For A Moment
By J. Lynn (j_lynn@mac.com)


Movieverse Norman, Harry and Peter belong to Marvel not me.


There he is. I catch sight of him out of the corner of my eye and I can't seem to look away. I should look away. I need to. I'm supposed to be talking to my son, helping him become the man he will have to be. But I can't look away. I'm helpless. He's just so awkward, and gawky, and fragile, and good, and beautiful. How is it that I'm the only one who can't *not* look?

He's walking past the car, oblivious, caught up in his own thoughts, brain going a million miles a minute if I know him. He'll be great one day. Already those who know him see the gilmmers that peek through when he lets it.

He's so... shy. Hiding behind the goodness he wears like a shield. To worried about everyone else's needs to see his own.

I'd take care of him.

In an instant I'd whisk him away and show him how much he's loved, appreciated, valued. How much he deserves it. How by just being him he's something more than, greater than, so very much beyond everyone else. I wouldn't let anyone take him for granted.

I'd teach him to trust himself. Believe in himself as much as I do. To use that belief, and no longer allow people to take him for granted. He should be listened to.

I listen to him.

If I could I'd sit at his feet, listening to him for all eternity, but that's not my fate. I'm the iron that sharpens his mettle. The fire that purrifies the gold. I count myself blessed to be able to follow him in mind if nothing else.

I can't have his beauty, his goodness, his heart. And yet, I do. He, he has given me more than I could have ever thought possible, just a few months ago. God only knows why, but he has so foolishly decided to give me all that is valuable. Himself.

And though I dare not hope for this to last, I can pray. Pray that our few short months will become years. I'll be the one that fills his existance, the one who knows him better than himself, better than anyone, for as long as he'll let me. I'd give anything to be able to show him what he is, and what he can be.

I know it can't last. That I can't be enough for long, but I'll spend what time I have glorying in the fact that, for the moment, he loves me.

I look, even though I shouldn't. And when my wonderful, forgetful, child leaves his backpack in the car I leap for the chance to speak to him. Touch him for a moment. See the beautiful soft light in his eyes that's there just for me.

And for the moment it's enough for both of us.

Glowing even brighter, just because we're near each other, for the moment.

It's a feeling I'll carry with me until the next stolen piece of time.

A moment that will come as soon as either of us can make it. In a spare hour or two when he's supposed to be at the library, in a restaurant off 49'th street, under my own son's nose. It won't matter where, or when, but when I look at him I can feel it growing beneath my skin. When his eyes meet mine it explodes into a web of feeling which binds us together every time. If just for a moment.

And in that moment, nothing else exists.

Just me.

And him.

For a moment.

fin