Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

It was seven hours later that Creed returned to all of us in the waiting room, decked out in scrubs, looking shell-shocked and worn. But then a crooked smile so much like his brother’s bloomed on his face, and he told us that he had a son. Joseph (God love him) Jean Thompson. JJ, for short.

Seven pounds four ounces. He said that the little guy looked squishy and why hadn’t anyone told him what placenta was, because sure as shit, that was the grossest thing he’d ever seen. And then he fainted in the middle of the waiting room at Mercy Hospital.

Out of everything I remember about that day, out of all the happiness, the sadness, the sadistic seagull, and the fact that I was now married, there’s one thing that’ll stick with me for the rest of my life. No, it’s not when Otter and I finally kissed and made it official there in the waiting room. No, it wasn’t when the Kid landed in my lap, following that kiss, and hugged me until I thought my face would fall off. Those are important, yes. But there is one thing that I’ll remember above all others. It was the moment when Otter held Joseph in his arms for the first time, the little hand wrapped around one big finger. The look of wonder on his face shredded my heart. He leaned down and kissed the baby’s forehead, and that’s when I knew that regardless of what I wanted, regardless of what I thought on the matter, I’d give anything to Otter that I could. Including this.

Fuck me, I thought. Maybe the Kid will get a little brother after all.

SO THAT’S it.

Okay, that’s not really it. How can it be with so much to look forward to? I’m almost twenty-three years old. I’m married to the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’m the guardian of the smartest ten (!!)-

year-old ecoterrorist-in-training in the world. Of course there’s going to be more. This isn’t it, not by a long shot.

I don’t know, however, that I believe in the idea of happily ever after. It seems clichéd to end this on such a trite note. Will we live happily ever after? I don’t know. Maybe. It seems naïve to think that everything will be perfect all the time. You know what, though? I’ll make you a promise: I promise you that we will be happy. I promise you that we will live. I haven’t come this far to let everything fall by the wayside now. And you can hold me to that promise.

I’ve learned a lot in my lifetime, learned things I don’t think a man my age should ever have to learn. I wouldn’t change any of it, but I still wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. And if there’s a few things that I hoped you learned from all of this, it would be the following: first, seagulls have long, long memories. Don’t fuck with them. I’m being serious. I don’t go back to our beach without keeping an eye on the sky, because I’m afraid that that fucking asshole will go all kamikaze on my face. He hasn’t gone for me yet, but he’s waiting for the right moment, I just know it.

The second thing?

The second thing is this: family is not defined by blood. It’s not always who you’re born to that you’re stuck with. It’s what you want it to be, what you make of it. It’s the people around you who see you at your worst and are not afraid to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. It’s the people who can call you on your bullshit. It’s tough to hear, but if you do hear it, it means that someone gives a damn about you and chances are you should probably listen. It’s the people who look at you each time they see you like they haven’t seen you in years. It’s the people who you fight for. It’s the people you’d lay down your life for. It’s the scariest thing in the world, but, if you let it, it’s also the greatest. If I could have you remember anything from our time together, it would be that it’s not about where you come from. It’s about who you are.

For better or worse, this is us.

For all of our wrongs and for all of our rights, this is us.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, Ty finally got to give us his poem that he wrote for the wedding. He was kind of miffed that something as contrived as Anna going into labor would delay the reading of his latest masterpiece. But he did get to read it, eventually, and now it’s framed and sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. He’d be pissed if I forgot to mention it (“What do you mean you didn’t show them my poem? I’m the only reason people started listening to you to begin with! You really think they wanted to stay in your head the whole time? You really think they want to read about your coitus? Gross! Wait till it’s my turn to tell the story!

They’ll be like ‘Bear who?’”) and you know as well as I do that I’d never stop hearing about it.

So here, at the end, I’ll leave it for you to read.

I….

Shit, this is harder than I’d thought it’d be.

Fuck it. Okay, you and I can make a deal. Let’s not say good-bye. It sounds so final and stupid and blah, blah, blah. Even though I told you this will probably be the last time you and I talk like this, I could be full of shit.

Who knows? Weirder things have happened. I’m sure there’s plenty more drama down the road. I’m a gay bug zapper, remember?

So, instead of good-bye, let’s just pretend for now that I’ll see you later.

I think it’s easier that way. For me, at least.

So.

See you later?

On This Day

An Epic Poem

By Tyson McKenna (soon to be Tyson Thompson)

And here we gather, on this day.

Friends and family near;

to attend a wedding so very gay!