Synopsis: While staying home from school, a young boy's behavior seems strange and out of character. It becomes especially alarming when his mother learns he has an appetite not for food, but for his sister.
A plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes slid across the red and white checkered table cloth and stopped in front of Angelina. Another plate of eggs and pancakes slid across the table and stopped in front of an empty chair.
“Where’s your brother?” asked Angelina’s mother.
“Still in his room, I guess,” Angelina said as she shoveled eggs into her mouth.
“Ian! Breakfast is ready! Hurry up!”
“I bet he saw the snow outside and thought he didn’t have to get up.”
“Just because the two of you don’t have school doesn’t mean I don’t have to go to work. Ian! Time to get up! We leave in 15 minutes!”
“You know, Mom,” Angelina said as she sliced her pancakes and covered them in syrup, “maybe you could just go to work and I could babysit. You don’t have to take us to Uncle Amos’s for the day.”
“I don’t think so, honey. You’re thirteen. That’s a little too young to be home without adult supervision. We’ve talked about this.”
“No it’s not! Rachel Welter babysits in the afternoon – after school – and she’s only 14. She’s getting paid for it! 13 is practically 14!”
“Rachel’s dad is a chain smoker and I’ve seen him drink wine. Don’t expect your father and I to follow his example of horrible life choices. You’re not babysitting your brother, OK? Ian! Get down here! Your breakfast is getting cold.” The mother left the kitchen and went upstairs to Ian’s bedroom to find the door open. “Ian, what are you doing?” she asked.
Her 7 year old son was sitting in the middle of the floor, hair unkempt, and eyes in a bloodshot daze, staring at a wall.
“Come on! I made your breakfast and it’s waiting for you. I need you to hurry up so I can take you and your sister to Uncle Amos’s house before I go to work.”
Ian stood up slowly, and quietly walked out of the room, behind his mother.
“Ian, honey, what’s the matter? You’re not yourself this morning. Did you sleep alright?”
He nodded.
“Do you feel OK? Are you sick?”
He looked at his mother and squinted his eyes without saying a word.
“Get downstairs and eat. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Ian walked downstairs while his mother ran into her room to put on her makeup. As she finished, she picked up her cell phone to call her husband.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hey honey.”
“Hi, Susan?”
“Sorry to call you at the office, but I think Ian’s sick. You weren’t with a patient, were you?”
“No, just doing paperwork.”
“The kids have a snow day and I’m about to take them to Amos’s house, but Ian skipped breakfast this morning.”
“Really? Ian?”
“Yes! I know! It’s strange. He’s usually out of bed before any of us, full of energy and circling me like a shark while I get their food ready. You know how he is. Never stops talking for a second when the rest of us are too tired to think.”
“He’s probably just sick, dear. A bug or something.”
“But he was fine last night. This morning he won’t even talk, and he moves really sluggish.”
“I’m sure he’s fine. So… you called just to tell me you think Ian’s sick?”
“I just… no. It’s different. It’s not like a cold or anything. I think something’s wrong. Should I give him anything before I drop them off with Amos? He seems really out of it. Do you think he needs a Tylenol? I’ll even give him a capsule and a half if I need to.”
“Hmm. You know, dear, I don’t really think it’s necessary. I don’t know why you’re - ”
“You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Greg. His eyes just look… vacant.”
“When I come home tonight we’ll see how he is, alright? Sound good?”
“Sure. Fine. I’ve got to go to work. I love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
Susan hung up her phone and walked downstairs. She entered the kitchen to find Ian sitting at the table, in front of his plate still full of food, staring into the table cloth.
“Are you going to eat anything, Ian?” she asked. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Ian looked up from the table cloth and into his mother’s eyes. He pushed away the plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes and adjusted his eyes toward his sister.
“I’m all ready, Mom,” Angelina said. She was putting lipstick on her lips while looking into a small, handheld mirror.
“Too young,” Susan said, as she snatched the mirror and lipstick from Angelina’s hands. She put it into her own purse. “Ian, answer me.”
Ian stood up from the table and stared at his sister. He turned and walked out of the kitchen.
“Angelina, please get in the car and wipe off your lips,” Susan said. “We’ll be leaving soon,” She walked out of the kitchen after Ian and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Ian! What’s gotten into you? What’s wrong?”
He looked into her eyes with an empty stare and said nothing.
Susan put her hand on Ian’s shoulder and looked into his face with a tender, almost heartbroken glare. “Honey, what’s the matter? Talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
Ian’s eyes flicked back to the kitchen to look at Angelina as she tied her shoes. His dry mouth slowly fell open while his dead stare permeated the space between them.
Susan followed his gaze. “What’s wrong? Are you ready to go to Uncle Amos’s house? Ian? Ian, talk to me!”
With no response, Ian’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground and quickly became stiff.
“Ian!” Susan shouted. She fell to her knees beside her son and checked his pulse. He was alive. His heart beat seemed to be normal.
He looked up to her and said, in a raspy voice, “I don’t feel so good.”
Susan brought a bowl of hot soup to Ian as he lied in his bed. He refused to take it, so she left it on the bedside table and left his room. She’d decided to stay home to take care of Ian. It was clear something was wrong. He continued to reject all the food she brought him and would not talk. As Susan walked past Angelina’s room, she poked her head inside.
Angelina was on her cell phone, chatting at a rapid pace beyond the following capacity of Susan’s brain. “Honey,” she said. There was no answer, only continued meaningless chatter. “Angelina!” Susan yelled. Angelina looked up to see her mother and put her hand over the receiver on her phone.
“What?” she angrily replied.
“Your brother is awfully sick. If you could talk a little quieter on your phone I think that’d be really helpful. Your loud voice is probably bothering him.”
Angelina rolled her eyes and shook her head, then continued her conversation.
Susan went downstairs to the kitchen to put away the ingredients for the soup. After cleaning up her small mess she saw Ian standing in the living room, face pale and still, staring at her.
“Ian, what’s wrong, honey?”
“I’m… hungry.” His voice was raspy and distant.
“Well, honey, did you eat your soup?”
Ian shook his head.
“Go eat it.”
Ian shook his head again. “I don’t want it.”
“What do you want?”
“Not that.”
“I have some eggs and pancakes leftover from breakfast.”
“Not that.”
“What are you hungry for, dear?”
“Not food.”
Susan wrinkled her brow and tried to make sense of what Ian was saying. “Honey, what do you want to eat?”
Ian stood for a moment, staring at his mother, his face conveying no emotion but the blank void of nothingness. His mouth shaped a word and his vocal cords gave it sound. “Angelina,” he said slowly.
“What?”
“Angelina. I do not want food. I want to eat… Angelina.”
“Um, Ian. How about you sit down for a moment?”
“It is the only thing I will consume.” Ian turned and walked up the stairs and back to his room.
Susan stood in the kitchen, unsure how to proceed. Suddenly, her son’s illness seemed more complicated than she had imagined.
***
“Let’s just say, for a second,” Susan said, on the phone with her husband, “that we had to send one of our children off to live on another planet so the other one could thrive, here on Earth, and live a fulfilled life. Which one should we send away and which one should we let have the fulfilling life?”
“Definitely Ian,” Greg said. “Keep Ian on Earth, he has more potential. The boy is quarterback material for sure. Angelina’s got those uh, what are they called – eh… those ears like an ostrich. There’s a name for them.”
“Angelina has my mother’s ears, Greg,” Susan said. “What are you saying?”
“Right. Well, your ears are beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with those ears. I’m just trying to be objective. This is a hypothetical situation, right?”
“Of course. I just wanted your input.”
“Is this the kind of stuff you think of while staying home from work with the kids all day?”
“I guess it is, Greg. I guess it is.”
“Alright, honey. I’ve got to get back to surgery. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
***
Angelina was sitting in her room sending text messages to boys when a knock came at her door. “What is it?” she asked, slightly perturbed.
“It’s me,” answered her mother.
“What do you want?”
“I need to speak with you.”
“Come in.”
Susan entered Angelina’s room and closed the door behind her. She pulled a set of chef’s knives out from beneath the apron adorning her front. Through generations the knives had been in the family, passed down from mothers to children. As she walked toward her daughter, with tears in her eyes, Susan knew which of her children she’d be passing the knives onto when she, herself, passed one day.
***
That night, Greg and Susan sat down at the table for dinner. “I hope work was good,” Susan said.
“Lost two patients today,” Greg said.
“Oh my, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Should I call the kids? Is dinner ready?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll go get them.” Susan stood at the base of the stairs. “Time to eat!”
“Coming, mom!” shouted Ian.
Susan walked back to the dinner table while Ian’s rapid steps shook the floor all the way to the dining room.
“Hi dad!” Ian said as he burst into the room.
“Well, hey there, buddy!” Greg said, smiling at the boy. “Your mom said you weren’t feeling well today. Is anything wrong?”
“Oh, I’m fine, dad. I feel great!”
“Good! I’m glad. Where’s your sister?”
Ian looked at his mother and let a small grin escape his face.
“She’ll be here in a bit,” Susan said. “I’ll say grace.”
Greg, Ian, and Susan clasped their hands and closed their eyes.
“Dear Lord, we thank you for our home, the many blessings you’ve bestowed upon the family, daddy’s job, and the food we eat.”
“Amen,” said Greg and Ian simultaneously.
Susan put fluffy mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and plump pieces of grilled chicken on Greg’s plate and her own. She left Ian’s plate bare for a moment.
“Isn’t Ian eating?” Greg asked.
Susan walked to the kitchen and opened the oven. She pulled a large pan out and carried it to the dining room table. “Yes, Ian is eating.” She removed the tin foil cover from the pan and pulled out a chunk of meat and set it on Ian’s plate. “This is all that’s left, honey. I’m glad it’s helped you get back to normal, again.”
Greg looked at the chunk of meat on Ian’s plate. Long hair protruded from the top, and a bright red smearing of what appeared to be lipstick was stained into it. It was Angelina’s head. As he shoveled mashed potatoes into his own mouth, he watched his smiling son cut pieces from the head and casually put them into his mouth. This is nice, he thought. It’s good to see the boy feeling better.
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