Moments after I settle myself onto my bed, he comes in.
“How long was it you were at work? I’ve had to wait like twelve hours to eat!” he exclaimed, completely exasperated. He rattles on and on. “Because we haven’t ate for a long time. For breakfast, we had oatmeal. Then, like three minutes after that, we had pizza. And then we waited for you to come home.”
He sucks his teeth.. I was supposed to have replied — to have gotten up and fixed something.
His big eyes bore into my face as he leans against my bed.
I think he might have a defect. Feed him a meal, and as soon as he bores of whatever activity he’s entertained, he’s hungry again. It’s like the hardwire from stomach to brain misfires with hunger pangs intermittently all day.
He begged — actually begged — to go to school again because, he says, “there, they give you snack.”
I wonder where he would pack all this food if I were to let him snack as often as he asked “when is it time to eat?”