Part 42
He's screaming, having a nightmare.
I am out of my bed and into his room in an instant.
He's in the corner, huddled impossibly small, arms wrapped over his head, and howling.
I pull him into my arms, hard against my chest.
For a few seconds, he is rigid, a sculpture of pale marble chiseled by a vindictive artist in this posture of pain, fear and abandonment.
Then he melts, flowing around me and into me, boneless and weak.
His eyes are closed; maybe asleep, maybe afraid yet of the dream.
I murmur all the useless words, stroke his burnished hair, and promise him that I can fix it; whatever it is.
Useless words; false promises.
I can fix nothing; he won't let me try.
Gradually, the shudders fade. His aching body uncoils from my embrace.
His head comes up and his eyes flutter open.
And he smiles a rainbow of renewal.
He lets me lift him in my arms to lay him on the bed. I spread the blanket over him, brushing his hair away from his face.
"Do I?" he whispers, still afraid to hear my answer.
Still touched by the dream.
"Yes," I answer, touching the long fingers of his hand.
"You do exist."