He cried

Last night he cried. It was 2:18 am. I tried to rock him, but he just kept crying. We went outside. The air was cool and calm. The clouds hung in the sky like dark pillows hung from a string. The lamplight cast a glow over the street and it felt like I was looking at a still picture.

I thought the outside would calm him. My daughter always liked being outside as a baby. We would walk the streets and she would gaze into the darkness.

He cried.

His voice echoed against the other houses in the neighborhood. i could tell it was a still night, but I couldn’t reach the stillness. The dogs noticed in the neighborhood and began barking. The crickets paused. The grass stopped thinking about God and listened. Even the stars, hidden behind the clouds, turned to see what was wrong. When I showed him the chimes he became still. His cheek was smeared with a fat tear and the asian chimes chinked under his command. It had taken his voice for the moment. The earthed stopped moving except for the chimes in my son’s hand. The neighbors still had their t.v. on. It lit up their house like a warzone. Flashes of reds, blues, and whites commercialized their front lawn. For a moment it was quiet. You could feel the softness of the night.

Eventually we moved. The chimes distracted no longer and he began to cry. The darkness filled again with his tiny voice.

Soon his mother came, cradled, and nursed him. It was then that all was o.k. The stillness returned. The night moved again. I went to sleep knowing that all was o.k. and that he loved her just as much as I did.