I’m sure telekinesis was invented by a new mother, baby sleeping on her chest, the lunch she made for herself an hour ago out of reach, cold, shrunken a bit now. My sandwich sits on a little white plate on the edge of the coffee table, just a crossed leg away, or about the distance of three babies my son’s length. It’s Swiss grilled cheese with a slice of tomato on buttery golden sourdough. I eye it uselessly while patting his back out of habit and especially when he stirs and turns, lips smacking for milk or a taste of air, or simply because something else has entered his tiny dream. He’s six months today and does things like farts when I ask if we shouldn’t hear a Walser story. He’s all smiles through the gas, however, swift bubbling and clean sounding. We hear three short pieces directly, of which I’m certain he approves once he gets his mouth around a corner of the book. I read, naturally; he does the listening. Then I listen as he reads. By which I mean to say I watch as he gnaws his own book, one that’s colorful and in fact edible, or whose pages at least are made to be chewed without harming either party. I’m in no danger of starving of course. Somehow, I’m the one who’s gained weight around here. I’ll eat that sandwich soon enough. Or I’ll doze and the dog will snatch it up. Soon enough his mother will come home and even asleep he’ll pull her over with such force you’d think he’s the telekinetic, which after all, every baby is. Just at the sound of her voice he’ll wake giggling, his two-tooth laugh so terrifically delicious I can taste it. Won’t it take my own special power, I wonder, to keep pace with these two, with that connection? Metamorphism for starters. (Already I’ve mastered the shape of a bed.) Telepathy perhaps. (You hear me, baby?) And maybe some less spectacular ability only a new father could imagine he doesn’t possess: understanding that it’s foolish to compete. He can’t win. He can’t lose.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrew R. Touhy, a recipient of the San Francisco Browning Society’s Dramatic Monologue Award and Fourteen Hills’ Bambi Holmes Fiction Prize, is also a nominee for inclusion in Best New American Voices. His work appears in Alaska Quarterly Review, New England Review, Conjunctions, New American Writing, The Collagist, New Orleans Review, Colorado Review, Eleven Eleven, and other literary journals. He teaches fiction at the Writing Salon and flash fiction workshops in Birdland, and lives in Oakland with his wife and child.