unreal

“Mom, is this real?” The latest kid refrain. Halloween spooks got him thinking about our world. Do ghosts fit in, or are they only imagination? Zombies, vampires, witches. The natural world, too, it all seems so unreal. Hot lava. Outer space. The nature shows we watch, how life happens out of eggs.

He likes a genre of YouTube videos that show a slideshow of boxy Minecraft creatures compared to creepy AI-gen versions. Got our kid believing Endermen are real. Arthur explains the difference between real and realistic. We’re patient. This is important. How did we learn it, 40 years ago? I suppose through repetition. Pattern seeking. Critical thinking. Adherence to groupthink and rejection of it, too.

I don’t know how we did it.
I’m not sure we always did.

A million things go through my head, my heart aching, brain locking up. Mass deportation! Death penalty for abortions! Don’t forget to order the donuts for L’s birthday party! Also get him a passport just in case, and we should buy a house in St. Paul closest to the immersion school associated with the country most likely to accept refugees.

Go forth. Do all the things. Orchestrate a cross-country move on the same To-Do List level as Save Gaza and select extracurriculars for the ~five-year-old that foster collapse resiliency. Swim lessons, check. Ninja class? Maybe! Fuckin make dinner fuckin again. Sell the house we love in this adored city, and also, stock the pantry. Get (a) Plan B. (C.) (D.) Interrupt the doomscroll to flip the laundry, ‘cause we were never gonna flip Texas. Seriously.

“Is this real?”

Yes. No. Afraid so.

“Some people think it’s real, but I don’t believe it,” fumbling my way through the evidence. I’m overwhelmed by PTSD, mostly by proxy — my privilege shows with every day of silence, and paranoia too, the internet is not safe, paralyzed by preemptive grief.

I look away from the words I write. They take so long and fall so short. The light is just right, streaming through the window to overlay my face onto my son.

Grim reflection, check.

Eclipse of the reverse.

Everything I do is for him.