He sends his arms high and crashes them down against his thighs over and over. He hasn’t learned the pain of bruised legs or swollen fists, making his motions more fearless. He’d start to fly in a different life; if his biology took a slightly different evolutionary path. But he’s just a plain ol human being.
He’s taught himself how to sit up and is quickly learning how much more interactive the world becomes when you are vertical. His massive blue eyes, the glaring objects of affection for all passers by. They take in the world like two gallons of water emptied onto a thirsty sponge. Pupils dilate from the flashing lights of toddler toys. His mouth drops open when he’s particularly amazed at the daily monotony we’ve spent a lifetime dulling down and drowning out.
We’ve been here for an hour. Maybe more. Maybe less. I’ve found that he’s the only way I am truly present in a given moment. I can’t watch TV and I can’t fuck around aimlessly on my phone with casual obsession. He knows when I’m looking away. He knows when my mind has left the room. He sometimes prevents me from being able to go into the basement to put dirty laundry into the washer, or straighten up the dining room. He is not needy.
He wants to share his world with me. He forces me to be selfless–in the end for my own benefit. He doesn’t care about my poor eating choices this week, or that I skipped the gym today, or that I’m not challenged in my career. His greatest ambition is to fit his entire hand into his mouth, and catch Xuni’s attention by screaming at him because he doesn’t have defined degrees of excitement. He’s always at eleven or like a two.
He cares about eventually eating, eventually pooping, and eventually sleeping.
He is my escape from the distraction the 21st century creates.