by Ben Clabaugh
CHAPTER 9
David was jolted awake by the sound of a door closing. He sat up on the couch clutching the cushion with both hands, panting.
“My goodness, why’s it so dark in here?” his mother said.
David collapsed back against the backrest. His face felt hot and his mouth tasted like sweaty socks. The lights came on, and he listened to the click-clack of high heels as his mother walked across the foyer to the family room.
“David?” she called.
He wiped the tears from his eyes and sweat from his brow, the dream images already fading from his mind leaving only the deep residue of pain, guilt, and loss. He propped himself up and peered over the back of the couch. He opened his mouth to respond but only croaked through a dry throat.
“Oh, David,” she said. “You look awful. Are you sick?” She lay what she carried on the table and hurried around the end of the couch. She rested her hand on David’s forehead. He felt an impulse to ham it up, to moan in fake agony. But seeing the worried look in her eyes, watching her chew her lip—was that concern or guilt?—he decided not to.
Instead he told her he had diarrhea and had just lain around all day, but he was feeling better. She slid her hand from his forehead to his cheek and gently probed behind his ears and under his jaw line, all the while peppering him with questions about what he had eaten, when it had started, or did he see anything strange in the bowl? David answered, “Just cereal,” “around noon,” and “Gross! No.”
Finally satisfied that he did not need to be rushed to the emergency room, she stood looking down at him, chewing her lower lip.
“How about some alphabet soup and a peanut butter sandwich?” she offered.
Still feeling the weight of his mother’s hand on his forehead, he thought that sounded just fantastic.
She clattered around the kitchen for a while before bringing out a tray with two bowls and two plates on it. David sat up and his mom sat on the couch next to him. They ate in silence, not really watching the television. For as long as David could remember, vegetable soup and peanut butter sandwiches had been his favorite lunch, but that evening, sharing the warm silence with his mother, it was the best dinner he had ever tasted.
