“And what if none of that works?” The boy said. He looked up at his father. They’d been talking for ten minutes. It might have been the longest conversation they ever had.
“Then you just put your head down and drive forward.”
“To where?” He wasn’t sure he wanted the conversation to end. He knew his dad didn’t have answers anymore than he did, but it was another voice, a way of sharing and connecting.
The old man said, “Tell me about her, son.”
The boy didn’t respond. He didn’t want to move the band aid for fear that all of his blood would rush out. The old man folded his arms in his lap and said, “Okay. Then I’ll tell you about my big love.”
“Mom?”
“No, your mom is special to me in her own way, but this one was different. It was a way of needing something maybe you knew you needed but never felt you needed until you first noticed it. It was like air or water. How until you can’t breathe you never quite worry about breathing.”
“It sounds awful.”
The old man laughed. “In a way I suppose, but it was also wonderful. When I was around her I knew I mattered. I also knew that I wanted to matter. That was the problem too, you understand?”
“No.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” The old man sat down then. He crossed his legs in the brown grass and stared across at the boy. ” When I was your age my own father used to tell me these stories–parables he called them, but I don’t think that is quite what they were. His favorite was about the man who discovered fire. You see, he’d been in the dark right up until then and the nights were long and scary. Then fire came along all blazing and bright and there he was–safe and secure. Soon enough he had fire all the time and the world was alive with light. But when the fire went out it was worse than ever before, because he’d forgotten how to live in the dark. Moreover, he’d seen what life was like with the light on.”