In the vending machine’s glare, I weighed my options. That morning for lunch money, my dad waved towards his billfold and said, “take a dollar.” It was his fourth day in bed. Chips and soda were the only $1 arrangement, and I clutched them like I planned it. I knew three hours of class and a train ride back to a mostly empty fridge loomed before the hunger’s end. I never asked how long he’d stay in bed. We both didn’t want to talk about how sick he was. This was the first time we pretended it wouldn’t happen again.
Maggie Russell is an essayist and poet who writes professionally about law. Raised by the woods in Connecticut, she now lives in Nashville. www.maggierussellwriter.com Bluesky: @magpierussell.bluesky.social