I lie still, listening to the soft exhalations of my brother
and sister on either side of me. The three of us share this bed, the pillow,
and the thin blanket protecting us from the cold. I've found myself stuck in
the middle as usual, but I didn’t mind. Directly above me is a small window and
every night I fall asleep watching the sky, the stars twinkling in the
blackness that holds them. The window is a welcome distraction; tonight I've been
sent to bed without dinner. My stomach aching for food, I wondered if this
punishment was used most often because there wasn’t enough for all of us to
eat.
Mothers room is directly next to ours, her room being the
only actual bedroom in the tiny house we called home. A soft blue glow from the
television floated muffled voices from the late night talk show, leaving traces
of laughter and applause bouncing around in my mind. Outside, the faint bellow
of a train horn broke the stillness of the night. The train tracks across the
street had become my playground; I spent hour upon hour collecting
marble-shaped pieces of coal, rounded from tumbling underneath the heavy metal
train cars.
The train shifted my focus to the other homes in my
neighborhood. Much like ours they are filled with families too big living in
houses too small. Everyone here is poor, everyone here goes without. Every morning
the street fills with kids making their way to school, many of them hungry and
looking forward to the small breakfast provided for us in the cafeteria
of the elementary school. We’re deemed the poor kids by those that are
fortunate enough to have two parents, or enough money to afford a home in the
new neighborhood. My stomach let out a low growl, beckoning me to find
something to eat.
I slipped under the blanket and wiggled my way out at the
foot of the bed. The wood floor feels harsh against my toes. My path to the
kitchen had to be precise as the dusty floor often creaked and moaned under any
sort of weight. Standing in front of the fridge I carefully pried it open,
spilling light into the dark, sending shadows bouncing on the walls. I cried, staring into an empty fridge.
I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, Mother. I looked up at
her with tear filled eyes, waiting to be scolded and sent back to bed. A tear
fell from her cheek as she knelt beside me. “Hungry?” she asked as she gently
ran her fingers through my hair. I nodded, afraid to release the emotion in my
voice by speaking. Mother stood up, reaching into one of the tall cupboards and
placed a single piece of bread in my hand.
“Mom?” my voice cracking. “Are we always going to be
hungry?”
