He was riding his bike, along the highway. Trees and small houses sped past him, in a hurry, to get back home. He hadn’t seen her for six months now. Work had kept him away, but communication had kept her for him. The emotions that sprung up inside him, whenever he thought of her, were amazing. Never had he felt for anyone this way. Not in the 32 years of his life. He had dated many times before, but this, this was something else. As his odometer ticked furiously, his mind was rapidly flipping through all the moments he had spent with her. All the moments he had thought of her. All those hours on the phone. Finally, he was there.

Her house was a nice white bungalow, surrounded by a picket fence that went all the way around. The white gate led to a pebbled driveway, flanked on both sides by flowery bushes, and grass of the softest kind. Her neighborhood was the friendliest. He always knew she was safe. And that kept him happy. He was greeted by the barks of Pug, her dog. Pug ran out the door to meet him, wagging his small tail hard. He bent down to take Pug into his arms, and walked into the door. She stood there, just as he had imagined her, smiling eternally. A traditional dress adorned her, with the simplest of accessories glorifying her. They hugged, then kissed, and he felt her six month-long wait for him.

He heard a shuffle on the stairs, and the sound of two feet running upstairs. He looked, but couldn’t see anyone. He looked at her, and frowned. She said, “Yes, he’s upstairs. I can’t say he’s been waiting for you. I guess he thought you weren’t coming back, after such a long time. It won’t be easy to get him out of his shell again.” He felt almost obligated to go upstairs. Nervous to be alone, he took Pug along with him. Pug didn’t hesitate as he did. He ran up the stairs and barged at the door, scratching at it when it didn’t open. He whined, pleading his owner to open the door for him. He stood behind the door, waiting. As the door opened, Pug rushed in and almost crashed into the foot of the bed in his enthusiasm and happiness. He, on the other hand, stood right there, waiting for a response from inside.

The small boy looked at him, surprised that he would come up, then angry. He looked down at the boy, and tried to smile. The boy looked at him, and said, “What?” There was innocent anger in the 10-year old’s voice. He was unable to mask his fear, too. The man looked at the boy, realizing how tough this might be for him. He tried to keep a friendly hand on his shoulder, but the boy backed away. Retreating, the man said, “I have returned. Your mom and me want you to be happy. Please, tell me whatever you want to talk about. I want to know you. What are your hobbies?” His voice was tender, but the boy refused to trust him. “You are not my daddy.” The door was as good as shut.

He had known, ever since he had fallen for her, that she had a son. The boy had always been the difficult one to impress. The boy had never gotten used to the fact that he was permanent. He had expected him to be gone, like his mother’s various failed romances. And when he had left, with no word (to the boy’s knowledge) for six months, the boy had been relieved. His mother, was his. Not any other random man’s wife. He could protect her. Be the man of the house, as his daddy had told him before leaving. And he would. No outsider could replace his father. His mother had suffered enough as it was. He had seen her walk into rooms and cry silently. He had seen the loneliness in her eyes. This man would leave one day. He couldn’t afford to let his mother go through all that yet again.

He sat there, with Pug, listening to the murmurs below. His mother was laughing. With that man? It was false humor, he was sure.  Something had to be done, before his mother was in his grasp completely. He took Pug with him, and decided to confront the man. As he reached the top step, he realized all his efforts would be futile. Why would two adults take a small kid seriously? He was insignificant. As insignificant as the dog. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Be a man. Stop crying. Become significant.” He was fighting his body. He closed his eyes in a heroic effort to stop the tears. They rolled out. His shoulders dropped as he gave up hope. Taking the dog with him, he climbed up to the roof, to sit and think.

A neighbor came running through the driveway just as she was preparing lunch. Eyes wide, fumbling with his hands, he explained to the mother that her child was standing on the parapet of the house. With a dog. The man looked up from the newspaper. He was startled. The boy could not be serious! How could a small child, a child of God, even contemplate suicide? He ran out the front door, to the back, where he saw the child sitting mildly on the parapet. The dog was in his lap, cuddling up to its owner. The neighbor had been exaggerating. The kid wasn’t in any danger.

He saw him run into the backyard. He wouldn’t leave him alone. Anger welled up inside him. Let’s see how much he really cares. He stood up on the parapet. It was high up here. The dog was frightened. The dog tried to jump from his arms. “Don’t do anything, kid. I’m coming up there. Don’t worry, I got you,” the man said, with gestures. The boy said,”Go away. Get away from my mother! Why did you come back? Go away! Or I’ll.. I’ll.. I’ll throw Pug!” He had to find leverage. He didn’t have any. “Kid, calm down! We’ll talk this out. Your mother and I… Hey!” The dog was airborne. The man rushed. He dived, and got the dog before it could crash into the ground. Just as he got up to check if the dog was okay, he heard a scream from the door. He looked, to see her pointing up. He looked up to see the kid crash into the garden. No one moved, and the silence was only breached by the woman’s sobs.