I’m sorry, thinks Kevin, please forgive me, winging that through the ether, too, and into the future, to a kid who won’t understand any of the circumstances of her birth for years yet, and who may never understand them at all, because who does, really? But I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry you’ll never know me and I’m sorry I’ll never know you, it’s all my fault, I should have stayed in Ann Arbor where I had it good, where I had a woman who loved me, where I had friends and a history, where I had a job I was good at, where I didn’t realize just how good I had it until it was gone. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you, even before you’re born, but I want you to be happy, I want you to be strong, I want you to love your mother even if she gets a little frantic and needy at times, I want you to understand that you’re the center of her life, you’re all she ever wanted, and I know it’s asking a lot, but I want you to live up to that responsibility, though of course if you do live up to it, you won’t have gotten that from me, but that’s the nature of fatherhood, isn’t it, that you want your kids to be better than you were? I wish I believed that I’ll be looking over you and your mother, but I don’t, though who knows, I could be wrong, perhaps I’ll come to you in a dream, looking younger and fitter, perhaps, without the hair in my ears and the laugh lines and the enlarged prostate, perhaps I’ll come to you both, I’ll hover over your crib wearing a white linen suit, smiling down as your mother tucks you in, saying, sleep tight, your daddy loves you, he’s watching over you, he’ll keep you safe, that’s just the sort of thing Stella will believe, a little anxiously, perhaps, but that’s what she’ll tell herself. And she’ll never, ever tell you I was planning to leave her, that I was, without knowing it, planning to leave you both, instead she’ll tell you that I was in Austin because I knew you were coming and I wanted to be prepared with a better-paying job, I wanted to do the right thing, and you’ll believe every word of it, because Stella’s your mother and a good saleswoman, besides, and because there’s no reason for you not to believe it, and anyway, it’s true, I would have adored you if I’d known you were coming, I would have stepped up and done the right thing, I would have made you the center of my life and happily paid for clothes and shoes and tennis lessons and ballet classes and baseball camp and orthodonture and trips to Europe and college tuition, and I’d gladly have given up all the pointless things I stupidly thought made my life worth living, because I’d realize that you made my life worth living, and I’d have laughed with you and lost my temper at you and burst into tears at the sight of you and begged fate or God or the universe to deal you a better hand than they’re dealing me, and I’d have done my best to make sure you turn out okay, that you had a good start in life, because I’m here to tell you, kiddo, there’s nothing certain about it, and you make all the preparation you can and then hope for the best. It’s a little late for me to be doing “My Boy Bill”—the way my dad, your grandfather, whom you’ll never know, either, used to sing it in the shower — but I’d have laid down my life for you, and who knows, maybe that’s what I’m doing right now, but it’s not so bad, it’s not so hopeless, I’m not so far gone that I can’t wish you every good thing, every happiness, and all the love in the world with my dying breath.
And as the ground rushes up to meet him, Kevin Quinn, for the first time in a long time, for the first time in years, and maybe even for the first time in his life, is looking forward to what comes next.
About the Author
James Hynes is the author of The Wild Colonial Boy, Publish and Perish, The Lecturer’s Tale, and Kings of Infinite Space. He lives in Austin, Texas.