Somehow Dominic managed to turn him into a troll that chased the “billy goats” through the forest. Endless peals of laughter told Isaac that this was a fun thing to do. Isaac himself wasn’t so sure. It made him feel a bit ill, actually. Even though in theory it should be the kids who were afraid, it was Isaac who felt the fear. Monsters chasing children were far from amusing, and the thought of him being one, even in pretend play, made his heart pound and his forehead bead with sweat. It was just a game, but he didn’t want to play it. Eventually, he caught Max’s attention and flagged him down.
“Need a hand over here?”
“Just a break. I saw you feeding Elise. Are you done? Where is she?” He looked across the yard at the rock-painting area. “Gretchen doesn’t have her.”
“Your mom has her.” Max nodded toward the patio. He answered Isaac’s unasked question, “She arrived just after Dominic dragged you out here.”
“Daddy! Why’d you stop being the troll? Be the troll again!” Dominic’s demand was born out of excitement rather than impatience. Isaac studied him, took in his big grin that revealed a mouth full of baby teeth, four of which Dominic erroneously insisted were loose; his sand-bespeckled shirt; and his dirty knees. Dominic wasn’t a baby anymore. He wasn’t a toddler. He wasn’t even really a preschooler anymore. He was becoming a big kid. How did he become five years old?
“Daddy! Come be our troll!”
As if planned, the rest of the group began to chant, “Be our troll! Be our troll! Be our troll!”
Exhaustion hit. Perhaps he shouldn’t have played tennis so intensely so early in the morning. He didn’t want to be the troll. The last thing he wanted to do was run around being an ugly monster chasing his son and his friends. But he didn’t want to let Dominic down.
Max cut in before Isaac had a chance to answer Dominic. “I think your dad needs a little break.”
“No!”
“How about if Uncle Max turns into the troll?” Isaac watched Max transform into his version of a troll: back hunched, legs wide and bent, arms raised above his head, fingers curled into claws, and naturally bald head finishing off the look. His roar was met with delighted squeals and defensive scampering. Max turned to Isaac, and in a menacing troll voice growled, “Get out of here, old man, before I eat you!”
Although he was more disturbed than amused, Isaac smiled at Max and turned toward the patio. His mother stood as he approached. Baby in one arm, she wrapped her other arm around Isaac and kissed his cheek. “Hello, Son. My, your own son is growing. I haven’t seen him in two months. I think he’s grown six inches.”
“Hi, Mom. We’re glad you could make it. I don’t think Dominic has grown six inches.”
“Okay, maybe not, but he sure is growing.” She looped her free arm through Isaac’s. “I remember when my own little boy was five. You were so adorable. Do you remember being five, honey?”
Isaac looked at her. He thought. “Mom. That was a long time ago. Almost thirty years.”
“Humph. Well, you may not remember, but I remember you at that age. And you were adorable. Just like Dominic.”
Isaac turned to watch his son. Isaac didn’t remember much about his childhood, but why would he? Like he told his mother, it was a long time ago. He wondered. Would Dominic remember much about his? Would he remember this party? Isaac hoped so. God. Why was he already five years old? It was probably irrational to think this way, but it seemed like Dominic’s true childhood was ending. The carefree days of preschool, where classes were small and the learning activities were tame and fun, where there were snack breaks and lots of play time, were over. In a few short weeks, Dominic would be in kindergarten. He was a big kid. Once Dominic blew out the five candles on his birthday cake, his innocence would blow away, too. With this thought, a crushing sadness descended upon Isaac, starting at the top of his head and washing down, down, stopping along the way at his throat, his head, his gut, and his knees to invade and raid the little energy they had left. It was a sadness so all-encompassing it made his head burn, as if his brain had gone up in flames to try to smoke out the dolefulness. He squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them, blinked, and looked around. He couldn’t take it. He needed to go inside before he fell apart. His mother called out to him as he shuffled away, but he couldn’t answer. He just kept walking, across the patio, onto the little covered deck, and through the door that led into his bedroom. After closing the shades so no one could see him, he lay on the bed and curled himself into a tight ball.
As it always did to him, the depression pressed down from every angle imaginable and, ruthless, it didn’t stop on the outside but penetrated him in every way possible. The result was an agonizing pain but an equally agonizing inability to move out of pain’s reach. As he mourned the loss of his sweet little boy, vague worries began to worm their way into his thoughts. The worries, feelings more than words, wiggled into the tiny spaces sloppily left by the depression when it settled in. He still didn’t have the energy to move, but the anxiety, always restless and unsatisfied, demanded it. He began to rock slightly.
He was too numb to jump and too sad to care when Reese burst into the room. “Isaac!” He didn’t answer. He heard Reese cross the room, sensed her presence on the edge of the bed, felt her hand touch his shoulder. It wasn’t until she moved her hand in circles then slid it gently up his face to push back his hair and feel his forehead that he opened his eyes.
“Hi, Reese,” he whispered.
“Honey, what’s wrong? You’re missing the party.”
He nodded. “I know.” It was another whisper.
“Do you think you can come back outside? Dominic is asking for you. Max and Gretchen are helping, but it would be nice to have you out there, too.”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it one of your headaches again? Can I get you something?”
“Yes. No. I mean, yes, my head hurts, but no, nothing ever helps.”
“Can you sit up?”
“I don’t know.”
“How about at least giving it a try, Isaac?”
Moving only his eyes, he studied her. She seemed a bit impatient, but not angry, and also concerned. He should be nice and sit up. With what felt like gargantuan effort, he unfurled his limbs, placed a hand on the bed, and pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked into Reese’s eyes. Hers bore into his with equal intensity. He leaned in and clung tightly to her. He closed his eyes with relief when she returned the embrace.
His eyes flew open. They darted around the room. Daylight. Shades closed. Reese in his arms. What in the world? What happened to the party? Where was everyone? Where was Dominic? Dominic! Where was he? Did something happen? He pulled back as he exclaimed, “Reese!”
“Isaac! What? What is it?”
“Dominic. His party. Dominic! What happened? Where is he? What—”
Reese threw her hands up, palms toward Isaac. “Stop! Isaac. What are you talking about? I have no idea what is going on with you right now. A minute ago you were despondent on the bed, barely saying a word. Suddenly you’re agitated and babbling frantically, asking questions that don’t even make sense. Honestly. I don’t understand what gets into you
