Hummingbirds And Fireflies

Addict With A Pen

Enoch's Father

When we got onto the highway, Enoch pulled out an iPod, and put in one of his ear buds. He looked out the window, and it was pretty quiet in the car. You could practically hear the both of us breathing. It was the kind of silence you would expect to find at a funeral, where strangers apologize for the loss of someone they barely know.

I glanced over at him a few times, and saw that he had scars. They were fairly new, but I didn't want to mention to him. I figured he had his reasons, like his mother. Never question the motive, that's what I learned. Then again, that's what got her mother killed, and Enoch taken away. Uh, his mother, gah, still getting used to it.

You know, it's hard. It's hard to want to be with your own kid, especially when the last time you saw him, he was a girl, and practically a baby. It's really freaking hard. I tap him, ask him what he's listening to.

"Probably nothing you know, dad," he replies tiredly. I hand him the aux cord, and his face lights up, then he becomes suspicious. He pulls out his ear buds, and plugs in the iPod. I listened for a moment.

"I do know them, actually. Twenty One Pilots. Their older stuff. I like this album and Regional at Best better than Vessel and Blurryface. This was one of my favorite songs from this album, until I forgot about them." Enoch looked at me, equal parts suspicious and amused. "Yeah, I'm not as old-school as you think." He rolled his eyes, and I think I saw the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

He had the song on repeat as we drove, and it was comforting, in an odd way. It's like we share something. Something small, but it was something. I hope this is the beginning of a relationship. Most likely not a stable one, but a good one all the same, hopefully.