Whose Eyes Would I Last Look Into?
Our first language in my final moment. Short Story - Rated PG
I'm Abigail, sextech leader, born-again monogamist, and mother of two. I love love and am fascinated by romantic relationships. I like to think of Happy Endings as an interpersonal peep show that showcases my relationship as a reminder that love is alive and well. It's sometimes soppy, sometimes sexy, and will always make you feel something. (Not guaranteed for those who are emotionally constipated, chronically hard, generally insensitive, or psychopathic.)
We are in a cab to the airport. Louis' first car ride to his first flight.
I sit between my boys in the back. Car seats to hip bones. Joe rides up front.
"What does that X mean?" Henry asks.
"Train crossing, dear," I say.
A train crossing. I imagine our cab’s wheels freeze as we cross the tracks. I hear the train's horn. The boys don’t see what's coming. Their heads are not yet window height. I have one last look. Whose eyes would I look into?
The cab driver brakes. I look at the rearview to see if a car is coming. No collision is imminent, but I hold the boys' hands anyway.
I look at Lou. He’s too young to smile, but he meets my gaze. I look at Henry. He smiles at me. Then I catch Joe's eyes in the mirror.
Whose eyes?
"You alright?" Joe asks.
"Yes," I say. "I love you three."
The words don’t say it as well as my eyes.
Nothing says more than a look; nothing feels better than one returned.
So, I'll spend each day I have this way. And if I’m as lucky in the end as I’ve been in life, I hope to look at them. I will always look at them.