I continued the route.
But every time I looked in the mirror, there he was.
Just as still.
Just as quiet.
Only this time, he didn’t look lost.
He looked tired.
At noon, between the morning and afternoon routes, I found myself thinking too much about a family that wasn’t even mine.
About his grandmother in the hospital.
About his mother running from one place to another.
About his father working, unable to leave.
About that boy trying to take up as little space as possible inside a day that had suddenly become too big for him.
Some families make a lot of noise when something breaks.
Others don’t.
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