Nothing, my boy

I suppose I don’t know what to do. Years ago, as a young sapling, it felt like growth was inevitable. A bit of rain and sun and I’d shoot right up. Faster than I expected, than I needed. And it was all right. Nutrients flowed readily and there was always enough. Even when times got tough they weren’t that tough. Weren’t that bad. I never worried much that I’d run out.

And besides, there was always the thought that if I did run out, it was inevitable. The universe willed it, and sometimes that machine moves in ways that crush the specks of dust that line the cosmos. Specks like me.

As I grew older I grew taller and bigger. I meant more to more people. And they’ve come to expect the shade and the nutrients and the water and the sun.

Times are good. But they aren’t great. At some point fear crept in. Not as a man kicking down the door of your home, mask on, shotgun extended, demanding your money or your life. But as a thought that burrowed itself in your foot one night. When you took the trash out and didn’t pay attention to where you were stepping. Climbing incessantly up the leg, to the spine, up the back and into your brain. Deep and low. Hidden in the memory of childhood. You coming in from the pool and your dad at the dinner table, tearing his hair out. A sheen of moisture in his eyes. What’s wrong, you’d ask. Nothing, he’d say with a smile. The sheaves of papers in front of him might as well have been Greek for all you knew, or cared to. A kiss on the temple and off you’d go. And that’s that memory.

It’s in thoughts like that that fear ventures in.

That’s where it roosts. For months or years, poisoning those dreams and the ones around them.

By the time it comes front and center, and you find its words echoing from your lungs up your throat and out your mouth, it’s lived in you so long it feels like it is you. And it feels like it always has been.

Even though that’s not true.

Now I sit at the table. Head in my hands. And fend off the desires. A new car, a new house, a vacation, a donation, a nice school, a nice choice. The dentist, the veterinarian. The wealth and excess of before is replaced by the necessity of today. And that weighs harder.

And my son comes in from the pool and asks what’s wrong.

Nothing, my boy, I say. Smiling as I kiss him on the forehead. The familiar sheen in my eyes. And burrowing in the back of my brain, deep, is the fear.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​