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Silent Child(108)

By:Sarah A. Denzil


Aiden nodded. “We used to come for picnics.”

Bit by bit, day by day, I was learning what Aiden remembered and what he didn’t. He remembered my mum and dad, he remembered the school, but he didn’t remember his favourite food or the football team he’d supported.

I spread out the blanket and placed the picnic basket down. It was cold, and the grass was wet, but I’d brought a waterproof blanket and we were all covered in thick layers to keep us warm. I removed the baby halter from my front and sat down on the blanket, putting Gina on my knee. She looked funny in her little ski suit, all red nose and cheeks.

“Isn’t it lovely down there?” I said.

Aiden rested his hands on his knees. He was learning things too, like how to interact with his surroundings. He didn’t stand around looking like a sore thumb like he used to. He relaxed into seats. He rested against tables. He drummed his fingers on the armrest of the car when the radio was on.

He nodded. “Thought I wouldn’t see it again.”

I couldn’t get used to the sound of his voice. He spoke in short, abrupt sentences. Sometimes it took him a while to get his words out. He would work his jaw as if feeling the words move around his mouth before he spoke. But I was proud of him for the way he was developing.

We sat there for a while, looking at the river Ouse snaking through the tiny village. It was morning, and the winter sun gave everything a sharp, bright look. The trees were so orange they hurt your eyes to look at. The sky was so blue it was more like the sea, and the air was so fresh it left your lungs with that rasping, raw feeling you get from exercising on a cold day.

The events of the last decade would rest heavy on my soul until the day I died, but I had a glimpse of the happiness that lay before me. A road to be travelled.

“Next time we have a picnic,” I said. “It’s going to be on the Great Wall of China.” I opened the basket and removed the sandwiches.

“Okay,” he replied.

I paused, and turned to look at my son. There was colour on his cheeks, and his eyes were bright. I reached towards him and gently brushed his cheek with my hand. Aiden slid down to the left so that he rested his head against my shoulder. It was awkward at first, but after a moment or two he settled in. For the first time in over a decade I breathed in the scent of my son. I placed my nose against the top of his head and I breathed in the notes that lay below shampoo and shower gel to smell his skin, like I had done the day he was born. As my nostrils filled with that slightly sickly, sweet scent of skin, my heart was finally full.





THE END