Point of View

Chapter One: “Hurricane”

***

Tuesday, January 2, 2007

Brian’s P.O.V.

Skies ripped open by the sun

Daylight comes but not soon enough

Speed down your track in search of you

Strapped to the back of what we do

Anesthetize these troubled nerves

Over to you to make it work

What do you do when your children’s smiles only seem to evoke pain in your heart? How can I be happy about a new life coming into this world when it will surely bring my life, as I know it and love it, to an end? Will that life, that ironically beautiful piece of him and I, know that I wished its existence terminated? Who will I become when it all ends?

Every day seems to stretch into the next in an agonizing, tortured pace. Yet still, I want to slow each moment down. I want to beg the wheels of time to remain as they are. If it did, I would surely smile as I watch my children’s faces turn up in delighted expression. I would not resent the life that is growing inside my lover, but cherish the excitement of its pending arrival. Nevertheless, time keeps ticking by and the baby is kicking, moving, living, and pulling the very life from my husband each passing second. And the kids, completely oblivious to our family’s Shakespearean level of tragedy, keep on smiling.

I wonder when it will all just stop. But really, I don’t. I know when it will. The scheduled caesarian section is like a scheduled hanging of a man everyone knows to be innocent. Tomorrow, it all may end for him, for us, for our family. He is the one who binds us together. Without him, I don’t think we’ll… I’ll be able to continue with a life that remotely resembles the one we have. I’m not being overly dramatic here. I’m being realistic. I’ve had months, upon months, to think of what I’ll do and how the fallout will settle and eat away at our memories, propelling us into a blind, numb state of being. Being is not living.

The doctors give odds of survival as if the small percentage of hope will be enough to cling to when the outweighing odds rip your life from you without a second’s pause. The choice to continue with the little life and abandon the larger, life saving, death-creating measures was never ours to own. However, his specialist pretended as if it were.

The blame for this reality is mine and mine alone. It may take two to tango, but it only takes one idiotic misstep to make everyone on the floor stop dancing through life. It only takes one minute of stupidity, grief, fear and longing to create a natural disaster so devastating that it leaves everyone barely standing, only swaying until exhaustion forces everyone left to give up.

No begging or pleading ever got me anywhere. I should have known that if I stooped to that level, he would have continued to be the person I love. He would have given me an answer filled with the integrity and strength that wound itself around him and enchanted me into loving him.

I am supposed to be all the things I know he is, but it isn’t in me. I cannot bring myself to the point that life has beckoned us to for the last thirty-eight weeks. What is worse than the initial impact is that my children will not only lose him, but they’ll lose the child I know and love as my own, but who isn’t.

His biological father will never allow him to stay with us, he hates me and I think now is the only time he’s ever been glad not to be in my place. I wish, not for the first time since our lives have intertwined, that I could be that man. It must be nice to be an unaccredited character in this tragic play. I suppose though, he might be worthy of a courtesy nod.

I have so many questions that I desperately need answers to. How will I bring home a new life from a birth surrounded by complete and total despair and death? How will I be a father to another child that will undoubtedly have his smile? How in the fuck can I live without him?

He keeps telling me to remain hopeful, as if I haven’t seen the letters he’s written to each one of us that we will all receive at some point after the departure he has already accepted as truth. How can I be a parent without him? None of this was in my perfectly planned life. Then again, neither was he, at least not in the beginning.

He doesn’t look or feel like himself. The only thing on him that looks healthy is his ever-growing abdomen, but naked, even that shows the taint of the disease. Bruises started to appear on his body six weeks ago, and that is when the doctor told us in happy, false-hope filled voice, that we would need to ‘set a date’. As if, we were all going to go out for ice cream or something as incredibly delightfully, mundane and forgettable.

His favorite is rocky-road, which I suppose is fitting.

“Brian?”

I turn and look at him. He’s smiling at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah?” My voice sounds like I’m choking on a dirty rag. He probably hasn’t heard the real timbre in my words spoken to him in a long time. I hope that doesn’t frighten him as much as it does me.

“Come here and feel this.” He reaches one hand out, the other pushing the three blankets covering his deteriorating body away from him.

“I should go check on the kids,” I tell him. It hurts to look at him, to touch him at all. I know I am an evil man for not wanting to feel my own child move within my husband, but I cannot stop the urge to run.

“Brian, please. They’re fine outside playing and having a great time with their Grandma. Can’t you hear them laughing? They’re happy. They need to be happy.”

‘They won’t be for a long time,’ goes unsaid, but we’re both thinking it. I’m jealous that the kids are so carefree. I don’t want them to be sad; there will be time for that later. But, I still wish I could be them right now. “Yeah, they need to be happy,” I reply.

“They are. So, come here,” he whispers.

I sigh deeply and slowly approach him. I sit on the bed so carefully. He looks like he’ll break if I make the wrong move. I try to look away from the bruises on his stomach, the ones the child in him is unknowingly creating. It’s sick. This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m supposed to want to see the movement, not fear it and wish it would stop.

“Brian, just…” he stops his words and takes a deep rattling breath. “Can you just touch me?”

I feel my heart break, I feel a knife slice my throat and I want to die. Right now I hate myself more than I ever thought was possible. I look through my tears to see his beautiful face. For the first time his smile reaches his eyes and he really does look like the man I married. Then, I feel the baby moving under our hands. He isn’t the man I married; he’s more than the man he was, he’s more of a man than I think I’ll ever be.

His skin is still so soft, and I feel a foot under my palm, then a knee kicking out, held inside his body, under his thin mottled colored skin. His eyes have pain in them now and I want to be angry with him again, but I can’t be.

“Brian,” he gasps.

I nod my heavy head, not able to speak because of all the emotions that wreak havoc on my mind and because I’m afraid of what I’ll say. I’m afraid of the hurricane in my heart.

“You will…” he stops and looks outside and then back to me and shakes his head. “You will love this baby too, right?”

I move my head again but I don’t know if I moved it up or down, or side to side. I can’t utter a sound. I can’t think straight when he’s looking at me like that. I haven’t been able to think straight in months.

“Tell me!”

His voice makes my entire body jump with fear and I can’t move my lips, because I want to tell him the truth but I’m too scared of it. I don’t want to hurt him more. The fact is that I resent the child, but will try my damnedest not to once it’s born, once he dies. I want to tell him that I’ll do everything in my power to protect all of our children, just as he has. I want to tell him that I’d die for them just as he… “Yes,” I finally speak. The word chases away the darkness for a few moments.

“I couldn’t do it,” my husband says, not for the first time. He takes my hand in his and kisses my shaking fingers with his dry lips.

“I know,” I tell him. And I do. I really do know. I know because if it had been me, I would have done the same thing. But that doesn’t make it better. That doesn’t make the hours that loom before us, which will guide us into tomorrow, any easier to bear.

“I love you but I want you to know that even after I’m gone you can’t just…”

“Don’t give me that speech. Please, can you just tell me you’re going to be okay?” I’m sitting closer to him now and my hands are wiping and pushing back the invisible bangs from his forehead. I imagine I’m pushing them out of his teary eyes.

“I’ve never lied to you Brian,” he tells me and places my hands in his.

I have never been able to admit the same to him. “I want you to.” I take my hands away, crawl closer to him, and take him into my arms. “Please,” I beg him. “I give you permission, I’ll forgive you.” I’m shaking everywhere and I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my body. I want my body to be the one that dies. Not his, it isn’t right.

“I can’t Brian. I can’t lie to you,” he whispers and painfully turns onto his side so that I can spoon his body into my own.

Oh god, I think. He’s so small, so fucking small. I feel like I barely have anything to hold on to when I tighten my arms around his chest. Then he brings them down, sliding them until they rest on his round stomach.

“I love you. I’ll love you forever,” I whisper. I rub my hands over his belly, and there it is, the life, moving again, under our fingertips moving us forward.

And I feel like I can grasp it. I have to. I have to hold on.

***

Tuesday, September 2, 1980

3rd Person P.O.V.

“Brian Kinney, this is, Justin Taylor. Why don’t you sit down and get to know each other while we wait for the Welcome assembly to start?” Miss Janis spoke in a cheerful tone.

“Okay,” Brian agreed. He sat down on the hard, cool gym floor beside the younger boy.

“Are you my fit grade buddy?” Justin asked and moved to sit Indian style, copying the brunet boy’s position.

Brian shook his head. “Nope. I’m in the third grade but there weren’t enough fifth graders to go around.”

The little blond boy gave the older boy a confused look and asked, “What do you mean?”

Brian sighed in annoyance. “There are more kindergartners than fifth graders. So, some kindergartners have been assigned buddies in another grade.”

“Oh.” Justin twiddled the straps of his Mickey Mouse backpack and rocked back and forth nervously.

“Can you stop that?” Brian snipped.

Justin stopped moving and looked over at Brian. His bottom lip quivered and his blue eyes watered. “I wanna go home,” he whispered and drew his knees up to his chest.

Brian rolled his big hazel eyes. “Well you can’t. You’re five years old and that means you have to be at school. If you miss too many days they’ll be mad at your Mom and Dad and then they’ll be mad at you.”

“Mommy won’t be mad. She said I could come home if I got sick,” Justin spoke defiantly. He moved his backpack, put his small hand over his stomach, and rubbed it over his red Mickey Mouse overalls. “My tummy hurts.”

Brian laughed. “You’re just nervy. Weren’t you here yesterday?”

“No, that’s why I got a buddy today. I was sick like now. What’s nervy?” Justin wondered. He hoped the bigger boy wasn’t calling him a bad name.

Brian sighed in annoyance once again. “Don’t you know anything? It means you aren’t sick you’re just anxious inside you.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well that’s what makes your tummy hurt. If you think of happy things you won’t feel sick no more,” Brian said matter of fact.

“I got a baby sister.” Justin gave Brian a small smile. “She’s cute.”

“I got a big sister,” Brian replied. “She went to High School this year. She’s ugly.”

Justin giggled and his smile grew brighter. “My sister cries a lot!”

“So does mine,” Brian, joked.

“How old are you, Brian?”

“I’m eight, but I turn nine in April.”

“I turn six in Feb…Febur…” Justin huffed. “What’s that word?”

Brian grinned. “February. That’s the second month of the year. April is the fourth month.”

Justin nodded. “I know. I know that Month song.” He sat Indian style once again and made one of his hands into a tiny fist.

Brian put his hand on top of Justin’s and held it. “You don’t have to sing it. I learned it in pre-school too. ‘Sides, we’re supposed to talk quietly until the assembly starts. Singing is too loud.”

“Do we sing songs in Kindergarten?”

“Yeah, lots of them. But in 1st grade, you don’t sing a lot. They make you read.”

“I like reading,” Justin said happily. “I read to my Mommy and Daddy and they read to me before bedtime.”

Brian laughed. “You can’t read yet.”

“Yes I can,” Justin said firmly. His bottom lip stuck out, but this time it wasn’t because he felt sad.

“Really?” Brian opened the school handbook and opened it to the first page. “What does this say?”

Justin looked at the words and sounded them out in his head. “St. James Academy. Kindergarten, dash, eighth grade Handbook. Principal Janis Lockwood. Vice Principal Mary Jana…” Justin trailed off. “I can’t read that one.”

A broad grin spread across Brian’s face. “Janogrowitch,” he informed Justin. “But everyone calls her ‘the witch’ because she always yells at all the kids.”

Justin put his hand over his mouth and giggled. “That’s mean.”

“She’s mean,” Brian, told him. “Stay out of trouble because she’ll call your Mom and Dad over nothin’.”

“I can read Brian,” Justin reiterated.

Brian threaded his fingers through Justin’s smaller ones. “Yeah. I guess I got lucky and got a smart buddy. None of the other kindergartners can read you know?”

“Mommy and Daddy said they wanted me prepared.”

Brian felt a little jealous that Justin had parents that helped him with school, even before he got to ‘real’ school. But he thought Justin was pretty cool for a little kid. “You talk good for a five year old,” he commented.

Justin smiled at the praise from his buddy. “Why did you get to be my buddy Brian?”

“Because I make good grades and Miss Janis says I’m friendly.”

Justin batted his dark lashes and nodded at Brian. “You are. I like holding your hand. It makes my tummy not hurt.”

Brian smiled at the young boy. “Me too.”

Brian’s stomach hurt because his Dad punched him in it right after he ate breakfast. He hadn’t meant to step on the little stale cheerio on the tile floor and rub it in. But, his Dad said he’d done it on purpose and Brian wasn’t supposed to disagree with his Father but he accidentally did tell him he didn’t mean to step on the piece of cereal. His Dad didn’t like that and punched him in his tummy really hard.

Brian didn’t have many friends at school. He was only able to go the expensive private school because he was very smart and his grandmother paid for it because it was where she’d gone to school. Most of the kids at St. James were mean to Brian because he didn’t wear the ‘cool’ clothes or have any of the ‘cool’ toys to play with. His Mom never helped with the P.T.A. and never gave him snacks to bring on party days.

Justin was young, but Brian thought he read much better than students did in his grade. He thought Justin was pretty rad for a kindergartner and now that they were buddies, he’d have a friend to hang out with at school all the time. No one could make fun of him for it either. Being an assigned friend to a kindergartener was a special job that only special, super-cool students had. He hoped that Justin would continue to want to be his buddy; even though the nice clean clothes he wore told Brian that Justin was probably a rich kid too.

***

January 3rd 2007

Brian’s P.O.V.

Agents of change set headfires

I'd rather starve than fake alive

Lost to the cities of the night

Lost in the world to make it right

“Brian?”

I look over to the passenger seat at my partner and frankly, it makes me want to puke. I’ve tried to keep my eyes on the road and not think about where we are going. I haven’t been able to look at him much today. He looks worse as the sunlight streams in, highlighting all the sickness I see on his face, neck and twig-like fingers. “Yeah?” I take one of his cold, constantly sweating hands in mine.

“You missed the entrance,” he whispers softly to me.

I snap my gaze back to the road and realize I’m at the end of the hospital block. I quickly turn the car around in a nearby drive way and head back to our destination. Thankfully, there is a space in the long-term lot, not too far from the doors. Even though it’s nice outside, it’s windy and I’m sure the way it’s blowing it might make him fall over before I can get him into his wheelchair. “Stay in the car until I get everything,” I order him.

“Okay,” his voiced reply is strong and almost happy.

I hate him for being able to smile and be happy at a time like this. It isn’t right.

I get the bag he packed, grab his wheelchair out of the trunk, and bring it over to his side. He opens the door and starts to climb out. “Hey… I told you to stay until…”

“Stop it Brian!” He bats my hands that are on his arms and hoists himself out of the car’s seat and into the chair. “I can do it.”

He did do it. I almost wish he couldn’t, it would save me from thinking about how strong he is and how weak I am in comparison. It would save my mind from thinking there is hope when the chances of there being any at all, is in the single digits.

Fuck. Was that the last time his feet will touch the ground? Is this the last time he’ll feel the sun warm his skin. Does he know that it is? Has he been counting off all the last things as I have? Does he know that the last time he brushed his teeth himself was last Friday? Was this morning the last time I’ll comb his thin, dull hair? Does he know that six weeks ago is really the last time we’ll ever make love? Does he realize that today was the last time I’ll ever see him hold both of his children? Has he thought about the fact that he’ll never see the kids hold the baby inside him?

“Brian.” He can barely gasp my name through his always parched lips.

I grab his hand for a second. This won’t be the last time I hold his hand, I tell myself. I have to stop behaving like this. I can see I’m scaring him. “I’m okay,” I lie. I get him situated in the chair and put his bag onto his legs. He holds onto the straps with one hand and then he reaches back and covers one of mine with the other. This isn’t the last time either, I think.

I push him up to the hospital. The closer we get to it, the more it looks to me like a prison. I feel like I’m condemning my husband, but I realize I did that long ago.

***

Friday, October 31, 1980

3rd Person P.O.V.

Brian knocked on door of the large, intimidating looking house. He’d seen the man that answered the door at the school’s open house. “Hi, Mr. Taylor,” he spoke softly.

“It’s not time for trick-or-treaters buddy. We haven’t got our candy…”

“I’m not here to trick or treat,” Brian interrupted the man. He waved the two library books in his hands. “Justin forgot to take them home today.”

“Oh, Justin had a doctor appointment and left school early. Why do you have them?” the man asked briskly.

“I’m Brian Kinney, Justin’s 3rd grade buddy. Mrs. Noonan asked me to bring them to him. He’s supposed to have you or Mrs. Taylor read them to him and return them to school on Monday. But I told her that Justin didn’t need you to read them, because he can read almost as good as me,” Brian said proudly.

“Who’s here, Craig?” Jennifer called from inside the house.

“A kid from Justin’s school,” Craig replied. He didn’t like the looks of the boy before him, even if he had complimented his son.

“Brian?” Jennifer said, coming over to the doorway. “Come inside.”

Brian scuffled his feet nervously. “I… I just came to drop these books off.”

“Well come inside. Justin’s upstairs in the playroom getting his costume on. I’m sure he’d like to show you.”

Craig mumbled something unintelligible and walked back into the house.

Jennifer took the books from Brian, ushered him into the house and led him upstairs to Justin’s room.

Brian looked around in awe at the home. He’d never been in any place that looked so nice. When Mrs. Taylor opened the door to the playroom, he almost squealed in delight. The room had bright colors painted on the walls and it was devoted only to toys. Tons and tons of toys.

“Justin? Where are you?” Jennifer asked. She walked over to the playpen and picked up her daughter who was dressed up as Minnie Mouse.

“Here I am!” Justin jumped out of the closet doors, dressed in a Mickey Mouse wizard costume. “Brian! What are you doing here?” He ran over to the older boy and gave him a big hug.

Brian uncomfortably extracted himself from the boy’s embrace. Justin didn’t know bruises covered his back and chest and that it hurt him to be touched. He winced but tried to cover the pain with a small smile. “I brought your library books from Mrs. Noonan.”

“Are you going to go trick or treating with us?” Justin didn’t wait for Brian to answer. “Can he, Mom? Can Brian come with us?”

“Of course he can,” Jennifer said. She was happy that Justin had Brian; he hadn’t made many other friends at school or in their neighborhood. “But, I’d have to call your Mother and make sure it’s okay.”

“I don’t have a costume,” Brian said. He’d never been trick or treating before, he wanted to go, but his Mom and Dad always came up with excuses as to why they couldn’t make or buy him something to wear for the holiday.

“That’s okay,” Justin said excitedly. “You can be a ghost! Mommy will make you one with an old sheet.”

“Or we can cut up some sheets and make you a zombie,” Jennifer suggested. “I’ve got some face paint left over from Justin and Molly. I can make you have a very scary face.”

“Really?” Brian asked. “I don’t wanna be trouble to you, Mrs. Taylor. My mom and dad wouldn’t like it.”

Jennifer looked at the boy and saw fear brimming in his hazel eyes. She’d met him a few times since school started and noticed how different he looked than the other kids. It wasn’t just his ill-fitting, old clothing or towering height. His expressions always had hints of fear in them. She knew Brian was hiding something. Jennifer rubbed his silky auburn hair head with the palm of her hand. “You aren’t any trouble Brian. Why don’t I call your Mom and ask her if you can stay for dinner too.”

“And a sleep-over?” Justin begged his mother.

Jennifer laughed at her son’s enthusiasm. “Well, that’s up to Brian and his mother.”

Justin took Brian’s hands and bounced in front of him. “You’ve got to stay, Brian! We’ll have so much fun and Mommy will let us watch movies and make a tent in here. I’ve even got an extra sleepin’ bag.”

“Okay,” Brian giggled, starting to feel the blond’s excitement.

“If you give me your phone number I’ll call your Mom, Brian,” Jennifer suggested. “Justin, you can go get those white and gray sheets from the chest in the guest room.”

“Hooray!” Justin shouted and pumped his fists in the air.

Brian quickly spouted off his phone number and Jennifer left the two boys in the playroom and took her daughter into the den. “Craig, can you keep an eye on Molly? I’m going to call Brian’s mother.”

“Did he do something wrong?” Craig asked. He stood up from the couch and took his daughter in his arms.

Jennifer gave her husband a confused look. “Of course not. Why?”

“He looks like trouble,” Craig commented and sat down on the floor with his daughter.

“Craig, I don’t think Brian will be any trouble at all,” she told him. She was unsure though if she should tell him what she observed in the boy. “I’m going to call his mother to see if he can go trick or treating with us and stay the night.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little too….old to hang out with Justin?” Craig asked.

“Justin could use some friends. Brian’s only three years older than he is so I don’t think he’s too old to play with our son. You don’t think anything of James spending the night and he’s five years older.”

“That’s different,” Craig replied. “James is his cousin. Besides, I thought Frank’s little girl was in his class. Isn’t she going trick or treating with him?”

“Yes. Daphne’s coming. But I think it’d be nice for Justin to have a boy be his friend. They spend time together every day at school. Brian’s helped Justin out a lot Craig. He actually wants to go to school now. He hasn’t had a stomach ache or asked to stay home for weeks.”

“We don’t know his parents,” Craig told his wife in distaste. “He doesn’t look like he lives in this neighborhood.”

“Is that what your problem is with him?” Jennifer asked angered.

Craig sighed. “I just don’t want Justin to be exposed to…”

“Stop it,” Jennifer interrupted. “It doesn’t matter where Brian lives. What matters is that he’s nice to our son and our son likes him.”

“Fine,” Craig relented. “Have the kid over for the night.”

Jennifer walked toward the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, “Remember Craig Taylor, you didn’t come from this neighborhood either.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Craig sighed. He smiled a little realizing that Jennifer was right.

Jennifer picked up the phone and dialed the number Brian had told her. She almost lost hope that someone would answer after the fifth ring.

Finally, a rough, weary woman’s voice came on the line. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Kinney?”

“I don’t wanna buy anything,” the woman spoke.

“I’m not selling anything, Mam,” Jennifer said quickly. “I’m Jennifer Taylor. Your son Brian, he’s at my house. He’s friends with my son, Justin.”

“What’s he done now?” Joan asked, her words slurred together. “Whatever it is I’ll make sure my husband gives him a firm talk.”

Jennifer felt a little flustered at the woman’s assumption. “He’s not done anything wrong. He’s a very kind, bright boy,” she felt compelled to say.

Joan laughed and slurred, “So why are you calling?”

“I wanted to ask permission to have Brian sleep-over with us tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Mrs. Kinney spoke quickly. “Just make sure he’s back for church Sunday morning.”

Jennifer was going to explain to the woman that she’d only meant for Brian to stay one night, but then she heard a man’s loud voice yelling on the other end.

“Who’re you yapping to now, woman?”

“Mind your business Jack. It’s Brian’s friend’s Mother. She wants him to stay the weekend at her house.”

“I was gonna have the kid clean out the basement,” he roared. “But he can pay for it Sunday.”

“Okay Jack,” Joan spoke, her voice shaky. She turned her conversation back to Jennifer. “He’ll have to walk home Sunday. Our car broke down this morning.”

“That’s okay,” Jennifer spoke softly. “I can drive him home.”

“Don’t let him be no trouble to you. If he is, just send him home and my husband will teach him some manners.”

Jennifer tried her best to reel in her anger. She couldn’t understand the parent’s behavior. But, she didn’t want to cause the boy any problems at home. Or, more than it sounded like he already had. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Jennifer spoke calmly. “Brian seems like a well-behaved boy and we’re happy to have him here.”

“I’ve got to get to my bridge club. Is there anything else you wanted?”

Jennifer wanted to ask the woman a million questions. But she didn’t. “No, I’ll have my husband drive him home Sunday. Enjoy your weekend, Mrs. Kinney.”

“You too,” Joan replied quickly and hung up.

Jennifer knew that she was a little over-protective of her children. She babied them a little more than needed at times and tried her best to keep Justin and Molly innocent to the world’s pain and hatred. Molly was only a little baby, but often Craig would chastise her for the abundance of care Jennifer gave Justin. But, hearing the woman on the phone and the man in the background made a sick, foreboding feeling spread through her gut and chills to prickle up her spine.

Brian Kinney was in trouble and not by his own volition.

Jennifer found Justin and Brian sitting on the floor in the playroom. Unnoticed, she watched as they zoomed matchbox cars around each other. She assessed the auburn haired child and could see that Brian was a gentle, kind boy. When Justin had accidentally run his race car a little too hard over Brian’s fingers, the child winced but didn’t say a word to stop their play. He didn’t lash out as many kids might. He didn’t even bring her son’s attention to his mishap, not even the third time.

“I’ve got the scissors.” Jennifer held them up and walked into the playroom. “Who’s ready to help tear some old sheets?”

“I am!” Justin spoke happily, rising to his feet.

Brian slowly stood up. “Me too, Mrs. Taylor. Did…did you talk to my mother?”

“I did, Brian,” Jennifer told him. “She said that you can stay the weekend if you’d like. But I’ll have to have you home Sunday morning in time for church.”

“You want me to stay the whole weekend?” Brian asked.

“If you’d like to, Brian,” Jennifer replied.

“You wanna, don’t you, Brian?” Justin asked.

“Definitely,” Brian said, smiling. “But I don’t have any extra clothes.”

“Well I’ve got some hand-me down’s from Justin’s cousin that he can’t fit into yet. I’ll dig those out for you, unless you’d like me to drive you home to get some.”

“No,” Brian said quickly. “I mean… well those clothes will be okay.”

Jennifer pretended not to notice the flash of fear in Brian’s eyes. Though, at this point, she was determined to find out why it was there. “Okay, well let’s get your costume made.”

Jennifer helped the boys cut and tear strips of sheets. She and Justin tied the pieces around Brian’s knees. Then Jennifer gave Brian one of Craig’s old flannel shirts they cut up to change into. As the boy took off his faded brown sweater, she sucked in a gasp.

Brian had forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to change in front of people. For gym class he usually waited until all the other boys had gone into the gymnasium before he got into his uniform. But, with all the fun he’d been having with Justin and his mother, Brian was so excited to change into the last piece of his costume, he hadn’t thought of the marks on his body.

“Brian,” Jennifer spoke softly.

Brian held the flannel against his chest and backed away from Jennifer. “I’m sorry,” he muttered and cast his eyes to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Justin asked, not understanding what his mother saw.

“Justin, can you go downstairs and ask Daddy to make some Koolaid?”

“But I wanna see Brian with his costume,” Justin groaned and pouted.

“You will,” Jennifer said gently. She didn’t want her son to be alarmed. “I’m really thirsty and I bet Brian is too.”

“I’m thirsty,” Brian mumbled. He didn’t want to make Jennifer mad at him so he agreed with her.

Justin looked worriedly at his friend and then back to his mother. “Oooohkay,” he relented and ran from the room.

Jennifer slowly approached Brian. Her heart broke into a million pieces when the little brunet boy flinched as she knelt in front of him and touched his arm. “Brian, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Brian wasn’t sure if he could believe the woman or not. He kept his eyes cast to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to be sorry Brian,” Jennifer said in a firm but gentle voice. She moved the flannel shirt and got a clear look at the countless bruises and welts that ran across Brian’s torso. “Who did this?”

“I can’t tell you,” Brian said.

“You can,” Jennifer replied. She tilted Brian’s chin up to look at her. “I won’t hurt you Brian and I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe. Tell me who hurt you.”

Brian’s lip trembled and he fought the tears that sprung into his eyes. “Daddy,” Brian whimpered.

“Oh Brian,” Jennifer gasped. She wrapped her arms around the boy but backed off when he let out a small wail. “Brian?”

“I hurt here too.” Brian slowly turned around and showed the woman his battered back.

Jennifer wiped the tears from her eyes, took Brian’s hand, and turned him around. “Have you ever told anyone about this?”

“No,” Brian said emphatically. “Mommy said I’d go to Hell if I talked bad about my Daddy to anyone. Am I going to go to Hell now?”

“No Brian. Your Daddy shouldn’t have hurt you and your Mommy is wrong. This isn’t right. You’re a good boy. No one should ever hurt children.”

“But…but sometimes I’m really bad. Mommy says I make Daddy angry all the time.”

Jennifer sighed and gently hugged Brian to her. “No matter how angry you make anyone it doesn’t give them the right to hurt you.”

***

January 3, 2007

Brian’s P.O.V.

Heartbreak

Heartbreaking

Novocain won't help the pain

I'm out of control

I'm a hurricane

Head and heart are broken down

Out of control, I'm in a hurricane

Hurricane

“You’re going to feel a lot of pressure now,” the doctor’s voice rings through the room.

Pressure? He wouldn’t know the meaning of pressure.

“Do you see the baby, Brian?” My husband asks this as he breathes deep, labored breaths, inside the oxygen mask.

I don’t want to take my eyes off him, but I do, I do it for him. I look over the sheet that is supposed to shield our view from the surgery. I have to brace myself as not to pass out at the sight. The doctor has his hands inside him and I can see a tiny little arm sticking out of the large incision.

“Do you see the baby, Brian?” he prompts me again.

“They’re pulling the baby out now,” I confirm.

He smiles inside the mask and his eyes cloud with tears. “Take a picture when the baby comes out, Brian.”

I really don’t want to, I’ve forgotten I even have the camera in my scrub’s pocket, but he told me that just like with his other children, he wants the moment of their birth captured. I pull out the Polaroid camera and cautiously click the picture as they pull the baby out of him.

This isn’t like Evelyn’s birth and this isn’t like Leighton’s birth. I was excited, thrilled about those. I know I’m a fucking asshole for this, but I wish we weren’t here right now.

“It’s a girl!” a nurse yells excitedly.

Doesn’t she know that this isn’t a happy moment?

“Another girl, Brian,” he gasps and squeezes my hand.

I turn to watch as the woman brings the baby over, holding her out, next to her papa’s head.

He turns and looks at the baby, still covered in goo, he kisses her chubby cheek anyway and she starts to cry. His free hand reaches up and he touches her cheek with his free hand, his fingers shaking from the drugs.

I don’t know what to feel when I look at them together. I want to be happy that my daughter is born, alive and screaming as all newborns do. But I’m numb right now. Somehow, I manage to snap a couple pictures of him beside the crying infant. Everyone and everything else fades away as I watch him with her.

“Hold her,” he says turning back to me. Tears stream down his sunken cheeks and he moves his breathing mask out of the way. “Let me see you hold her, Brian, please,” he speaks with a painstaking tired voice.

I start to put the camera back into my pocket, to free my hands so that I can hold the newborn. But the nurse holding our baby takes it from me and places the little wiggling bundle into my arms. I stare down at my child and don’t even realize when the flashes of the camera are taken and I barely regard the nurse’s words as I look at the tiny being in my arms. I examine her as best I can but then commotion begins around us that I cannot ignore.

“Brian!”

I look back to him and see a doctor covering his mouth with the mask again. His expression fills with fear.

“Let me take the baby, Mr. Kinney.”

I look at the nurse as she holds out her arms and give the child to her willingly and she disappears from my sight. I don’t even know where she takes her. I don’t think I care in that moment because his eyes are closing and his grip on my hand is slack. I’m the only one holding on to us as the spinning world threatens to tear us apart.

I crouch beside him, my heart pounding erratically. I yell into his ear, “Wake up! Don’t fucking leave me here now!”

His eyes pop open and meet mine for just a second. He looks at me as if he doesn’t recognize my face and I think I scream at him when his eyes close again. I’m not sure though. I don’t know what the fuck is happening. Then, everything is a blur. I’m ushered from the room, and the last thing I see before they close the door to the room is his slack, skinny arm hanging off the side of the bed.

Win some ground but I lose you

It's never explained how to make it through

No rope, no cash, no serpentine

All love buried on a bonfire

***

Thursday, December 25, 1980

3rd Person P.O.V.

Brian helped Jennifer make his bed with his brand new Alvin and the Chipmunks bedding. Justin had gotten the same set for his bed, doing away with the Mickey Mouse sheets because he wanted to be just like Brian. When they were finished, Jennifer sat on the bed beside Brian and asked, “Why haven’t you opened any of your toys?”

Brian eyed the box of super hero action figures that sat on top of the other boxed toys on his desk. “Well you can’t take them back if I unwrap them,” he explained. “I don’t even need to pick one out to keep.”

Jennifer didn’t understand this logic. “Of course not. Santa’s not going to take them back. They’re yours, honey. You can have them all.”

Brian looked Jennifer in the eyes. “I know Santa isn’t real,” he whispered. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin Molly and Justin’s Christmas. You and Mr. Taylor can take them back now.”

Jennifer shook her head. “Why would we do that?”

“Because presents are for good little boys and girls who don’t cause their parents trouble. My parents bought them for Claire and me because Father Ronald always came for Christmas brunch. They didn’t want anyone from the Church to know that we were bad. But sometimes Mom would let us pick out one gift to keep if we recited ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ the way she wanted. Claire is better at it than me.”

Jennifer’s eyes filled with tears and she brought Brian into her arms. She kissed his silky auburn head and whispered, “You’ve not been bad Brian. You’re always a very good boy. Craig and I bought you those presents because you deserve them. We want you to open every one and play with them. Unless, you want to return them and we’ll get you something else if you don’t like them.”

Uncomfortable with the woman’s touch, Brian wiggled out of Jennifer’s arms. He looked longingly at the Christmas gifts. He saw the blond woman’s tears and feared that he’d upset her. “I know you waste a lot of money on taking care of me. You and Mr. Taylor need the money from the presents.”

“No Brian,” Jennifer spoke softly. “I told you. We want you to have the presents. Parents take care of their children because they love them. It’s a parent’s job to give their child things they need. It’s a parent’s joy to give their children things they want. The money we spend is to make you healthy and happy. It is not a waste. Do you understand, Brian?”

“But… but I’m not your child,” Brian spoke.

Jennifer wiped her tears away and smiled at the little boy. “We’re your foster parents, Brian. You don’t have to call us Mom and Dad if you don’t want to. But, we’ll still think of you as a son, just the same as Justin. We love you, Brian and that’s reason enough to take care of you.”

Brian’s eyes widened as he looked at Jennifer. “You love me?”

“Yes,” Jennifer affirmed and cautiously reached her hand out to hold Brian’s. “I love you, Brian.”

Brian slowly leaned forward and hugged Jennifer. It was one small step to learning to accept his new caregiver’s love and comfort.

Justin ran into Brian’s room. “Look Brian! I got my p.j.’s on! Now we match!”

Brian flinched away from Jennifer, looked at Justin’s candy cane striped pajamas, and then down at his own. They were just like Justin’s. “We match,” he agreed.

Justin climbed up on the bed and bounced beside Brian. “This is the best Christmas ever!”

Brian smiled at Jennifer and Justin and declared, “It is the best Christmas ever!”