“Ah, Cooper? Why is unicorn blood on our shopping list?”
“Because,” he replies, absorbed by the Lego castle he’s
constructing.
What am I going to do with this kid? Since we’ve been
sequestered at home 24/7, he’s actually become less communicative. I would’ve
thought that with all the time we spend together, just the two of us, we’d be
practically telepathic by now.
“Cooper. Would you please look at me?”
I watch him struggle to divert his attention from his
elaborate creation and turn his gaze in my direction.
“I need you to help me understand why exactly we need
unicorn blood. Can you do that?”
He sighs and rubs his hand across his temple, an elderly man
in a nine-year-old child’s body. I am obviously trying his patience.
“So, you remember reading the Harry Potter books when I was
little?”
“I do remember that,” I respond.
Cooper and I had spent weekends and evenings in the early pandemic,
a full year ago now, plowing through Rowling’s hefty tomes. The neat resolution
at the end of each book gave us a sense of control that we didn’t have in the
real world what with my company shutting down, schools going virtual and my mom
succumbing to COVID-19. We found the suspense and magical twists in the Harry
Potter series preferable to the reality of the death and economic devastation
in our everyday reality.
“Cooper, what does Harry Potter have to do with our grocery
list?”
“Well,” he rubs his chin where whiskers are likely to sprout
in six to seven years. “I just thought it would be good to have some unicorn
blood on hand, just in case.”
I walk over and sit next to him on the rug.
“Just in case what, Buddy?” I gently rest my hand on his
back.
Cooper looks down, fiddling with the draw bridge at the
front of his Lego castle. He picks up the tiny Lego queen and the tiny Lego
prince, moves them into the center of the castle, and abruptly slams the draw
bridge shut.
“Well, if you remember,” he says, “unicorn blood can bring
you back to life even if you’re an inch from death. And I thought we should
keep some on hand just in case COVID finds us.”
He looks up at me, hope and fear mingled in his beautiful
eyes.
“Oh, that’s right,” I respond, squeezing his shoulder. “Good
thinking.”
He favors me with a tremulous smile. I stand, reach out for
his hand, and help him to his feet.
“C’mon. Let’s see if Costco can add it to our grocery order
this week.”
