Kenopsia

1: Familiar Face

1 year later

I'm sitting outside my apartment complex in the busy city of San Francisco with my 7 month old baby in my lap. It's a chilly day, and I shiver, waiting for the bus.

"Baby Elias," I coo. "Are you excited to go to work with Mama? Yes?"

Elias gurgles softly in my ear, little blonde wisps of hair circling around his head. He got his hair and eyes from my father, he's practically his carbon copy. The only thing he got from me was my nose. While his personality, that's all his father. This part I think begrudgingly.

The bus finally stops, and I fish my money out of my purse. My world twists, and I feel my legs go out from under me. I instinctively shield my son, taking all the impact of the fall. I check over my son, trying to hush his wails.

"Fuck-" a familiar male voice rings out. "I mean I shouldn't fucking say that-shit I did it again. Wait I- didn't mean to trip you."

My mouth falls open, and I cover Elias' eyes, as if by blocking his sight I can stop him from seeing his deadbeat dad. "Klyde?" I choke out.

His normally hard face softens. He runs a tattooed hand over his face. That's when I notice, his tattoos are everywhere. They span across his neck, his arms, all over his legs as well. Like a teenage girl, I feel myself dampen as I run my eyes over him. I can't stop myself, it's like my body knows him and only him.

He hesitates, "Yes, yes. It's me babygirl."

My lips curl in disgust at the nickname, "Wow long time no see." I spit. "Babygirl? That's all you can say? Well guess what!" I cover Elias' ears. "You've got a fucking baby boy now too. I guess you're a daddy for real now, huh?"

He shifts awkwardly, "I know I have a lot to explain, but..." he clears his throat and looks behind him. I notice him then, it's Christopher, his best friend. He's leaning against a truck, trying to avoid looking at me. I bite my lip. Chris shouldn't be here, not after what we did together.

He sighs, "I'm clean now. I want to be in his life now. I couldn't let myself be around him or you while I was addicted. I didn't want to hurt you."

"You don't even know his name! It's Elias! We don't need you." I draw my breath in, "And I wish you were still rotting on the side of the street like you were for the past year. I will never, ever let you near me, or him. He doesn't need a father who shows up when it's convenient."

I don't let him say another word. I shove myself onto the bus. Elias has quieted down, and I find myself staring out the window. The last I see of him, is his tense face, with a phone held tightly to his ear.