Sitting with Lincoln

I am off my game tonight. Antsy and ill-prepared for travel. I think I have most of our stuff packed—or at least at the ready. Though this means, of course, I will forget our toothbrushes, my contact case and solution, or both. So be it. DC may sell such things for all I know. I know they sell cigars and Makers Mark there. I’ll bet the tax alone on tobacco and booze is the original price plus half. I would Google it if that didn’t mean getting my lazy ass off the porch. The issue is not heady enough for me to put down the La Flor Dominicana Ligero and Evil Williams (with a splash). I’d hate for my vices to feel neglected.

There was a time when I enjoyed air travel. I am thrilled that Emerson still does. He is innocent enough yet to not get pissed at the rudeness and inconsideration of others. His is still a state of Perplexity and a grand ability to move on. Mine, for some reason, is still one of incredulity and an inability to not stew over it. My “to each his own” philosophy falters during these times. But I am usually able to absorb Em’s enjoyment and all is well with the world. I asked him tonight if he was going to have a couple drinks on the plane. “Yeah, I’m drinking on the plane,” he said. The little boozehound.

I often wonder how I made it so many years without him. He is the most challenging and wonderful person I’ve met. And he does a fantastic meerkat impression.

While ill-prepared and ill-funded, I am looking forward to the trip. If for no other reason, to be somewhere else. Not necessarily away from Nashville, for I adore this city. But away from the obligation of Nashville—even for a couple days. And I am actually excited about the ballgame Saturday night. Though never a Redskins fan, I will be at RFK Stadium for the first time. There is an implicit respect there. I appreciate that. I care nothing for the Washington Nationals, but I like the fact that they are competing in their first year. New franchises are not supposed to be competitive for the first five years, but these guys are just behind my beloved Braves. I recognize the Nationals’ concept of new is hardly new at al. They are comprised of veteran players—some of them ex-Braves. But this is the club’s first year and they are doing a hell of a job. It will be an honor to watch them. I can already taste that wonderful electricity that exists only among large crowds. It is a delicacy like no other and a rare treat on which I indulge. I will cheer them out of respect for the game. But lucky for them they are not playing Atlanta or else they would have to contend with the most obnoxious fucker from the South. As it is, I may still quote some ee cummings and shake my ass a little. Baseball brings out the best and worst in me. But the worst is still pretty good.

As previously noted, seeing Nana and putting faces to the dinosaurs at the Smithsonian will make Em’s trip. He will also get to the Washington zoo which I understand to be exceptional. I don’t know that they have a meerkat exhibit, but it should still be ok. To be sure, he will enjoy.

For me, how I would love to place him on Lincoln’s lap and take a picture. Then join him and take another picture. We may not be able to pull that off though. But then again…

After DC, I need to make arrangements for a visit home. I need it again. I need something familiar. And I need for Emerson to see me smile at something other than him. It is healthy and necessary for him to question himself as the center of his father’s universe. About this I am quite certain. For while he is my Islamorada, my Sydney Harbour Bridge, my Barcelona, he must not bear that burden at such a young age. Being the single source of his father’s happiness could be crippling to his development as an individual. I will not do that to him. With due respect to those who disagree, it is one of the few things in my belief system that is non-debatable.

And so it is. I finish this exquisite cigar. Sip my Evil Williams as delicately as foreplay. Survey the haphazardness of my suitcase. Comfort the two cats. Worry myself over things left undone. Eventually, I will doze—or something like it. I will hear Em call out around three a.m. and move him to my bed where I will watch him sleep in the safety of my crook. It is a monumental thing on nights like this.

And I will look forward to that thing my stomach does at the exact moment the plane leaves the ground. And I will say to Emerson, Look, Son! Look at all that world down there.