God and Jetfire (43 page)

He took maybe one more bite.

“That's really good reasoning from Amy, Jon,” Paula said. I wondered if she thought I was trying to do her job, or trying to suggest she was negligent in the role I gave her, and whether she wished I wouldn't or whether she welcomed it as someone who welcomes any person taking an interest in the good of her children, or welcomed it exactly because I am her son's birth mother, having a relationship she has always wanted me to have with my son. I was probably not paying enough attention to the other kids and whether they were eating their eggs.

“Jon, have you told Amy about your interest in philosophy?” Paula asked. “I'm going to a conference next month and the kids will be going with me. Maybe Jonathan will present a paper at the conference?” she suggested coyly. Jonathan smiled broadly and began to think.

“You'll have to get started on your research!” I tried to participate. It was fun to imagine my son as someone who would one day do research.

“I think I'll gather some props,” he said, eyes darting around the room, planning the talk he might give. “Like Black Forest Gummy Worms! And what's a big word I should use?
Controversy
!”

He distinguished philosophy as a world wide open; he made a broad, sweeping gesture like a swan dive into the everything. He said he knew that the questions of philosophy were ultimately unanswerable. But, ask them or not, they'll haunt you the rest of your life. I savored for a second his inclination toward uncertainty. Yes, he was very much theirs, the child of academics, but he was also very much mine.

Theology, on the other hand, was built from argument upon argument. He crouched and squinted his eyes at the tiny bricks he was laying in the air, argument upon argument, building a wall with surgical precision, using index finger and thumb of each hand. He used the word
argument
derogatorily: he meant those boring conversations that took place between his theologian parents and their theologian friends in the living room, in the side yard; his world was full of theologians having arguments.

“You're very good at arguing, though, Jonathan,” Paula challenged him. “Remember a few nights ago, when I said it was time to go to bed, and you said, ‘Can I have just five more minutes?' Wasn't that an argument?”

“I was asking a
ques
-tion.” Jonathan slowly enunciated the word. Questions were the hallmark of philosophy.

“Questions are a basic component of arguments—”

“See?”
Jonathan exhaled, exasperated. “You're arguing with me
right now
!”

*   *   *

Paula asked how my father was doing, and I told her all I knew. He had not been totally debilitated by chemotherapy, and the cancer hadn't metastasized, despite its advanced state when the doctors had discovered it. His years of eating well and staying active had paid off, but I had no sense of his prognosis. I told her I'd really like it if they could visit him that summer. I said it casually, as if my father wasn't dying, my son not my only hope. Surely they would understand the importance.

“Well, the one big thing we have planned is Andrew's birth mother's wedding. Andrew is going to be the ring bearer!”

“Oh, wow!” I wasn't about to try to take something away from my son's brother's birth mother.

“The wedding is in July. We were only planning for me and Andrew to go, but let me think about how we might all do both.”

Then Erik asked about my injury, and I told him I still wasn't running. It was a constant preoccupation, but I didn't linger on the details, maybe because they didn't elaborate the details of their own lives, either; we caught up in broad strokes. Or maybe because my life was just the story of a prolonged adolescence, an endless series of phases, lacking any of the milestones that warrant conversation: getting married, buying property, having children. My son's adoption had established their family, hearty and real, but it made me altogether weightless.

They never passed me the potatoes. They sat eternally to the left of Erik's plate. I wondered if that was to deprive me of them so that I would starve to death and then Jonathan would become more fully theirs. Or maybe they thought I'd ask for them if I wanted them. But I took only what I was offered. I'd already expressed my desire for Jonathan to see my father and to eat his eggs, and those efforts had exhausted me. It was enough of what I wanted for a day.

The kids brought out a cake with two candles on it. They set it directly in front of Paula. All this thinking about my role, but there was really no doubt about it.

“Should I blow them out?” she asked. But before anyone answered, she did so quickly, as if to eradicate the implications of that question. Why two candles? I wondered. If there were two mothers, there were four mothers to remember at this table. I wondered if Sarah and Andrew were thinking about their own. Paula announced that we were all too full to eat cake, but I thought I would have liked a piece of cake, having not had much breakfast.

I was now older than Paula was when she'd already adopted one baby and was e-mailing me in the evenings to talk about adopting mine. Ten years ago, they were the adults, and I was as much in need of parenting as my son. Our distance had given me a certain security in the decision, but now I'd caught up. I was old enough to parent my son. I'd traveled and finished school and explored enough to know there wasn't really anything out there better than loving a child. And so even as I was accustomed to adoption, it seemed my regret grew more, not less. And every day they knew more than I did what I lost and how deep that regret should be.

“Screen time is up, Jon. No more videos on the computer.” Jonathan and Andrew had slipped away to the laptop that sat on the kitchen island. Paula parented casually, as if to remind me that the decision was already made.

*   *   *

Erik began to clear dishes, and I could tell Jonathan was bored waiting for our eternal breakfast conversation to end. I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk. He nodded and sat down in the foyer to put his shoes on.

“You can't come, Andrew,” he said, seeing his brother getting ready, too. “You're too young. You'll get in the way.” Andrew began to cry, and Erik took him upstairs to talk. I imagined he said something about letting Jonathan spend time alone with me. We knew early on that Jevn and I would likely visit more than the other birth parents, but Paula had assured me they would never deprive Jonathan of time with me just to preserve an illusion of fairness for the other kids. Still, I felt guilty for the pain my visits may have caused the other two. I thought I should pay more attention to them, but I knew that wouldn't solve the problem. And I'd recently decided to stop pretending my son wasn't special to me.

I slipped out, myself, wanting to escape the whole exchange. As I did, I passed Sarah, who was speaking to Jonathan.

“Jonathan, you saw Jevn last month,” Sarah scolded him. “Andrew hasn't seen his birth mother in a long time. You're being selfish.”

Jonathan ignored her, and when we got out the door, I asked him about how often Sarah and Andrew got to see their birth parents.

“Not very much,” he said, and he didn't seem interested in the question. David, who lived next door, joined us, and we walked across the street to the campus. They leapt over rails, walked along the tops of walls, jumped onto picnic tables. I watched every move. I responded to every trick. And I could see that Jonathan was watching to see that I was watching. I made sure not to disappoint him.

“You sure take a lot of video!” David stopped and looked at me suspiciously. I was taking videos so they could see their stunts, but I was also secretly hoping stills would give me pictures my son would never pose for.

“You guys aren't all that good at parkour, so it takes a lot of footage to get any decent content.” I held my ground.

They both laughed and we moved on.

We continued, finding challenges and surmounting them, all across the campus. When we encountered a wall they couldn't climb up, I suggested they visualize the feat first. Think hard about it, see it in your mind, and then—do it!

“I think I should think
easy
,” Jonathan contended. He stared the wall down and then ran up it, leaping to the lawn above.

David asked if I thought he could jump down a long set of stairs. I could see he wanted to, and I wanted him to. I said I thought he probably could. He backed up to get a running start and I prayed,
Pleasedon'tkillyourself, pleasedon'tkillyourself.
It was only when we passed other people that I thought perhaps I should tell them not to climb on this or that, or maybe say something like, “Be careful.” But it wasn't in my heart. I wasn't afraid for them; I was happy to see them taking over the world. I wasn't sure if that made me more of a mother or less.

“Do you think we look like we could be brothers?” Jonathan put his arm around David and looked up at me as we walked. I thought about the Norwegian ancestry that distinguished Jonathan from his olive friend.

“No … not really.”

“Well, we're making our
own
family, a parkour family!” Jonathan said, and they both laughed. He must have naturally felt empowered to do such things, having learned family to be an inclusive and self-determined thing. Compelled to self-create, to take back his choice.

*   *   *

I asked David if he had any thoughts about philosophy. He was also the son of theologians, surrounded by arguments. “I have thoughts about philosophy,” he said. “My first thought is, Why's that a job?”

Jonathan was the ancient voice that values the pursuit of the unanswerable question, but he listened without concern as David maintained his position, that there was no use in asking. “My cousin is a philosopher and once he asked me, ‘What does it mean to be?' I said, ‘What does it mean to be what?'”

“HEY! What does it mean to be?” Jon yelled to someone passing by. “No answer?—Let's go!” He leapt off the wall and David followed him.

*   *   *

We passed a group of college students going through Dumpsters to salvage things thrown out at the end of the semester, and Jonathan and David joined them. I stood by and tried to balance chaperone and kindred spirit. They found a perfectly good wire mesh garbage can, a swim pillow that went between your legs to help you focus energy on your arms, a baseball cap, two highlighters, an unopened Valentine's box of Snickers, which they sampled, packs of Pez, a desk lamp, a leather purse Jon would give Sarah, and a table fan. The college boys occasionally smiled at me. I wondered who they thought I was.

We went home to drop off our first round of things and to equip ourselves for deeper digging. Jon was telling Erik about all our finds just as Paula walked in.

“Jonathan was just telling me how much fun he's having Dumpster diving!” Erik said it to Paula, in part, it seemed, to ask Paula whether Dumpster diving was a thing to let the boys do.

“Good!” she said, unsurprised. “It's not like it's the first time they've done it. What did you find?”

I was so glad she didn't mind. That she approved of my lax parenting. I was glad that she didn't rain on the parade of his childhood with worries about germs or rules. And I couldn't help but think she didn't want me to feel I had increased any dimension of his life, today. That I would have to search harder to find something she had not already provided for him. Even among criminal pleasures.

Jonathan had outfitted himself in a winter coat and gloves, and we returned to the campus. On our way, he gave one of the college students a double take, and the student noticed and glanced back at him.

“Nice sunglasses,” Jonathan said, oh, so coolly.

The student smiled in thanks. I could tell he was genuinely flattered, but he didn't break his stride. I wondered how my son came to be so comfortable in the world.

Before we made it back to the Dumpster, we happened upon a group of boys and their parents wheeling an enormous television out of the dorm. Jonathan approached them boldly.

“Are you getting rid of that?”

“Yeah, and you're welcome to it!” They looked at me to find out if that was okay, and I'd forgotten I was there.

“You're not—his mom?” the mother stammered. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to say yes.
It's complicated, but yes
. I wondered what he would think if I said yes? Or if I said no? If I waited long enough, I thought, maybe he would respond and I would find out who he thinks I am.

“Um, his mother lives there.” I pointed to their house across the street. Then I asserted a little parental authority, telling him I wasn't sure about the TV, as if to say,
Never mind what I just said about his mother, watch this and see if it's not obvious to you who I am
.

“It works,” they assured Jonathan. “We were watching a hockey game up until a few minutes ago. There's just always two pucks.”

It was a horrendously large and heavy object. It looked like a giant Atari. I called Paula on my phone. She astounded me by saying she would come over to see it. From a long distance we saw her see the TV, and she bent over in laughter. Jonathan smiled and laughed, thinking it was a good sign. But as she got closer, Paula was circumspect. She turned soberly to Jonathan.

“If we take the television now, do you understand it's not a decision to keep the television? It's only a decision to start a
conversation
about keeping the television?”

“I'll only use it for video games, and I'll spend more time outside! I promise! I need a television because—”

“Jonathan, it seems like you're trying to talk about keeping the television now. I don't want to have that conversation now. We can take the television, but we'll have a conversation later about whether we're going to keep it.”