I walked into the adoption agency in my city feeling apprehensive. It sounds weird when I say it, but I truly was anxious to go back there. I was still shaken up from the last boy decided to adopt.
One thing I kept in mind ever since I was old enough to know about the issues of the world, were those poor kids who'd lose their families because of war, abusive households or circumstances. Empathy and pity were the emotions I would feel for those children, as some of them never really got lucky enough to get a second chance in life. That's when I wanted to have a family with my own kids, and I would make sure to treat them with the love and care that they deserved.
Unfortunately, my husband was infertile, so we decided to to adopt a boy when I was 24. He unfortunately passed away 5 years after we adopted Jason, when he was only 8 years old. Jason was an 8 year old, special child to me, I wanted to do everything I could to give him a good life, to ensure that, even without a father, he would still be happy. I just wish I wasn't so naive with my decision.
Jason had a certain issue that I always found odd. He repeatedly wanted to know everything about what he would see, hear or talk about. It sounds even more bizarre typing it out and it deserves an explanation. If Jason saw a bird in the sky, he demanded to know its breed, where it was flying, why it was flying there, why its colour is the way it is, basically every question there was to ask, he wanted to know the answer, and if he didnt get it, he'd ask and be moody about it for the rest of the day. Me and my husband attributed the cause to his past, as Jason was abandoned when he was just 3 years old.
At first, me and my husband thought nothing of it, just a little boy who wants to learn about the world that he's growing up in with a new family, but then, it started to become more prominent. He wanted to know everything about me, my husband, cars, cats, dogs, frogs, everything that he would see of the outside world. We ended up buying him several books about the things he wanted to know about, more than we could count. At the time, we were intrigued with our son, dreaming about him going into the fields of science with the things he learned because of those books.
Then, one particular incident turned that dream into concern. It was a hot summer day in our neighbourhood, my husband had taken the day off to spend time with us and also catch a break from the blistering hot sun. I was in the kitchen, cooking for my family when I heard a knock on the counter behind me. I turned and I saw my husband, a worried look on his face, as if he had heard or saw something that shook him up.
Without a pause, my husband grabbed me by arm and dragged me outside to where Jason was playing in the garden. Except, my son was crouched in a corner, looking at a white clump of fur on the floor. When I walked up, I saw it was a dead cat.
I was horrified, I had no idea how a dead cat made it's way in our yard but it was certainly something I didn't want Jason to look at. I grabbed him by the arm and went to gently pull him away, but he wouldn't budge.
"Jason sweetie, that's not something nice to look at."
I said, tugging him a bit.
"How did it die mummy?"
Me and my husband froze. We both shared a glance at each other.
"What was that Jason?"
"How did it die? And why is it like that?"
The confused expression on our faces turned into horror when he reached over to grab a stick, poking at it with it. Jason poked it too deep and the stick pierced the skin, a trickle of blood coming out.
"Mummy, what's that? Is that from inside it? What's inside it mummy?"
I quickly scooped Jason up and took him inside against his protest, leaving my husband to get rid of the cadaver.
That day, me and my husband were pestered about the cat all day, repeatedly being asked what the cat had inside his body. I didn't sleep well that night, the image of Jason's curiosity stricken face as he poked that cat sent shivers down my spine.
For the next 2 years, Jason would slowly stop asking questions about everything he saw or heard about. We convinced ourselves after that it was just a phase he was going through.
November was the month that my husband passed away from a boating accident. He was on a speed boat with 4 of his friends when they fatally crashed into a cruise liner. 2 of his other friends died and the other was seriously injured. When I heard the news, I didn't want to believe it, I wanted it to be a bad dream but no matter how much I prayed that it was, seeing his body at the morgue, all grey and lifeless, it cemented the reality for me.
I had left Jason at my Uncle's house as I went to confirm my husband's identity so that he wouldn't have to see his father with no life within his body. Still emotional, I went to pick him up so I could take him home.
When I arrived, Jason had the same curious look on his face on the day he saw that dead cat. I opened the car door at the back for him, and as he climbed in, he began to ask me questions. Questions that I half-heartedly expected to hear.
"Mummy, what happened to Daddy? Is Daddy ok?"
Jason was indirectly twisting the knife deeper but I didn't fault him, this situation wouldn't be easy to explain to him, but, as I went to answer, he asked another question that left me in shock.
"Is Daddy like that kitty that was in our garden? Is that red stuff in Daddy's body?"
I couldn't speak, a knot had formed in my stomach and I was completely dumbfounded. I had no idea how he could make a correlation like that, let alone even ask something like that. I wanted to frame it on innocence but that question left an impact on me, it didn't help that his look was that same look on that day. Eyes wide with curiosity, Jason stared at me, waiting for an answer, but now that look scared me.
I buckled him in and drove home without saying a word. For about 5 months, me and Jason were distant. I was still concerned. His obsession with wanting to know everything had come back and this time, it wasn't fucking normal. After asking that about his father, he'd ask the same question when he saw road kill, dead rodents in our backyard, even when he heard that my neighbour passed away.
At that point, I caved in. I decided to take Jason to a therapist, to see why he had this obsession in the first place. It wasn't something I could pass off as curiosity anymore, this was getting serious. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I never expected a child to be like this.
Driving him to the therapist and leaving him there for a few hours gave me some time to think. I doubted if I was making the right call, treating Jason as if he was some sort of psychopath. My mind was telling me he needed help, but my heart told me he was doing nothing wrong, that he was just being a curious kid and that I was wrong for thinking he was a freak. I ended up stopping the sessions after I saw that it was pointless.
My morality and rationality were clashing and it was getting to me, and so, after having Jason for a few more months after that, I decided to put him back in adoption. I'll never forget the sad look on his face when he knew I was taking him back. His blue eyes filled with tears as he saw his room being cleared out.
I thought that I would be able to live with that decision, but ultimately, it was killing me more than I thought it would. On a day to day basis for 4 years, I'd sit in his old room, tearing up as I cursed myself for giving up on him. It didn't feel right.
I wanted to make things right, which is why I drove myself back to the adoption agency. I doubted that Jason would still be there after 4 years, but I decided that even if he wasn't there anymore, that I would adopt another child and do things right this time.
The anxiety didn't cease at all as I entered the building. Shame was what I felt when I talked about Jason to the agent again, thinking that I was being harshly judged for my decision. To my surprise, Jason was adopted by another family a year later, but only lasted with them for a few months.
I subconsciously knew why he was put back in adoption, but I couldn't back down. I wanted to give him the life he deserves. I wanted to make up for how I treated him because of some quirk he had.
I resigned the papers and took the now 14 year old Jason back home with me. He didn't say anything to me on the way home, but I knew that he recognized me. I was astonished at how much he had grown since the last time I saw him, looking at him from the rear view mirror.
We got home a lot quicker than I anticipated. Even when I was unpacking everything from his bags, Jason only stared at me. I tried sparking a conversation, but I knew it would be a while until he would start trusting me like he used to.
I decided to give him some privacy, so I went downstairs to make some food for both of us. I was quietly cooking until I felt like I was being watched. When I turned around, I was startled to see that Jason was stood in the kitchen, staring at me with a deadpan expression. His eyes pierced into me, making me shiver.
"Do you need anything Jason?"
Silence filled the room until he responded.
"You never answered my question."
I raised my eyebrow in confusion. I didn't even need to respond to for him to continue.
"About that red stuff. You never answered me. I know what that is now. Its blood. Do you and me have blood inside us too?"
I gulped, I was on full alert now. Something about this wasn't settling right. I shifted slightly, putting my back up against the counter, ready to run if necessary.
"I want to know."
That's when Jason took some steps towards me. I never broke eye contact with him. Jason reached behind me and grabbed the knife I was using to chop up the onions for our dinner.
"Can you show me?"
He held the knife up to me, his expression unchanging. Blank, with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. My shaking hand took the knife from him, grasping the handle tightly.
"Cut yourself with it. I want to know what's in you."
The way his voice sounded so innocent was unsettling. I knew that it's not because he wanted to know, I knew why he wanted me to cut myself, but I refused to think he'd think like that. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't want to disappoint Jason again, not like how I did so in the past.
Spurred on by the desire to make things right, I put the knife against my arm. I squinted my eyes shut and prepared myself.
After all, he wanted to know.