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Title: Ways of Leaving the World Summary: "If one day you should behold a miracle, as I have in you, you will learn the truth is not found in science, or on some unseen plane, but by looking into your own heart. And in that moment you will be blessed -- and stricken . . . " --Dana Scully, "TrustNo1" "What do you think he dreams?" She turns to face him, reluctantly pulling her hand away from her son's. In her absence, his small fingers curl soundlessly around her missing ones, his eyelashes flutter once, and then fall still. He's mesmerizing, she thinks, letting the awe wash through her, conscious of the love surging and swelling in her chest. "What?" she murmurs, distracted by the sight of him, barefoot and clad in boxers and a thin T-shirt. "What do you think he dreams?" he repeats, moving closer to her -- close enough to touch, she thinks, though he makes no move to do so. "I'm not sure," she replies thoughtfully, considering the question. "There are scientists who believe that we dream about our past experiences in order to forget them and reduce the burden of our conscious minds. There's a theory that infants dream about their time in the womb to ease the transition to their new life." For a moment they are both silent. "I think I hear it," he says finally, his voice warm and quiet in the stillness. "The sound of Will dreaming his way to us." He's mesmerizing, she thinks again, and this time she reaches across the space between them and grasps his hand. In the evenings they take their son to the park in a jogging stroller or a Snugli, both of them grinning in faint amusement at the way Will frequently resembles a kangaroo cub bundled to his father's chest or a fat caterpillar burrowing underneath a mound of hand-knit blankets. How quickly they have adjusted to this routine, she thinks; how effortlessly they have traded their old partnership for this. An answer to your prayers, he'd said. Now she watches him from across the playground, jiggling Will's foot affectionately while the baby chortles with delight. I will never get tired of this, she thinks fiercely, crossing the park to join them as the twilight fades into dusk. At the grocery store, Will sweeps a handful of Cheerios from his sippy cup and lunges forward in the cart, hurling them with glee at the unsuspecting cashier. She throws up her hands as shields against the tiny projectiles and then unexpectedly claps them in front of her with delight, beaming at their baby. "What a strong arm for such a little creature!" she coos in a high-pitched register. Will grins back at her, obviously pleased with himself. "He'll be a baseball star someday," the cashier smiles at them. "Who does he take after?" For a moment a taut look stretches between them, inscrutable, interrupted only by Will's demanding holler. It doesn't matter, she thinks, and hurries to load the diapers and formula into the cart. After unpacking the groceries, she is gazing vacantly out the window, unable to voice the emotion she cannot name. Will babbles happily in his swing, and she bends to give him a kiss on the head. Tonight he smells like baby shampoo and strained peas, and his glee pours off him in waves. When she straightens up, she feels his arms gently enfolding her from behind. "You can't live your life in doubt," he murmurs softly into her hair. "He's a healthy baby, and he's your son. You can't worry about the rest." She can't bring herself to say the words out loud, settles for thinking them with such urgency that she is sure they will both receive the broadcast telepathically. I know, she thinks. I know. Each evening now the darkness slinks in a little earlier, and she listens in enthrallment as he names all the constellations for Will, whose chubby arm is stretched with longing toward the stars. "You wanna be an astronaut, buddy?" she hears him say softly into the fading light. "You want to fly to the moon?" He lifts the baby high above his head and Will's eyes open wide. Her own eyes are drawn to the edge of the playground, where a tall man in a dark coat stands watching them, not quite hidden by the trees. Immediately she stiffens. He's watching us, she thinks, tense with dread. Moments pass, too many of them, and still the man does not move. She glances at Will, still taken with his father's stories, and impulsively takes a step forward. The man turns away, as if to flee, and before she knows it she is running. "Who are you?" she challenges, and he bows his head, walking quickly into the dark. He was watching my son, she remembers, and the thought makes her fearful and brave all at the same time. "What do you want from us?" she demands, recklessly grabbing his arm. When he turns, she draws back, stunned, as though in recognition. There is something familiar about him in the angles of his face, the way his eyes seem to hold hers and the sky around them all at once. I know you, she thinks without understanding why. "I don't want anything from you," he says, his voice low and tinged with something like sadness. She hesitates, the false bravado melting away from her, and the man, looking troubled, takes a step back. "Your family is waiting, Mrs. Van de Kamp," he says quietly, nodding his head toward her husband and son. She stares at him, trying to memorize the contours of his lips and hazel eyes; wait, she says, but the word only echoes and reverberates inside her as the stranger recedes into the fading light. Dimly she is aware of returning to them: her husband with his arm curled protectively around Will; the soft rounded angles of her baby's face, familiar and suddenly striking in the dark. "Who was that?" he asks curiously. Startled, she forces a reassuring smile. "Just somebody who needed directions," she lies, and then she hoists William close to her, shielding his face against her heart. End.
I've always wanted to write a story with a surprise twist at the end. You'll have to let me know if I succeeded: xraelynn@gmail.com. I deeply appreciate all kinds of feedback. http://geocities.com/rae_lynn05/
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