the bank. You should take care of him.” Cole says to Jack.
“No can-do little bro. I plan on moving soon and unlike you, I keep my house in order.” Jack replies.
Cole murmurs in reply, “…not as much as you think…” Cole and Lydia eyes lock for a second. No one else notices.
Mother looks sad, “PLEASE! I’ve been goin for chemo but the doctors haven’t given me long…” Mother looks at me and cracks wry smile.
Cynthia rubs Mother’s shoulders, “It’s okay Ma, I’ll take care of him.”
Mother’s eyes open wide, “You can’t. Not after what happened to your boy…”
Mother cries.
“It’s okay Ma. It’ll be nice to have him around.” Cynthia walks up to me.
She tousles my hair and kisses my forehead. “Come on Bertie. Let’s go at Jenny’s and get some ice cream. The one that you like. With the sprinkles.”
I feel happy.
Cynthia pushes me on my wheelchair. I look out the window.
I see the swing. Its ropes have completely frayed. Only a single string is latched to the chair. It’s tired and haggard but it holds on.
