Yesterday I made the whole insane trip to the camp Tre's attending again. I left the house at 4 AM, with my dad this time. Tre still has a week to go at camp, and there was no real reason for me to go, other than the fact that they have a concert on Sundays, and I wanted to be there.
It was a crazy trip, a hell-bent-for-leather pace that I, for one, am far too old for anymore. By the time I arrived back at home about 11:30, I was sore from head to toe. How is it that unremitting hours of sitting - just sitting - can be so exhausting and achy?
It's not really easy for me to just take off like that, even just for a day. It puts extra pressure on Clay, and it stresses Sophia out a bit. When I walked in the front door, she was dozing fitfully in her dad's arms. When she saw me, she reached for me and moaned, "Mamaaa." I took her and she wrapped her arms around my neck so tight, like a baby monkey. Then she nursed and nursed and nursed, a relief for both of us. I sat there, stroking her soft, damp skin, feeling guilty for requiring so much of the people around me just so I could go lay eyes on Tre.
And really, I didn't need to be there. Tre was happy enough to see me, and pleased to get the clean laundry. But he is so ensconced in camp, there. His focus was just beyond me, over my head, fixed on the other campers and the week ahead of him.
During the concert I watched him, busy being in his element. When it was his turn to perform, a few times I caught him checking to see if I was watching. Seeing his eyes slide my direction, spark with joy, then slide just as quickly away, I wondered, Is that, there, reason enough for me to be here?
But after it all, all the driving and waiting and watching my boy from afar, after the hours on the road and in my head and talking with my dad, I knew it wasn't to reassure Tre that I went at all. He doesn't really need to be safe in my gaze. Not nearly as much, anymore.
I went because that's my boy.
I went because I had to.