Invisible Oldster
Taco chili. Pumpkin bread. Zucchini bread. Gingerbread cookies. Chicken and dumplings.
It is a potluck at school and we were supposed to bring our favorite fall desert.
The food keeps coming, and so do the teachers, following their noses, poking around in crockpots,
Laughing as they discuss what they might be tasting. Is this beef? Do you think this is chicken?
I am silently weaving in between them, sneaking out tiny handfuls of candy corn with each mission.
Older people are usually invisible, and I am no exception; so I sneak in and out, unnoticed.
They can have their grown up soups and breads and other junk. I have not had candy corn for a year.
I am here for one reason only.
A young teacher pregnant with child whom I am fond of looks into silent sneaky partner, my cupped hand filled with candy corn, and she laughs.
That is what makes you so awesome, she says. I love you.
I love her too, knowing she will not talk.
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