Pickup

Out the front door, down the front concrete path sits the pickup truck. You loved to take me out to it, have me unlock it, and sit in it. You could do it for more than an hour. You’d grab my hand, in your other hand would be your phone, and you’d guide me to the front door. I knew what you wanted. I didn’t oblige every time, and I should have. Sometimes I’d put you off. “Wait Bobo, I gotta help with dinner”. Now, I know, I should have gone out there with you every damn time. And sat out there for as long as you wanted.

What did you want out there? Why did you take us out there? You’d mostly want to sit in the front seat. And do the kicky feet. You’d play on your phone and sit there. Sometimes crawl around in the backseat. I’d flip the key on without turning on the truck and the noise from the console would make you cover your ear. Okay, you didn’t want that obviously. So I’d turn it back off.

You’d go out with me in any form of clothing. If you happened to only have underwear and a t-shirt on, out you’d head, undeterred by what anyone would say about the pant less child heading out to the car with his Dad. You’d have me unlock the truck and open the door and head on in. Sometimes you would scrounge on the floor for any food or snacks that had been previously dropped in the backseat area. More than once, I’d follow you out there with your plate of food that I’d made you and hope that you’d eat while we sat out there together. And on occasion you would. The incentive of being out there and kicking back maybe stirring something in your body to tell you to eat. Which I felt like was a win. As always, I found rewards in being alone with you. Just us, not talking, but communicating all the same. I’d tell you about my day, or ask you about yours. And you’d look at me and listen. Never judging or interrupting. Just being my sidekick in that moment.

You’d always check the center console in hopes that candy or snacks would be in there, as was consistently the case with your grandparents vehicles. Your Grandfather was always stocked up in his cars and I think you extrapolated that to all vehicles. You’d close it in disappointment as I never really catered to your candy needs. But you wouldn’t bail. You’d go back to your phone or your toy, whatever you had to stim on and keep on enjoying your truck time. And I’d keep enjoying you.

I have alot of guilt when I look back. Mostly because now that you’re gone, I can’t get any of those moments again. And even though I know I did a pretty good job of being present, now that you’re gone, I can always see a moment missed. And those moments haunt me. And one of those places the haunting comes, is in that pickup truck.