Peek-a-boo

Spider watched the baby drooling into his mother’s hair as it slapped at the back of the airplane’s seat. He wished the mom would lower the kid, or at least turn him around so he’d stop staring at Spider as if Spider was supposed to entertain him for the three-hour flight. He wasn’t in the mood. How could he be? He’d just watched the guy who was his dad die in a hospital bed, too out of it from the drugs to even know Spider was there. Which was the story of his life. His mom—or actually, it had been his mom’s therapist’s idea—had thought it would be good for Spider to pay his last respects, and maybe it was, but Spider couldn’t tell. It had all been too weird, standing at the bed with his mom watching as if he was supposed to do something meaningful and lasting.

“It’s okay to cry,” she’d told him. But she wasn’t crying, and he didn’t feel like it.

And now this drooling, expectant baby staring at him.

He glanced at his mom, scrolling on her phone. The two other times he’d flown, there’d been TV screens in the seat in front of him, but this plane didn’t have anything, and he was bored.

 “Stupid baby,” he whispered under the numbing roar of the plane’s engines. The kid grinned, another string of drool seeping from his mouth. His head pitched forward then, a face plant against the seatback, and the kid started to suck the fabric.

It was too disgusting, and Spider couldn’t help but smile. The baby’s eyes widened, and he lifted his face from the seat and smiled back. Spider shook his head, trying to discourage the kid. Stupid, dumb kid, he thought, and the baby slapped the seat with his chunky hands.

It was going to be a long flight.

The baby paused, his eyes fixed on Spider’s. It was strange, Spider thought, how you can stare at babies—both of you just staring at each other—and it didn’t feel weird.

The kid looked away as if distracted by something outside Spider’s window. But then he was staring at Spider again, his hands waving, the gummy smile.

So Spider lifted his own hands and covered his face and counted to three before pulling them away.

“Peek-a-boo,” he said, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

For a moment, the kid was frozen, then he twitched, his eyes bursting, and his arms flailed, smacking the seatback, loving it.

Spider covered his face again, counted to three. Again, the surprised, frozen delay before the kid had a little conniption fit and a fresh line of drool spilled down his chin. The kid looked away then, his arms pounding the seatback a few times. When the kid turned to Spider, he smiled again, and his arms flapped about.

This time Spider covered his face, but he peered through his fingers. The kid froze up, waiting, eyebrows raised. Spider whipped his hands away, and the kid gave a screech, his arms going berserk. Again, the kid turned away, grabbing about his mom’s head and pressing his face into her hair. The mom’s hand came up and patted the kid’s back, and Spider wondered if they were done. He felt a pinch of sadness. 

A minute later, the kid was back, grinning at him, but Spider wasn’t sure he wanted to play anymore. He leaned back and covered his face. He watched the kid again, its face full of hope and wonderment. Stupid kid, he thought again, and pressed his hands harder against his cheeks. And a stupid game, too. What was the point anyway, hiding in plain sight?

He could see the kid’s arms starting to bat at the seat, the kid’s face looking a little squinched.

Good, he thought, Let the kid wait a little.

He pressed his fingers against his eyelids, a kaleidoscope of radiating sunbursts. His dad was dead, which meant he was now truly gone. But he didn’t really know what this meant or if it changed much. His dad had never really been there to begin with.

He heard something that sounded like a chirp, then a squeal of protest.

He didn’t remove his hands. Instead, he pressed them harder against his cheeks. Something in his belly was hatching, an egg of ache cracking open, and he wanted it to go away. He wanted this needy baby to need someone else, to let him be, to let him get on with things. Let the kid scream and wail and carry on, but Spider wouldn’t look at it anymore. The kid would either shut up or it wouldn’t. For now, Spider would shield his face, waiting for his vision to settle and go dark and disappear. Then, and only then, would he let himself come back to the world.