The kid’s gotten into this bad habit of asking me questions.

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You oughta see it; I think you’d laugh.

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And next to can I stay home from school today, you’re the most asked about subject around here.

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Where’d Daddy go? Why isn’t he here? Is he mad at me? It’s disgusting.  One time he even asked me if you were dead.

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We were sitting at the kitchen table, and he was watching me assemble a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, as if he thought I was making it for him.  Like hell- I told him the minute he first stepped through the door-- in this house, we make our own sandwiches. That’s the most important rule, aside from no drinks and drugs and shit. Of course, the rules didn’t apply to the under-ten crowd, so I’m golden.

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Anyway, he was watching me with his head on the table and he asked me, “Is Daddy dead?”

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I froze, and slid the sandwich across to him with a palpable sense of defeat.  “He’s indisposed,” I told him.

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His eyes bugged out in horror, turned towards the kitchen sink.  “Did you put him in there?”

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“What? No! Indisposed. You little psycho.” I ran my hands through my hair.  “I mean he’s not available.”

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“I could’ve told you that,” he said.

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Huh. Starting to talk like me. I’d have to nip that in the bud.

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“Eat your sandwich,” I snapped. I drummed my fingers on the tabletop and tried to think of something zen to tell him. Or at least something creative.

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At the distant tinkle of wind chimes on the patio- the ones you put up three years ago- I said, “It was the wind.”

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He stopped eating and stared at me.

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“Uh-huh. Yeah. The wind carried him away.”

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“How?”

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“...You know birds? You know birds. Did you know their bones are hollow?”

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He shook his head.

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“It’s true. It makes them lighter so they can fly. If their bones were solid all the way through, like ours, they’d be too heavy.”

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“Okay,” he said dubiously. Curious, I’m sure, as to where I was going with this.

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“Your dad’s bones started to hollow out when he got really skinny. You remember?”

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He nodded.

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“Well one day he woke up, looked over at me, and said, ‘I feel lighter than air.’ ‘You just might be,’ I said. I was joking. ‘Cause he was so skinny, you know? But when he walked out the door to get the paper, and whoosh.” I made an upward cutting motion with the blade of my hand. “Like superman. Or a plastic bag, or something. Gone.”

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“That’s crazy!”

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“I know, right? But that’s what happened. You should’ve seen me standing out there, yelling, ‘Hey, where you going? Your kid’s still here, what the hell am I supposed to do with him?”

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The kid leaned forward across the table, shocked and thrilled. “What’d he say?”

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I shrugged. “Couldn’t hear him. He was too high up by then.”

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“How high up did he go?”

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“All the way up, I guess.”

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“Is he ever coming back?”

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“Maybe. Maybe if he eats a decent meal, gains a few pounds, he just might.”

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There was silence at the table. I always loved that moment right after the lie, when he thinks I’m like this omniscient being. Your son turned out to be a gullible little punk, but then, you always were a little bit, too.

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He looked up at me suddenly.

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“So if I don’t eat anything and get real skinny, will I see Daddy again?”

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I felt like I had been smacked upside the head. With an anvil. With an anvil and the words ‘BAD PARENTING’ stamped on the side of it.

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“What?” I cried. “No! The point is you’re supposed to eat.”

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“But Daddy was skinny, and he flew away!”

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“That’s a bad thing!”

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He looked stunned. “But I love Daddy.”

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I rubbed my hands over my face. “Me too, kid.”

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“Great!” He brightened, hopped down from his chair, and after a moment’s consideration, pushed the plate with the sandwich on it back over to me. “Here you go,” he said. “I don’t want you to fly away before I can. That way I have you here, and Daddy up there. You can follow after me, okay?”

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“Okay,” I groaned, as he ran out of the room. Probably to run around the backyard, burning off the weight he couldn’t afford to lose.

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I couldn’t wait for social services to get a hold of this.