Hungry

Flames from our campfire cast eerie shadows: goblins, ghouls, and gigantic spiders appear to crawl along tree trunks. Bats have left their foreboding caves and cry above our heads. Something, hidden by the surrounding oaks, circles us. My young campers look restless, no doubt hyped up on sugar from roasted marshmallows. It’s the perfect time for my story.  

          “All right troop, listen up,” I say, staring directly into the eyes of each boy -- one by one. “I have a story I’d like to share with you.”

          Michael is quick to interject. “Are you gonna tell us a ghost story?”

          “First of all, Michael, don’t interrupt. Raise your hand or something. Second, I’m not going to tell you a ghost story. Ghost stories are far too over-rated. The tale I’m about to share with you is much scarier,” I pause for dramatic effect, “because it really happened.”

          “Oh, come on, Mr. Kano,” Michael interrupts again. “There’s no way you can tell us a story that’s scarier than a ghost story.”

          “We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we,” I say.

          Michael nods his head and settles back against an old fallen log. I wait for the rest of my troop to become quiet and still. Stories are better told in complete silence.

          I clear my throat and begin my tale by enunciating each word. “Chris was a normal nine-year-old boy, living a normal life, in a normal house, with a normal family. In fact, nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened to Chris … until, one fateful summer’s day.

 

Mr. Kano’s Story

“Mom,” Chris hollered, “I’m starving!”

          “You know where the snacks are,” Mom said, her head popping into the family room. “Go in the kitchen and find something to eat.”      

          “But I’m in the middle of a chapter. Can’t you get it for me?”

          “I could, but I’ve decided you are officially old enough to get your own snacks.”

          “Aw, Mom, my stomach’s growling, and I don’t feel like getting up.”

          “Chris, this discussion is over,” Mom said, leaving the room. “Oh, and lay off the sweets. There are plenty of healthy snacks. In fact, there’s a plate of blueberry bran muffins on the counter.”

          “Fine,” Chris said, slumping off the comfortable sofa and slouching all the way to the kitchen. 

          The muffins looked all right, but the chocolate chip cookies called to him. Maybe he could sneak just one. His mom was in her office, working as usual. She would never know. As Chris thought this, he stretched up to his tiptoes and reached high for the delicious looking bag of cookies. He could almost grab them when he changed his mind. His mom might be in the other room, but the truth was that she would somehow know he had eaten the cookies. He reached for a muffin and headed toward the couch.

          He couldn’t wait to kick back and enjoy his new favorite book, The Serpent’s Ring. In one acrobatic feat, he leapt up and over the back of the couch, landing comfortably on his favorite pillow. This was the life: spring break, comfy cushions, thrilling book, and “healthy” snack.

          As he was reading, he hardly noticed the pile of crumbs making a home on the front of his shirt, piece by piece, bit by bit. Even if he had noticed, he wouldn’t have cared. And besides, better on his shirt then the floor.