THE TALK WITH ROBBY

I usher Robby inside the cage, and I sigh in relief when I find my daughter still tucked under the duvet and fast asleep. My heart is filled with hunger—hunger to know what is happening to Robby and what exactly he wants us to talk about. And what he is asking me not to do. I don’t remember sharing any of my plans with him, so of course, I am baffled because of this.

Like the norm, he casts a glance at his little buddy but decides not to disrupt her irenic sleep. Their affection is mutual. Anyone can see that. Maybe he feels so much pity for the poor little girl. For us. Just like anyone with a sense of humanity would. That is why he is getting so attached.

“Please sit,” I say as I slam on the seat across him in the painting area, or simply, where we normally hold our lessons.

But today we are not doing the painting lessons. Today we are not playing with the colors and drawings. Today, my student is not even shedding the aura of a student. No. He is percolating something else so diffe