The Absolution of Aidan(20)

Bringing her hand up to the one on my chest, she places it over the top of mine, our hands now connected over my heart. Her face is within an inch of mine. She throws me one hell of a perfect curled-up smile with those light pink lips of hers.

“I’ve never blamed you. Not once. I felt you. As silly as this may sound, I felt you that night, and I heard you telling me to hang on. To be strong. If you hadn’t been there, I would have given up. I wanted to give up so many times, but I kept repeating the words I heard you say. “Don’t give up, Deidre. Stay strong, baby.” Don’t apologize anymore to me, you’ve done nothing for me to have to forgive you for.”

“God, you’re just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside,” I stress. She is so undoubtedly unselfish. Never in my lifetime would I have guessed there could possibly be a woman out there for me. Not with how my own mother ran my self-esteem into the ground. This lively, mouthy woman and mother of my son could be that woman. Who the hell knows? A son. We have a son. It hits me finally. Rocks my world in a good way. I have a child.

I sit back on my legs. Her hand falls from my chest. “We have a son?” I speak like I’m finally catching on and I am. Deidre has more to tell me. I sense it. I see it in the way she looks at me. She’s frightened, nervous. I swallow hard. Our internal battles match. Those same sensations are surging through my veins. Hitting every live cell like a wake-up call. I don’t know if there’s more to the past year of her life she wants to tell me. As long as she’s healed, freed from the chains that tore her apart in the first place, I don’t need to know more. If in time she wants to share more factors that took her away, generated her mind to collapse, she can, but right now, my heart is full. I want to know about this little boy. I need to meet him. Be a good parent. Give him love and support. Something I never had and always wanted. Just to be loved. I love him already and I don’t even know him, yet.

This day reminds me of trying to dodge a storm and then fuck out of nowhere, the winds pick up, sending you head first into the side of a brick building, knocking you unconscious. And when you wake, the sky is clear, there are no dark clouds lurking around like my mother and Junior, full of darkness and hatred, ready to strike you like a damn rod of lightning. No worries twisting your insides into a goddamn knot because the woman you saw hurting vanished. Fuck no. I just woke up at the end of the rainbow.

“We do. He’s three months old. His name is Diesel.”

“Diesel?” I let the name roll off of my tongue.

“Yeah,” she replies shyly. “Do you like it?” she requests softly.

“I do. It’s kind of manly and shit. Like my badass Harley or a kick ass engine.” It’s hard for this to sink in. Me being a dad. I vow right then and there before even knowing anything about this young man I helped create, before I even know what he looks like or what kind of man he will grow up to be, I promise him I will always protect him, love him, and make damn sure he is one, if not the greatest accomplishment of my life. I will never walk out on him; not like my mother claims my biological father did once he found out she was pregnant. I will never call him a name, other than the name his beautiful mother gave him. He’s mine to protect. Mine to cherish and mine to make damn sure he grows up to know he was and always will be loved.

“When was he born?” I straighten my body up from the floor and move to sit next to her on the couch. Her floral smell inebriates my senses. She has no idea what kind of gift she has given me. For the first time in my life, I feel needed and wanted. And Christ, he’s too small to know a damn thing, but hell, I even feel loved.

Gliding her dainty hand over the top of her wallet lying next to her, she stills then unzips the small leather compartment, pulling out several pictures.

“He was born on April 3rd. Nine pounds even. He’s a big boy.” Her face softens. She then places a few pictures of him in the palm of my hand. I glimpse down quickly, then close my eyes. These tiny photos are a part of me. A part of her.

When I open them, my hands are shaking. My eyes tear up. I’m staring at the most precious little man with dark hair. At eyes that twinkle. He has his thumb in his mouth in one photo, is propped up on Deidre’s lap; he is naked and on his belly in another, rolls of baby fat or whatever the hell it’s called on display. He looks to be trying as hard as he can to hold his head up. I want to jump in this photo and urge him on. Tell him he can do it. He can do anything if he puts his heart and mind to it.

“I’ve never been a godly man. My childhood was so messed up, but Deidre,” I look up into her wet eyes and see a woman who has given me a blessing, and I speak the god’s honest truth to her. If I sound like a pussy or a man whose raw emotions have surfaced, then so be it. “I believe there is a god up there somewhere. Someone brought this boy into our lives for a reason.” She sniffles, finally giving in to those tears that have glassed over her beautiful eyes, making them look greener than the mixture of multiple colors.