To My Stepson
Flash Nonfiction by Carrie Hawthorne
I wasn’t there that day on the beach. In the photo, your Fruit of the Loom underwear is showing. You must have left your suit at home and dove in wearing basketball shorts. Classic you. Too thin but still flexing your muscles. That wild grin. Judging by the massive cross around your neck, it was during your Jesus phase. I was probably at home, resenting you for taking your father away from me for the afternoon. If I had gone, I wouldn’t have gotten wet. I would have sat on the sand and bitched.
Now I wish for that knock on the door, not where the policeman is standing on the stoop. The one where you are searching for a home. This time, I’d stretch my arms out so wide that you would fall into them. I’d go on every beach trip, long drive, walk in the sun. Fall in place beside you. You would outlive me this time. I wouldn’t be apologizing to a box of ashes, hair, and teeth.
Carrie Lynn Hawthorne is a writer and mother from Pasadena, CA. You can find her work in Hennepin Review, Sunlight Press, Cultural Daily, and more. For links to her recent publications, go to carrielynnhawthorne.com.
