A Red Balloon, Too
Still waiting for Dad, three days later, with enough kibble for Rocko, a half-full bag of birdseed for Raa, the heel of a pumpernickel for us. Mr. Stefan is sure to drum on the door today, squeezing out rent money.
“A friend owes me,” Dad kissed Mom, tousled my hair. “Might be a day or two.” Mom looked a lightning-bolt but kept quiet.
“Bet Dad will bring oranges, a steak, potatoes, a birthday cake with candles.”
Mom stares into the fridge again, takes out two eggs, puts one back. “Ketchup, root beer. I’ll fry this for you. I’m not hungry.”
Photo Credit: Thomas Hawk
Ouch. You got me Andrew.
The title sings at the end.
Effective. Love the build at the end.
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