Little Wooden Horse

And the Christmas tree grew too fast. Perhaps it was because we did not decorate it since we decorated it first. Since Ani climbed on the shaky wooden ladder and placed her wooden horse on the last branch she could reach.

The tree grew strong since then, but grew lonely. It is difficult for a Christmas tree to grow without little wooden horses placed on its branches. Snow is never enough. Snow is to add to the loneliness of Christmas trees.

One morning I noticed that the tree was casting a new shade. Or an old shade in a new spot. One gets familiar with shades when one walks the dog at the same time every evening. Shades become references. Even if they change with the sun and the clouds. References do not need to remain unchanged. They need to be trusted.

And I watched the Christmas tree bend, almost on a daily basis. Soon it looked like an old Armenian woman leaning upon her cane. It was the weight of time. Or perhaps time itself.

And on a sunny fall day, I decided to cut the tree. It is very different cutting a Christmas tree. Especially on a fall day, nearing Christmas. But the tree had grown too fast, and not strong enough. I thought it was because we had not celebrated Christmas since we did last. How could we? Ani was not with us anymore. How can we have Christmas without Ani?

I cut the tree slowly, a branch at a time. It was almost like pruning it, and I could increasingly discover how its top was bent. Like an Armenian woman wearing her widow’s dark clothes. Time gets heavy when one gets old.

Then I brought the shaky ladder. As I was about to cut the last few branches, I found a little wooden horse. Hanging from an inside branch. It was hanging upside down. It was weathered by snow, sun, ice and wind. It was weathered by the hope that it can be a Christmas tree ornament again.

Then I cut the tree. It had grown too fast.

September 10, 2009

On The Ridge

And you hug him. Like you hugged him before. But now his shoulders are larger than yours. He smells like a man. Now he is a man.
You want to hug him harder. Hold him for all the moments you dreamed of hugging him. But he does not reciprocate. He looks at you with an empty eye. He wants to tell you he did not miss you as much. But he does not. He waits for you to tell him first. Then he smiles. You do not know what he is thinking.

You sit on a comfortable chair in the sun. His beard is strong and dark. His hair is shiny and black. He squints. You want to hug him again but you resist. The sun feels good. It is a moment you have played in your mind many times. You forget all the questions you wanted to ask. You realize he knows as much as you do. You realize he is just a child who thinks he knows as much as you once did. You still want to hug him.

He is wearing the cloths you sent for him. They seem a bit tight. His feet look bigger. Yet he loves to wear his old clothing. Reminds him of the days he had, the days that were not good for him. But he still dreams of those days. You want to tell him there is no going back. You do not find the words for saying so. You talk about the dog. You tell him how the dog waits for ice cream before jumping on your bed and sleeping on his back. You tell him he started the ice cream habit. He smiles.

You wait for him to tell his stories. He tells you how bad you have been to him. He tells you, you he will not be a teenager again. Never. He tells you were not understanding. That it was ok to be who he was. That he may go back to late nights. To smoking dope. To being away from home. You want to hug him. He curses. Then he leaves.

You are still shocked about his cursing but do not say anything. He is a man now. He wants to grow his beard back. He looks at you as if to say that he knows how to play the games he is asked to play. You want to tell him it is not a game anymore. It is his life and he has a better hand dealt to him now. But he remembers the old games. You wonder if he will go back to that game again. A game for which he made the rules. He tells you no. That he is changed. You want to hug him, but you wonder if he is playing a new game. One you do not know the rules. One for which he makes the rules as he goes. You wonder if you can follow.

The chair is comfortable and it is fall in the mountains. The air is full of falling leaves and misty mornings. Frost is around the corner, but you have chills already. Under the sun. Because you do not know if you have been bad to him. If he will be six foot three soon and his feet will be too small for the Nike high-tops. Because he is wearing a tee-shirt and he is not cold. Because you are wearing a fleece jacket and it feels very cold.

And you want to hug him. Instead he talks about his sister. He tells you how her death took his childhood away. He tells you he never had a childhood.

You look at him and see the little body you once hugged. When he threw up on your shoulder. When you cut his hair for the first time. When you made him bite into an apple to lose that tooth which was too loose. You remember the first time he ate ice cream.

And you want to tell him that life is not easy. That it is a burden sometimes. But that he should not curse. But you do not.

Then he says it is lunch time. You sit with him on the bench under a tree watching the mountains. He tells you he misses the city. His friends. That the mountains mean nothing to him. You realize he can eat more than you can. And faster. That his shoulders are stronger than yours.

Then he gets up and gives you a hug.

Now you do not know what to do.

PS/ Written after visiting Ani's twin brother at a therapeutic boarding school.