Days of going without a bath because he lives in a house with no walls and no heat and he’s too cold in the morning to take a shower have taken a hold of him.
He’s leaning on me now, cuddly, warm, all 24 years of him. He is petting my hair as I sit with my face buried, expressing his response and shame over getting caught bringing pot in his tattered suitcase after I asked him to combine his clothes with his brother’s.
He thought we might want to have some fun.
The redeye plane is full and silent, except for the insomniacs. I watch Ben play the trivia game, win after win after win. How does he know all of those answers? Other players look for his seat, to find out who the hell AIUIOO is.
He sleeps now.
And I’m wide awake at this insane hour, listening to Hello Good Morning under my noise canceling headset while reading The Alchemist.
Musky kinda smell. Earthy and unsettling, pushing forward memories of another time and another distant person.
But this time he’s my son, of frail 6’4″ stature and desperately wanton of a normal mind.