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(one disclaim-age of Natsume's Harvest Moon coming up)

(Gustafa- Even if logic or theories cannot explain why we have to hold hands like this, our hearts and mind can)

(i hate capitalization. UGH. the things i do for love D; oh, and this doesn't go in order. kinda)

(… aaaaaand it might not make sense. but i'm hoping it might to someone x3)

dance me to the end of the world

-x-

I look at our son—our son, newborn and so small and pale. I look at our son and think, doesn't he look like a dreamer? He's gonna be something fierce, huh Gustafa? Galileo. I named him Galileo because I think he looks like a Galileo. Don't you? Lumina thinks so too. She thinks that Galileo will be a genius, and more than offered to look after him whenever I need some time off because having a kid turns you inside out. Just look at Cecilia, she said, and I said Alright, but only Wednesdays kiddo.

Muffy thinks he looks like more of a Jack ("Jack?" "Get it? Jack and Jill?" "… Muffy," "Okay, okay, sorry," ) but I think Jack is a common name. A name for anybody, y'know? Anyone can be a Jack (no offense to all the Jack's of the world), but a Galileo? Why, that takes a special sort of person.

It's strange being a parent. Strange knowing that that living breathing squishy little heart wrapped in bones and skin came out of you. Out of me. Me, the girl who swore to her mom (who laughed at me at the time. Thanks mom) when she was just a freshman that she would never ever have a kid.

Because, because kids are selfish and demanding and essentially, a miniature version of me, and who needed another me? I argued, frustrated that mom wouldn't believe me and didn't even bother to pretend that she wasn't laughing at me. And now, thirteen years later, here I was, screeching my head off as Dr. Hardy instructed me to push ("What do you think I'm doing? Huhrrgh?") and sobbing because it hurt so much and and then …

The door flew open, the sweltering summer heat rushing in. It was you, Gustafa, you, and I almost couldn't believe it. Takakura had gotten ahold of you and told you that I was in labor, and yes, the baby was supposed to be born in the fall but I guess he just couldn't wait. And those words had you jumping into your friend's pickup and driving hours to Forget-Me-Not just to be with me. Just to see our son being born.

You were at my side, and our hands found each other, your hand, warm and too big enveloping my small one and you brushed my hair away from my face. And whispered I love you Jillian, I do, everything's gonna be alright, push, keep on pushing Jillian, that's it, outta girl—

And then silence. Wailing. It was as if everything had turned to black-and-white, to silence. I was deaf to everything but the wails of our son, now named Galileo. I laid back against the cool pillow damp with hours of sweat, suddenly worn. 'I want to hold him—can I?' I asked, because that was the only thing on my mind. Isn't that the only thing on a new mother's mind, or any new parents mind Gustafa? To hold their newborn?

Dr. Hardy smiled—which was disturbing, because Dr. Hardy is Dr. Hardy and Dr. Hardy does not smile. ever. But he rose to his sandaled feet and shuffled over to you and I. He handed you Galileo, and instructed you on how to hold him. You got it eventually, because holding Galileo was like holding a guitar, you later told me— and you have to cradle it.

'Jillian—Jillian … here,' You said, and you passed Galileo into my arms. I sat up immediately, sleep forgotten in lieu of our son, and I'll never forget how it felt to hold him that day. I still get that feeling every time I hold him in my arms, that surreal sense of everything clicking into place, of wishing that this would last forever.

I look at our son and think, he's going to grow up to be something beautiful, something fierce, some kind of wonderful. Just like his father. And it's true, he will, Gustafa, I can just tell.

-x-