Four years has passed, and the child has yet to utter a word or mutter in his sleep. He has grown up in a loving household with a mother and a sister. I’ve followed him to numerous appointments, and they have found nothing mentally nor physically wrong with him, but due to him being young he’s being monitored. He has become independent enough to make his own bowl of cereal and toast and takes great pride in doing so for other’s.

His mother waits for the boy to take one step at a time down the spiraling staircase carefully holding the railing. I follow two steps behind to give him space. I wait as he pulls out a chair adjacent his mother intensely reading the paper about an international case of found body parts. He sets a small plate in front of me, everyone else gets a small plate and a bowl. I don’t need much to sustain me as long as he’s taken care and I usually wait when no one around to quickly eat my portion as to not frighten or confuse anyone.

I watch him waddle with his over sized hallow block pushing the limits of his finger tips from place setting to setting placing silverware, napkins, and cereal. He is thoughtful enough to place the milk in ceramic cups so each person can decide how much milk they want in their cereal. When he’s done, he does a satisfactory clap, places a special piece of chocolate next to his sister’s piece of toast before taking his seat.

He adds milk to his cereal then waits with fork and spoon in hand for all seat to be taken.

The mother turns the page folding it to a headline: “Young Minds Special Project Award Ends in a Tie”, absentmindedly sipping whole milk then swapping it for black coffee. The boy looks from me to his mom to the stairs. His mom folded her newspaper and notice his soggy breakfast, but before she could stand up her daughter come running down the stairs bolting towards the door. “young lady” her mother scolded, motioning to the kitchen table.

“But Mooom,” the girl wines. She struggles to get everything to fit in her tote.

“Let me ask you a question?” The woman’s voice stern; facing her body towards the girl. “Is your inability to make smart choices, your brothers fault?”

The girl looked at the boy fork and spoon in hand looking towards her seat, sighed and took her seat. “Thank you.” She conceded, poured milk in her bowl and buttered her toast. “Delicious!” She always exaggerated the quality the toast knowing it never failed to make him smile. From then on, silence. This was always the best part of my day: stillness without emptiness. I knew what tomorrow held, but did not dread it. Being by his side as he lives his life wouldn’t be so bad. I can pretend its all for me. When our artistic skills are praised. When we get all the pee in the toilet. And especially at night when the nightlight illuminates our bedroom with fanciful creatures that never existed and our mother tucks us in the reminds us if anything happens we can run to her room.

“I Love you, goodbye.” Our sister waves at us on the way out the door. The extension of my soul pulls me to look the other way. He placed a hand on my leg.

“Goodbye.” He says clearly without a childlike stutter.

I didn’t get to see what happened after everyone’s wide eye realization before I was violently yanked through the floor and space.