See In Him

9

  Kennith didn't laugh. Micheal did. "I mean, I meant the described ones. Don't they have those here?"

  "Yes," Micheal chuckled. "They have them at the museum downtown. Sometimes they have good ones, right, Kennith?"

  "I don't know what's playing." Maybe, just maybe, if there was something intriguing playing, he would consider seeing a video with Jesse. "Are you coming, dad?" Kennith wanted to do something with his father. He took a moment to consider. "I suppose I can. Let me check the show times." Micheal's newspaper crumpled and his phone rattled when he picked it up off the counter. Kennith finished the last of his eggs and quietly thanked Jesse after he took the boy's plate.

  "They have one playing on Ancient Rome. There's one on pandas too," Micheal said. "Rome," Kennith decided. The boy stood, felt his way around the island, and grabbed the highlighter-pink pill bottle sitting beside the espresso machine. It was bright so he could see it against the grey counters. Braille had also been taped on the lid and bottle: the name (Prozac) and when he was supposed to take it (every morning). The labelling allowed him to keep track of them when he was taking multiple medications at once.

"I'll drive, if you want," Jesse offered. "Thank you, Jesse," Micheal replied. His stool creaked. Kennith returned the pill bottle to the counter, tried swallowing the pill dry, promptly silently choked, and frantically filled his cupped palms with water in order to properly swallow his medicine. Once it disappeared down his gullet, he leaned back and shook his hands. The boy could hear the little pings of noise the droplets made when they hit the metal basin. It reminded him of when his parents ever washed dishes, which was rare, but it was a comforting sound.

  Kennith grabbed the cane that had been left beside the door, put his shoes on, and waited for Jesse to grab the keys. He could see the faded silhouette of his father pulling a large black blob over himself, a jacket, Kennith decided, although it was the middle of summer in Seattle. Kennith was at least glad that he didn't live somewhere hot, like L.A., where Kai lived, or Dubai, where Zach had been living for the last two years. Thinking of the horrific Dubai summers made Kennith shiver.

  "Let's go," Micheal said, nudging his son in the shoulder to get him out of the door. "Are you not wearing your glasses?" Kennith shrugged. "Nah." He waited for his father to get frustrated at him, but the short sigh never came. Keys jingled in Jesse's hands. The pair waited while Jesse locked the door. Normally, Kennith hung close to his father when they left the house. Sometimes, he didn't even bother bringing his stick. He was much more patient than his mother, and incredibly quieter. Not that his mother wasn't exactly a bad person to travel with, but when she started talking and trying to explain their surroundings to Kennith, his patience ran out quickly. Kennith liked the white noise more, the comforting sounds of wind in trees or snippets of conversation from passing strangers. Sometimes, if he put them together, he could make conversations in his brain like collages, an image out of a thousand little ones.

  "You want shotgun?" Micheal asked.

  "Nah."

  "Okay."

  They got into the car and buckled themselves. Kennith leaned his head against the warmed window, closing his eyes against the light. The vehicle started once Jesse had situated himself. "Do you guys mind if I put on some tunes?" Jesse asked. Kennith wondered how Jesse could ever think he would be in the mood. "No," he decided, replying louder than necessary. There was no way in hell he was going to sit in a car with country music. He would rather crash. "Unless it's Pachelbel, I don't want it," he added. Micheal scoffed. "Kennith, you know that you share this earth with other people, right? Jesse can have his music on the way there, we can play whatever you want on the way back."