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Show Why didn 't mom come with you? She's at home today. We thought it would be nice if I got to spend time with you alone. I brought you some cookies. He has stopped by the vending machines down the hallway and brought me a package of Fig Newtons. He understands nothing. Fig Newtons are like carrot sticks. They are no treat. What have you been up to today? He tries to sit on the bed, but I don't move my legs. Instead he perches on the edge for a moment and, unable to find enough space, stands up again. It is not readily apparent where he can put his hands, so he crosses them against his chest and smiles at me. Have you had lunch? he asks, looking around the room for a tray, for a trace, for something to hold onto. He has changed from his uniform and wears jeans and a cotton shirt. It is unusual to see him in anything other than a uniform or the clothes he wears to build garages, decks, patios, and the toys he makes for my brothers and me late at night, long after I am asleep. Sawdust does not cling to his jeans. His hands, always covered in cuts and scrapes, finally move to his pockets. / want mom. She's not here. I want mom, I yell. We do not go for a walk. I have turned towards the wall of crooked eyes and do not see the expression on his face when he says good bye. The Fig Newtons remain on the table next to my bed until the evening nurse comes by and throws them away. 84 |