Mirena ran her fingers slowly through Eloa’s hair just behind his ear. She would start near the top of his ear and work her way down to just where the hair ended at the neck, a process that lasted about ten seconds, and then back up to start again. She was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t stopped her. He had been laying in the bed; she in the chair beside him. She had reached over almost absentmindedly and patted him softly on the head, and just by instinct or habit had fallen back into this familiar pattern. She had done this when he was a baby to soothe him at night and for his naps. As a toddler, before he could completely form his words, he would indicate that he was tired by lifting his hand to the top of his head and running it down the side of his face. As he had grown, she had gradually stopped doing it, not necessarily because he had grown weary of it, she now realized, but merely because he had become independent so quickly.
He was asleep just minutes after she began caressing his hair. She pulled her hand back and admired his features. He was a beautiful child. Just beginning to grow awkward, perhaps, as neared his tenth birthday, but still beautiful. She slumped down in her chair. With his face away from her, all she could see was the top of his head. His hair was still the same color as it had been as a child. She could still imagine the boyish face of his youth, his large eyes peering intently at her under that soft brown hair.
She wondered at him. What would his future be like? She pictured him, his face and nose much longer, soft lines forming around his mouth and eyes, the same boyish haircut topping his features, and almost laughed. But would fate allow it? Would he be allowed to age? Or would he, along with countless others, be wiped out in a mere ten years? She shuddered at the thought. Pulling her legs up into the chair and tucking the blanket from her lap up around her shoulders, she too soon drifted off to sleep. But it was a fitful, unsatisfying sleep, filled with menacing dreams.