Drawn From Water

The lamp was off but the street light illuminated the wall of the room where my newborn son laid his head. I sat watching traces of rain reflect off the window and dance on the wall. A sigh of humility came from my soul as I remembered my grandmother saying rain comes from crying angels. I felt as if my grandmother and the rest of God’s angels took a moment from their busy schedule to cry tears of joy and welcome my son to this world. Angels know the world is a place of struggle and conflict, but for one night found some sort of peace in the homecoming of Moses.
I named him Moses because after my mother Doris. Doris is of Greek origin and Moses comes from Egypt. Both names mean drawn from the water.
As his father I would be the refuge he could count on when there was preparation needed to face the world that would try to defeat his character and ultimately not succeed. A selfish part of me was counting on him to be that same refuge for me. I was consumed and inspired by his innocence. Thoughts of my father followed as I evaluated his disappointment about the failed relationship we shared. Our disagreements were settled with separation and I am almost certain someone in the small city of Pasadena told him of the new addition to the family.
I viewed this birth as an establishment of a new family. The only thing I asked was to be a forgotten cornerstone of a family that would laugh, pray, and party like the people I would hear about in the stories told by the New Orleans generation. I imagine my father had the same hopes when I was born, but failed to bring them to fruition. I empathize with him now that I have a son of my own.
The lights in the room were still off and the traces of rain remained on the wall that shared the same color as a winter sky. The street light was still shining in the room, a bit brighter now with my son’s crib the center of attention in the spotlight.
I was sitting there in amazement of the blessings that had come to me. As I sat in my wife’s feeding chair a mix of champagne and satisfaction led me to dream about my son’s future. First, I saw my son standing in his crib as he braced himself on the edge of the rail. Second, my smile widened as I saw myself struggling to change his diaper and avoid a stream of surprise while he was naked. My eyes went from his crib to the floor where I saw him taking his first steps, and leaving behind small prints that would soon vanish in the carpet.
With the vanishing of his last step I visualized, there appeared a stranger in my house. This was not a part of my daydream or a result of the champagne. I rubbed my eyes to confirm the absence of hallucination and I was correct. The stranger in my house was real. My eyes were fixed upon a flesh and blood being that was not welcomed through my front door and did not sneak through a window of the bedroom where he sat in the corner.
He sat in the dark with his knees pressed against his chest. The light was cast on half the corner allowing me to see his staring eyes. This boy wore pajamas with circus animals on them and his large feet wore no shoes. It’s strange because this boy was not hiding or afraid of being seen. Approximately one minute after evaluating each other’s presence the boy rose to his feet and walked toward me. Before my body froze my limited movement permitted me to move to the edge of the rocking chair from where I was watching all this happen.
This surprise visitor put me in a state of confusion that allowed me to only tell myself what this event was not. I said, “You are not crazy. This boy will not harm anyone here.” I was correct, but while I continued my thought process and he neared me the reassurance bought comfort that will never be forgotten.
I looked around the room to remind myself where I was. The two things that kept me awake thus far were still there, my son and the streetlight that shone on his room. As I continued thinking and examining the room where I spent hours I looked down and saw the boy as he was climbing my legs and finally arranged himself on my lap. With one look and without one word he introduced himself to me as myself during younger years.