The impossibly tiny little boy glared from his seat, seeming to send angry lasers out at everyone on the bus. His gaze seemed to rise up from the center of his being and shoot out from his eyes over the sippy cup of pink lemonade he was drinking. I had never seen a baby as cute, nor as intense. His dad, a skinny man with snaggled teeth and the look of someone who had been through hard times, was talking about the little boy in an amicable voice to the woman across the aisle.
His mama as black as I am, he said.
Really? ‘Cuz it look like you got a white baby. She laughed.
I know!
Nah, but you can tell, ‘cuz his hair, he ain’t white.
The man looked down adoringly at the little boy’s soft black curls. If the little boy was projecting a death glare, all things good in the world were encompassed in this one man’s glance. Love showered down on the imp in radiant beams.
He may look cute, but he bad. The man grinning, seemed oblivious to the little boy’s death stare. I had no trouble imagining he had some tricks up his tiny sleeve.
Somehow, at this point, we got invited into the conversation.
Terrible twos, Peggyjoy commiserated.
That’s right! The woman answered. I ain’t never had that with my boy, ‘til now, she said, indicating a sullen little boy of about seven sitting next to her.
What’s his name? Peggyjoy asked.
Tavian, the woman answered. I noticed that she had My son, my heart tattooed on her arm and even though her son was in a sultry phase and she might complain about it, her love was apparent too.
What’s his name? I asked, returning to the tiny little man still glaring from his seat.
Isaiah, the man said proudly.
How old is he? I asked.
He be two in a month, the man said. He been with me seven months.
He’s not yours? PJ asked, surprised.
Nah, the man said, but then added, beaming all over, But I in the process of adopting him.
You with his mother? She asked.
He shook his head. We both free. Nah, I just took him on to raise him. Couldn’t deal with him bein’ fatherless. And besides, his mama—she a good mother—but she slow. She do things that no mother, no woman with sense would do. I’d go over and be like—Nah, did you just…? Stupid things.
Like what? I asked.
Like… like, she’d leave the house—leave the house—with his face all dirty. Or put him in dirty clothes. And when I first gave him a bath, he just screamed and screamed.
Oh, like it was his first one? I said, horrified.
Yeah! He exclaimed.
You think he slow, too? The woman asked.
Nah! Nah! The man said. He so smart. He beamed at Isaiah, just smiling with every fiber of his being. He so smart. He gave him a squeeze, then looked at us. When I decided to take him on, I changed my life around. I was a mess seven months ago. Wasn’t I different seven months ago?
You was different seven months ago, the woman agreed.
But when I realized I’d be taking care of him, I had to get my life together, he said. I quadrupled my salary since I had him. I had to! But he just gives me joy, he just my life now.
He scooped little Isaiah onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him. The little boy relaxed into him, still glaring out at the world, but obviously in the safest space in the world.
He not gonna fall asleep unless he on someone, the man said, looking down at Isaiah’s soft head.
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