"No you don't," he says.
"Yes, I do." '
"No you don't."
He is right. And so I go in and close the door and lie down beside him in the dark. I put a pillow under my head and he lies beside me and we both look up at the ceiling. Lauren has stuck hundreds of fluorescent ministars up there, and there are constellations, and I can see Orion's belt and the Big Dipper, and "I [Love] you" in the mix. We stare in silence, and Z, tucked under his blankets, puts his head on my arm.
"Tell me a story, Dad," my son says to me.
And I would. I would tell him stories forever, if I could just get my voice.