Until I Wrote Him
By the time I’ve finished straightening the table, Guillermo is already bouncing back into the kitchen like a ping-pong ball on caffeine.
His backpack is tiny, blue, and decorated with stickers of dinosaurs and rocket ships looks way too big for his small frame.
“Uncle Ro,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly, “I packed my snack myself.”
I glance at the bag suspiciously. “What snack?”
He grins. “Cookies.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How many?”
He hesitates. “...Some.”
I crouch down, unzipping the backpack.
Inside are six chocolate chip cookies, two lollipops, and what I think used to be a sandwich, but now looks like a crime scene.