What a curious sight : aluminum square containers precariously stacked. Filling the fridge was what I assumed the lazy, underfunded school lunch brought back by one of my brothers. Specifically, I thought of my youngest brother. Autistic and nitpicky, I could easily envision his school’s staff encouraging him to bring the lunch home. If he doesn’t like something, he won’t eat it despite all hunger.
As I ponder, my youngest brother walks into the kitchen - and the questioning begins.《 Hey ____, is this from your school?
 - Yes.
 - Why didn't you eat it?
 - I don't like it, he says while scrunching his juvenile, little face and looking away.
 - So you didn't eat lunch? 》But at this point he's just walking out. So I return to surveying the fridge for a meal.
I may as well have one of the lunches, right? He’s not going to eat them anyway. There’s half a tuna sandwich, an aging banana, and a small plastic container of coleslaw in each of them - every one of them! That is hardly a lunch at all. My stomach is so turned off but ...
Blank stare into the void
This is what it feels realizing just how aware my brother may be of our poverty.

Maternal home. Night, Winter.

Like what you read? Give Chaylíce Dominic a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.