Betas:katwoman76 and loracj2. A huge THANK YOU to both of you for your help - without you guys I'd be too scared to ever post this. Thanks so much for all your input and your help with content, with correcting my English and fixing some of the "awkward sentences"! mwahh!
Still, all mistakes are mine and do only exist, because I didn't listen to everything my betas told me...

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own them.

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Strangers


When I was young, young and naïve, I saw my son, my younger son, graduating.

I had a loving husband and two kids and a part-time job in the local library. In the evenings I would drink a beer or two. The kids were asleep, my husband was sitting next to me on the couch, and we were enjoying a quiet night watching "Dallas". In the afternoons, I would watch my younger son on the playground with his friends, and when I watched them, I could see him graduating.

I saw him with his best friend Jake, who was the king of the playground, and his other friends, Tom and Christian and Clarence, with whose mothers I spend afternoons watching our children play, throw sand in each others' eyes, argue and make up again.

I saw all of them together on benches beside a podium. Sometimes I also saw his girlfriend on the bench, sitting next to him. Probably Carmen, who was already a beauty at the age of three, and whom my son was always protecting in the little wars of the playground.

I saw me sitting in the audience, not in the first row, but maybe in the second or the third, together with my husband and my older son, who might not have graduated, but was making a living working construction or repairing cars.

I saw us watching them as one by one they were called to the stage. My son was the second or third, since his name was Atwood.

I saw him going up to the stage,

accepting his diploma with sparkling eyes, proud and yet shy, just like he accepted an ice-cream cone that Carmen's mom had offered him on the playground the other day.

I saw our family cheering like crazy, taking picture after picture and I felt my heart burst with pride, imagining that moment.

I am not young anymore, not naive.

I still have a part-time job, but it's not in that library where my son would go exploring before he could even read. It's in a cheap diner, and my son doesn't go exploring there because he lives so far away, that I don't even know how many miles there are between us.

I don't drink a beer anymore, because drinking one would lead to another, and then to vodka and whiskey and things happening that I never wanted to happen

I still watch "Dallas", but no kids are sleeping and no husband is sitting next to me.

But I do see my son graduate. Not only in my imagination, while I am watching him at the playground. No, it is for real this time.

I see him sitting with his friends and girlfriend; or is it ex-girlfriend? I still have to figure that out. They are sitting on a bench next to a podium, all of them together.

I sit in the audience and watch my son as he is called to the stage and he is second or third because his name is Atwood.

I see his sparkling eyes, his shy smile as he proudly accepts his diploma.

And I see myself and the rest of his family cheering like crazy, taking picture after picture.

And while I feel the long-anticipated bursting pride, I feel that I don't belong. This is not how it was supposed to be. This is not how I imagined it all my life. This is not how I wanted to be.

His friends are not the friends that he grew up with; they are not Jake or Carmen or Clarence.

They are strangers to me, but not to my son.

They clearly are his 'partners in crime' and you can see that he trusts each one of them with his life. I know their names, Seth and Summer and Marissa, because my son told me this morning and I have seen them once or twice I think, but I don't know what kind of bond they share.

I don't know why they are important to my son, or why my son is important to them.

His family that cheers for him and takes pictures with and without me; they are strangers, also.

I have met them for a couple of days, exchanged some letters and a phone call or two, and it was enough to see their overwhelming kindness. But they are strangers, out of my world.

For my son they are not strangers.

I can see it whenever they interact.

When Sandy shouts embarassingly loud when my son enters the podium.

When Kirsten runs her fingers through his tousled hair before a picture is taken.

When he and Seth shout out their joy and Sandy and Kirsten watch them amused, yet full of love and pride.

When Sandy calls him "kid" and sometimes "son" and claps him on the back and swings a hand around his shoulder throughout the day and my son doesn't even flinch.

When Kirsten calls him "sweetie" and "honey" and tells him to try more of the delicious food, and all he does is occasionally roll his eyes at her, but his eyes are laughing.

I have not seen him like this in forever, so open and trusting and unguarded.

Later that night, after a meal and a speech, after the group of friends has broken up into smaller groups, I see Kirsten and Sandy quietly talking to my son in a corner of the room.

His cheeks have turned to a light red and I can see a hesitant smile, that grows wider and wider though he tries to hide it.

I move closer, feeling bad because it's clearly an intimate conversation, none of my business. But they don't pay attention to me; they are only focused on each other.

I cannot hear what they are saying, but I do get some random words like „proud" and „son" and „forever" and „love" and I think I see his eyes glistening for a moment while he smiles, embarrassed and touched and pleased. I can see he ducks his head, then looks at them again, mumbling something that I can't quite catch.

And I can see that Kirsten and Sandy's eyes start to widen and glisten, too, and when they pull my son into a hug; when I see that he doesn't hesitate but hugs right back, proud and yet shy, still smiling, I turn around.

I don't belong. Other people, strangers, have earned the right to see him graduate and to burst with pride and love. Ryan is not my son. Not now. I traded his trust for alcohol and drugs and his love for selfishness and an endless string of bad boyfriends. He is part of another family now and he will be part of that family forever. It's clear through their words and gestures that there is trust there. Anyone can see that.

I know that he belongs to these strangers now. Will belong to them forever. And that I should be happy for him, and I think I'm getting better at it. They did everything for him that I couldn't or wouldn't do.

And as much as he smiles at me tonight, as strong as his hug was, as good as the talk we had today, I know that they are the ones he will come to first.

When he has great news to share.

When he has a problem that he cannot solve on his own.

When he is confused and needs advice.

It's them he will miss when he goes away for college. Their daily routine. Their private jokes. Their home.

Not me, not mine.

Maybe I'm not too old yet; maybe I'm still young enough and naïve, because I still hope. Maybe one day, they won't be strangers to me, and maybe I can earn a place in his life again,not as a random watcher like tonight, but as a part of his family again.