My Name Is Leon

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No one has to tell Leon that this is a special moment. Everything else in the hospital seems to have gone quiet and disappeared. The nurse makes him wash his hands and sit up straight.

“Careful, now,” she says. “He’s very precious.”

But Leon already knows. The nurse places the brand-new baby in his arms with its face toward Leon so that they can look at each other.

“You have a brother now,” she says. “And you’ll be able to look after him. What are you? Ten?”

“He’s nearly nine,” says Leon’s mom, looking over. “Eight years and nine months. Nearly.”

Leon’s mom is talking to Tina about when the baby was coming out, about the hours and the minutes and the pain.

“Well,” says the nurse, adjusting the baby’s blanket, “you’re nice and big for your age. A right little man.”

She pats Leon on his head and brushes the side of his cheek with her finger. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he? Both of you are.”

She smiles at Leon and he knows that she’s kind and that she’ll look after the baby when he isn’t there. The baby has the smallest fingers Leon has ever seen. He looks like a doll with its eyes closed. He has silky white hair on the very top of his head and a tiny pair of lips that keep opening and closing. Through the holey blanket, Leon can feel baby warmth on his belly and his legs and then the baby begins to wriggle.

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