PART 4
The first day felt almost like a game.
I ate cereal for lunch.
Microwave pizza for dinner.
I watched television too loudly.
I stayed up until eleven.
Nobody told me to brush my teeth.
Nobody told me to go to bed.
I thought.
Maybe this is what being grown up feels like.
The next morning, I made toast.
Then realized there was no milk left.
The refrigerator had eggs.
Half a jar of peanut butter.
Mustard.
Three apples.
A package of cheese.
Some old leftovers.
The freezer had frozen vegetables.
Chicken nuggets.
One box of waffles.
The pantry had rice.
Canned soup.
Crackers.
Macaroni.
I counted everything.
That became my first real job.
How many breakfasts.
How many lunches.
How many dinners.
Thirty days.
I did not know how much food one person needed for thirty days.
I guessed.
Badly.
PART 5
On day three, I called Mom.
She answered after six rings.
There was music behind her.
People talking.
I said.
“Mom?”
“What?”
“Are you busy?”
“A little.”
I looked at the kitchen.
“Can I ask something?”
She sighed.
“Ethan, I told you to text unless it’s important.”
“I’m almost out of milk.”
Silence.
Then.
“So?”
“I thought maybe I should go get some.”
“Then go.”
“I only have twenty dollars.”
She laughed.
“You don’t need milk that badly.”
I felt embarrassed.
Like I had asked a stupid question.
She continued.
“There’s plenty of food.”
“Stop acting helpless.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Then handle it.”
I apologized.
I do not remember why.
Maybe because she sounded annoyed.
Maybe because I wanted her to stay on the phone.
She said.
“I have to go.”
Then hung up.
