casey

"wow, you're up.  why didn't you come out?"

he's sitting on the edge of my bed in my darkened room, fully dressed, hands folded in his lap.  drapes still drawn against the morning sun, just as i'd left them so he could sleep.

he looks up, gives me a wan smile.  "i did, but i couldn't find you.  i knew you'd come back."

"i was out on the deck with my laptop, having a smoke--you shoulda looked for me.  i feel terrible--how long have you been sitting here like this?"  i had been out there at least an hour.

he shrugs. "it doesn't matter," he says, and i can see that he means it.

this is a very different boy than the one i'd picked up last night.  that one had been a hundred twenty-five pounds of semi-drunken bravado; that one wasn't gonna let the fact that his folks had thrown him out and his friends were getting tired of him crashing on their couch get in his way.  that one had places to go and things to do, goddammit.

i flop down on the bed, pull him into my arms and we lie there like that. after awhile, i ask him, "you hungry?"

at jack-in-the-box, his destination of choice, i tell him he can have whatever he wants and smile as he shamefacedly orders half the menu.  when we get to his place, he kisses me on the cheek, says, "thanks--you're really nice," and i think, "yeah, i'm a prince."

i tell him not to lose my number, to call it if he needs to.  he gives me that smile again, gathers his paper bags full of treasure, walks away.

and all the way home, and all day today, all i can think about is a boy sitting on my bed in the dark, patiently waiting for whatever's gonna happen to him next.

so they did

if they want more stuff from government, tell them to go vote for the other guy

mitt romney

july 11, 2012