Chapter 9 - NOAH’S FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
Six years after the wrong number, Noah started first grade.
He barely remembered the empty refrigerator.
Good.
Children should not carry every hard thing simply because it happened.
Mom cried at the school entrance.
I was eighteen.
Leaving for college two weeks later.
Lorenzo stood twenty feet away pretending not to cry.
He was terrible at pretending.
Noah ran back.
“Emily!”
“What?”
He shoved a folded paper into my hand.
A drawing.
Four people.
Mom.
Noah.
Me.
Lorenzo.
I frowned.
“Why is Lorenzo huge?”
“He has big coats.”
Fair.
Then Noah pointed.
“You’re going college.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t forget us.”
I hugged him.
“Never.”
He whispered:
“Mom says you used to buy me milk.”
My throat tightened.
“Sometimes.”
“Were we poor?”
Children ask questions when adults least expect.
“We had a hard time.”
“Did I cry?”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“Sorry.”
That broke me.
“No.”
I crouched.
“You never apologize for being hungry.”
He looked surprised.
I repeated:
“Never.”
That sentence was for him.
May you like
And for twelve-year-old me.
---
