The little boy.
One day there was a little boy sitting at the kitchen table, eating a grilled cheese.
This disturbed Ruth, as this boy had not been there the day before. He had been eating the lunch when she awoke from her slumber on the couch. Ruth slept 'till noon these days.
"Who are you?" She said while leaning against the door frame, her arthritic knees weak at the sight of him. She pulled her robe tighter, as if this child whose feet could not touch the floor might be a pervert.
The boy giggled, told her she was silly, and finished the last bite of his food. He had streaks of cheese on his cheeks, and his hands left greasy stains on her robe when he hugged her. He asked if he could use the swing, and she said sure, though she wasn't sure at all.
He ran out the back door. Ruth wondered if that's how he got in, as she rolled her wheelchair over to the window, and stared into an empty yard.
This disturbed Ruth, as this boy had not been there the day before. He had been eating the lunch when she awoke from her slumber on the couch. Ruth slept 'till noon these days.
"Who are you?" She said while leaning against the door frame, her arthritic knees weak at the sight of him. She pulled her robe tighter, as if this child whose feet could not touch the floor might be a pervert.
The boy giggled, told her she was silly, and finished the last bite of his food. He had streaks of cheese on his cheeks, and his hands left greasy stains on her robe when he hugged her. He asked if he could use the swing, and she said sure, though she wasn't sure at all.
He ran out the back door. Ruth wondered if that's how he got in, as she rolled her wheelchair over to the window, and stared into an empty yard.