What Peace Means to Us Sneak Peek 3

The second calendar had cartoon witches on orange paper for Halloween. One was flying a broom in front of a black circle moon. The other was putting a stick in what looked like a big pot. That was an uneasy thirty-one days with those witches in the corner of my eye as I cooked meals or made coffee.

The deer ran off and there was trouble for me.

Idaho. Even a dummy like me understood that it was about Idaho. Okay, but what? Was someone scaring the deer off when they approached my son? Was the “trouble” some sort of sexual molestation? Had Cheyenne sent him away to keep him safe? As much as I didn’t want to see her as the better parent I really didn’t want to think of Noah dealing with that sort of thing.

It would explain why he was so guarded and solemn, though.

Even if we left at the same time Noah wasn’t really walking with me, he was off in his own Noah-bubble playing his game. There was a dog next door that challenged the fence and barked when my boy passed. Lil’ Dude definitely did not like that. I remember the way he would scowl into his phone. The only time his face came out of his phone was to check out the crows in the trees. He wanted to leave out bread for them and I had to be the bad guy: My argument was that human food is bad for animals but he outsmarted me by pointing out that they ate discarded food all the time. All I could do was throw up my hands and start buying stale bread for my son’s new friends--his only friends.

Noah was smarter and more insightful than me but I still learned things:

He thought baths were disgusting and only took showers.

He did not like nuggets and preferred healthier food.

Processed shit clearly wouldn’t cut it; part of becoming a real dad would involve making grown-up food. I had never cooked much, fajitas and fried potatoes taxed my culinary skill. My son made me aware of green stuff that we were supposed to be eating--a nine year old telling his parents he wanted vegetables. Completely lost, I went online and got some recipes. I’d make lists of proteins and legumes and green things that I’d go over as I rode the bus to the grocery store. The part of the store with fruits and vegetables may as well have been an unknown city and I pushed the cart in unsure circles as I tried to find fresh broccoli and raw black beans. Everything looked inedible and clearly lacked breading or a healthy layer of cheese.

Punishment in food form, penance for the years of being a bad father.

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