gift from the Gods. My heart hammered faster. I turned to my mom to ask if it was okay for me to accept the gift.
“Can I take them, mom? Jake says it’s okay…can I?”
“If Mr. McKenzie says it’s okay,” said my mother. A soft look of appreciation in my mother’s eyes amplified my joy.
“Thank you, Mr. McKenzie, you’re the best,” I exclaimed.
“Get outta’ here, kid!”
I was too busy basking in the glow of sheer joy to care about anything other than my new toys. It was the last really good day of my childhood. And maybe it had been on that sunny day, as the sidewalks blazed with July heat, the Shadowed Soul began to take form in the contrasting darkness cast by cars and buildings. As I imagined the games that I would play with my new treasure trove, the Shadowed Soul grimaced imagining the games he would play with my mind.
I finished telling my Donatello story to Beth’s family. I had not mentioned the Shadowed Soul, but everyone knew what had happened to my dad. And they probably had a pretty clear idea why my mom had been so sad that day. When she never showed for our wedding or any other family invitation, it was clear that whatever had happened when I was little, my mother’s sadness had gradually turned into a resentful silence that had been leveled at me throughout the rest of my life. Beth’s family had simply smiled and shared in the joy that I had felt the day I procured Donatello.
“What happened to Jake? Is his store still open?” asked Beth.
“Unfortunately, Jake died a couple years later.” I shrugged and looked at the baby.
Jake McKenzie had been shot dead by Frank Lombardi, who had been shown the same gruff kindness by Jake as every kid, a guy who lived on the same block as us. Frank went into the store one night before closing and pulled a gun on Jake. He had shot the big man in the chest twice, once in the throat and in the head. Rumors went around that Lombardi was a mafia wise guy and that Jake was a stool pigeon. But the more likely truth of the matter was far simpler. Lombardi had shot Jake for the contents of the cash register and seven packets of cigarettes: A decent man’s life in exchange for three-hundred bucks and some smokes. The Shadowed Soul got a further hook into my life on that night. However, I never told Beth, Pete and Dorothy of the senseless drama surrounding Jake’s death. It was too painful to retell and my son deserved to be in a room with happier memories.
We talked till Jonathan needed a new diaper then Dorothy ushered Pete out, sensing that we needed time in our own little family.
“Pete and I have errands,” said Dorothy with a wink.
We sat together on the couch, Jonathan in Beth’s arms, Beth in my arms. Soothing quiet engulfed us. Our hearts beat as one, we were a family unit, for the moment, an impervious wall to the Shadowed Soul.
“He’s so tiny,” I whispered, touching Jonathan’s hand.
“I know, it’s scary, isn’t it?” Beth leaned into me. “He’s so vulnerable.”
“He’s so cute,” I said proudly.
“Good thing,” said Beth. “At this point, being adorable is his only self-defense. I wonder what he’ll be when he grows up.”
“Astronaut or superhero,” I said and smiled admiring our son.
“Not the President then?”
“Yeah, he’ll be the super hero astronaut president of the United States.” Beth giggled and Jonathan frowned with a gas bubble, his tiny arms flexing randomly as he got used to the functions of his new body.
“I just want him to be happy,” said Beth quietly.
“He will be,” I paused. “He’s got us to make sure of that.” And when I said that, I meant it. I was so hopeful that whatever I had been in the past would melt away and that having this tiny being as my lodestar I was destined to remain on the right path.
Exhausted, we watched our son sleep. Then Beth said something that reminded me of the practical
“Can I take them, mom? Jake says it’s okay…can I?”
“If Mr. McKenzie says it’s okay,” said my mother. A soft look of appreciation in my mother’s eyes amplified my joy.
“Thank you, Mr. McKenzie, you’re the best,” I exclaimed.
“Get outta’ here, kid!”
I was too busy basking in the glow of sheer joy to care about anything other than my new toys. It was the last really good day of my childhood. And maybe it had been on that sunny day, as the sidewalks blazed with July heat, the Shadowed Soul began to take form in the contrasting darkness cast by cars and buildings. As I imagined the games that I would play with my new treasure trove, the Shadowed Soul grimaced imagining the games he would play with my mind.
I finished telling my Donatello story to Beth’s family. I had not mentioned the Shadowed Soul, but everyone knew what had happened to my dad. And they probably had a pretty clear idea why my mom had been so sad that day. When she never showed for our wedding or any other family invitation, it was clear that whatever had happened when I was little, my mother’s sadness had gradually turned into a resentful silence that had been leveled at me throughout the rest of my life. Beth’s family had simply smiled and shared in the joy that I had felt the day I procured Donatello.
“What happened to Jake? Is his store still open?” asked Beth.
“Unfortunately, Jake died a couple years later.” I shrugged and looked at the baby.
Jake McKenzie had been shot dead by Frank Lombardi, who had been shown the same gruff kindness by Jake as every kid, a guy who lived on the same block as us. Frank went into the store one night before closing and pulled a gun on Jake. He had shot the big man in the chest twice, once in the throat and in the head. Rumors went around that Lombardi was a mafia wise guy and that Jake was a stool pigeon. But the more likely truth of the matter was far simpler. Lombardi had shot Jake for the contents of the cash register and seven packets of cigarettes: A decent man’s life in exchange for three-hundred bucks and some smokes. The Shadowed Soul got a further hook into my life on that night. However, I never told Beth, Pete and Dorothy of the senseless drama surrounding Jake’s death. It was too painful to retell and my son deserved to be in a room with happier memories.
We talked till Jonathan needed a new diaper then Dorothy ushered Pete out, sensing that we needed time in our own little family.
“Pete and I have errands,” said Dorothy with a wink.
We sat together on the couch, Jonathan in Beth’s arms, Beth in my arms. Soothing quiet engulfed us. Our hearts beat as one, we were a family unit, for the moment, an impervious wall to the Shadowed Soul.
“He’s so tiny,” I whispered, touching Jonathan’s hand.
“I know, it’s scary, isn’t it?” Beth leaned into me. “He’s so vulnerable.”
“He’s so cute,” I said proudly.
“Good thing,” said Beth. “At this point, being adorable is his only self-defense. I wonder what he’ll be when he grows up.”
“Astronaut or superhero,” I said and smiled admiring our son.
“Not the President then?”
“Yeah, he’ll be the super hero astronaut president of the United States.” Beth giggled and Jonathan frowned with a gas bubble, his tiny arms flexing randomly as he got used to the functions of his new body.
“I just want him to be happy,” said Beth quietly.
“He will be,” I paused. “He’s got us to make sure of that.” And when I said that, I meant it. I was so hopeful that whatever I had been in the past would melt away and that having this tiny being as my lodestar I was destined to remain on the right path.
Exhausted, we watched our son sleep. Then Beth said something that reminded me of the practical
Similar Books
