The One With the Crayon

Sydney Alexis

It happens over the stupidest of things. One minute, you're standing in your kitchen sifting through the take out menus, and the next you're standing stalk still holding a chunky brown crayon in your hand. Your son's crayon. The one you'd torn the loft apart looking for the day before he left. The one he had to have to finish his stick figure of you.

ustin, ever the voice of reason, had let Gus use one of his pastels.

The next day, you stood on the Muncher's driveway in the the too cold, too bleak day and watched the SUV that held one of your best friends and the little boy you loved more than yourself disappear into the distance.

Lindsay had made all the right noises about them being only a few hours away by plane and car, but you knew...you fucking well knew that between Gus starting school, his moms starting their new jobs, and you running your business those visits would be far and few between.

Gus would grow taller and smarter than you ever thought possible, but you knew you wouldn't be there to see it happen. You absently wonder if he'll even remember you in a year or two, or if you'd just become the tall man that smells like smoke and expensive aftershave that always brought new toys.

The crayon in your hand is suddenly blurry. A long moment passes before you realize you're crying. Dropping the crayon onto the counter like it's poison, your eyes lock on the picture your son drew you. Three little stick figures...three stick figures standing beside a lollipop tree. Gus had told you it was from the day you and Justin had taken him to the park. In scrawled, sometimes backwards letters, he'd written 'my daddies.'

Lindz and Mel had promised you from the start you could be as involved in his life as you wanted to be. As you watched their car disappear from your sight that day, you couldn't help but think they took that right away from you.

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