I look back on my life, sitting in this tunnel, knowing I have done little of interest, except for the one thing. But no one knows about that, except for the unborn child in my wife's belly. He is Blue, pregnant with my ideas as his mother is pregnant with him. I am still not sure if it will be born with him or if he will have to seek it out, like he will search for identity or meaning in life.
I know not if his mother is aware of what she carries; she knows I wished to call him Blue. I told her that before I left, before I went into hiding. But she knows little else. I couldn't tell a living soul about what I was doing. It would be too tempting to expose. So, I thought about it endlessly when we were making efforts to conceive Blue, and, then, when I knew he was in there, I whispered it into my wife's belly everyday until I left.
I am sure many of you (whoever you are reading this) wonder how I am so certain the message went through. I wish there was an easy answer, but the answer lies in the idea itself. The idea and all of it's complexities, which are no longer mine, which sit in the subconscious of my unborn son.
***
"Elijah!" the woman with blue hair screamed to the boy with crystalline eyes. "Elijah!" the woman screamed again, this time up the stairs, assuming the boy was hiding in his bedroom. She assumed correctly.
Elijah sat on his bed staring at the Picasso print, an old man playing a guitar, a print of form not so abstract as his most famous work. He sat, staring, as he always did when his mother called him by his middle name. He liked the name he had been given, but, she, for some reason, had grown to hate it with time. With each passing day, more and more Elijah's replaced less and less Blue's. But who was he, a boy of twelve, to tell his mother of the great struggle she was causing him? Shouldn't his mother know more than any other the name he was to be called? Elijah just didn't feel right, and each time she said it, it was like she was jamming a pipe deeper and deeper into a tiny hole. No, Elijah didn't feel right. It didn't feel enveloping and nourishing like a cocoon did, like Blue did. Elijah was suffocating him. He would have to tell her.
