Tiny Tim

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Just after 3 PM on November 15th, I walked through the front door of the house I grew up in and, for a short moment, took in the silence greeting me. After dropping my backpack and getting rid of my shoes, I made my way into the kitchen. My mind on the report I’d have to write at the firm. School and work was really all I did anymore. On the kitchen table I found a note in my mother’s handwriting; they all went out with Uncle John’s family, since my parents’ favorite child was back from college for the weekend. Just like last year, when they forgot about my birthday, they made plans that didn’t include me. At least this year they didn’t blame me for disturbing their fun time by coming home.

A quick survey of my surroundings revealed two recently used but empty pots on the stove, as well as four plates in the sink. No leftovers in the fridge or oven. I did, however, find the leftovers in the trash can. I was used to it. By the time I finished cleaning up the kitchen to make myself something to eat, my appetite was somehow gone, and I just felt droopy. So, instead of cooking, I went up to my room to grab a soda from my own little fridge and boot up my PC. I found an email newsletter from the delivery service I frequently used regarding my birthday. A coupon code for a free muffin (if I pay for a pizza). I looked around and saw no presents and no cards. I wasn’t surprised. At least, with that coupon code, lunch was taken care of without me having to move. At least, by next morning, I would finally be out of that house.

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