He was unbothered by conversation in the kitchen. He sits tightly, legs up on the lounge chair, tossed to the side facing away from words between his mother and wife.
His spine sinking heavier beneath the cross-patterned blanket as he turns only his head sideways at me.
His slouching, glassy eyes spoke with his lips, slowly separating, “Please hold my hand”
I blinked. Wedding band touched my skin-- those masculine diamonds embedded, I glance. His head drops;
One ear hugged by faux leather. He ignores the trees seated outside our bay window or the seemingly distant but not silent footsteps of Julian piling up and pushing those blocks.
His chest fires upward and I listen to his exhale shake, grasping his hand tighter.
“When I was a teenager I used to think I could use memories as a means to time travel…” He’s shifting and sweating but the house is cool.
Sweetly and softly, he sings, “It was psychotic, really.”