Luke

My son, Trey, stood behind the yawning, vintage-model car door as Luke climbed out onto the driveway, wearing a look of intent focus. He hadn’t been doing this long, and he wanted to do it right. I couldn’t help but wonder if the plaid button-down he was wearing was the choice of Trey or the boy’s mother. Either way, he was cute, in an elfin sort of way. Little boys, especially cute little boys, always get to me.

Luke belonged to Starr who though eight years older than my son, and already burdened with a child from a failed marriage, had employed her appreciable feminine wiles to capture his heart. Trey would use the word “heart”. In my opinion, and in concert with her considerable reputation, the heart was not the body part she was most adept at handling. After much conversation, it was decided that despite my misgivings about their relationship, my son, his girlfriend, and her child would attend our family gathering. It was Christmas, after all.

I had shopped the week before for gifts, making a previously unanticipated stop in the toy department, where I chose the appropriate testosterone-building toys for a boy Luke’s age. I can admit now to feeling like something of a martyr; a generous martyr, but a martyr all the same.

Luke entered the house through a fence of dog legs. I remember squinting eyes above his smile, as he swatted animals easily outweighing him. He burbled unintelligibly in a high pitched voice, and I wasn’t sure who he was addressing until I heard the word “Mama”. As the evening wore on, I would hear that word from his lips more than any other.

Luke was affable. He worked at it. He was affable and hesitant, all at once, making it clear that he had been coached. I appreciated both efforts, while hoping it hadn’t cost him.

My dogs fascinated Luke to a point just shy of terror. As he reached one small hand to touch their fur he searched the room for his mother, and finding her, burbled loudly, as if to say, “Look, I’m doing it! I’m petting the dog! Aren’t I good? Aren’t you proud? Please watch me!”. To her credit, she always answered positively, supportively,employing her limited resources as effectively as she knew how.

Dinner was served, and I sat Luke amidst the other children. His loud, high-pitched voice and easy, somewhat manic laughter drew my smiling attention frequently; while also drawing the attention of my son who, despite the short duration of their relationship, had apparently assumed the role of disciplinarian. As Trey’s head swung in the direction of the boy, I saw hooded, down-turned eyes before the smile that decorated his words.

“I’ll be good!” Luke’s voice was shrill and somewhat desperate, conjuring dark images of angry faces, loud words, and violence.

Something must have shown in my face, and Trey sought me out later to explain. Luke had “problems”. They had made an appointment to see a doctor. The look on my son’s face said, “I didn’t do this. But, I’m trying to fix it.”.

As everyone in attendance could have guessed, the relationship ended badly. Trey took refuge with my daughter and her family, starting a new career while trying, desperately, to envision a new life. That was over a year ago.

This morning I scowled at the sound of my ringtone until, glancing at the display, I saw that it was Trey calling. He is a victim of our country’s current economic downturn, and thus in need of an updated resume which I had promised to deliver several days ago.

“Hey, Mom.” He starts every conversation in this way, no matter the circumstance.

We discussed the resume. I asked the appropriate questions. He gave the only answers he could.

“I’m thinking about moving back to Jefferson. I just feel like a burden to everyone here.” As my son spoke, I envisioned him holding his cellphone tightly against his right ear, his head hanging between his knees.

With his words, an image of Starr filled my head, with Luke lurking in the background.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”, I said, with remarkable control, inviting Trey to state his case, which he did, hesitantly, haltingly.

“You have to think about the boy, Trey. You have to think about Luke. He didn’t ask to be born to a crazy mother, and he didn’t ask for you. You can’t just go in and out of a boy’s life like that! It’s not fair!”

I had finally said the words I should have said years ago.

“Starr’s cleaned up!”, Trey began.

“And, how many times has that happened? Huh? How many times has Starr changed? How long is it going to last this time? And besides, Starr doesn’t matter here. It’s the boy! The boy is all that matters!”

I had spilled it. A little more wouldn’t matter.

“Mom, it’s time you knew…”, Trey began.

I know now that I gripped the arms of the leather chair I sat in as he spoke, though at the time, I had no realization.

“Starr was arrested in Boston. They took Luke, and gave him to his father. The next thing she heard was that Luke was in the hospital. His father beat him pretty bad…”

I remember his smile and the way he tried, so hard, to please. I remember a small, plaid, button-down shirt, and swatting hands, and a shrill voice that said, “Love me. Please love me. Please…just love me…

I’ll be good…”

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