Rage of Angels

Time was a swiftly flowing river that had no shores, no boundaries. Its seasons were not winter, spring, fall or summer, but birthdays and joys and troubles and pain. They were court battles won, and cases lost; the reality of Michael, the memories of Adam. But mainly, it was Joshua who was time's calendar, a reminder of how quickly the years were passing.



He was, incredibly, seven years old. Overnight, it seemed, he had gone from crayons and picture books to airplane models and sports. Joshua had grown tall and he resembled his father more every day, and not merely in his physical appearance. He was sensitive and polite, and he had a strong sense of fair play. When Jennifer punished him for something he had done, Joshua said stubbornly, "I'm only four feet tall, but I've got my rights."



He was a miniature Adam. Joshua was athletic, as Adam was. His heroes were the Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz.



"I never heard of them," Jennifer said.



"Where have you been, Mom? They invented Little League."



"Oh. That Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz."



On weekends, Joshua watched every sports event on television - football, baseball, basketball - it did not matter. In the beginning, Jennifer had let Joshua watch the games alone, but when he tried to discuss the plays with her afterward and Jennifer was completely at sea, she decided she had better watch with him. And so the two of them would sit in front of the television set, munching popcorn and cheering the players.



One day Joshua came in from playing ball, a worried expression on his face, and said, "Mom, can we have a man-to-man talk?"



"Certainly, Joshua."



They sat down at the kitchen table and Jennifer made him a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk.



"What's the problem?"



His voice was sober and filled with concern. "Well, I heard the guys talkin' and I was just wonderin' - do you think there'll still be sex when I grow up?"



Jennifer had bought a small Newport sailboat, and on weekends she and Joshua would go out on the sound for a sail. Jennifer liked to watch his face when he was at the helm. He wore an excited little smile, which she called his "Eric the Red" smile. Joshua was a natural sailor, like his father. The thought brought Jennifer up sharply. She wondered whether she was trying to live her life with Adam vicariously through Joshua. All the things she was doing with her son - the sailing, the sporting events - were things she had done with his father. Jennifer told herself she was doing them because Joshua liked doing them, but she was not sure she was being completely honest. She watched Joshua sheet in the jib, his cheeks tanned from the wind and the sun, his face beaming, and Jennifer realized that the reasons did not matter. The important thing was that her son loved his life with her. He was not a surrogate for his father. He was his own person and Jennifer loved him more than anyone on earth.