My Uncle Is Dead

He came into my room glowering. I rolled my eyes, but inside my head, silently, so he could not see. He comes to me daily, to get away from his “mean” teacher. I am feeling a bit mean myself. What happened? She is teaching math, she is looking mean at me, I hate her. I know this child well; he truly just wants to play in a sand pile. And he despises math like I despise math; I keep this thought a secret. We play in the sand pile and he says “My uncle died.” I ask him “when?” He says “we don’t know, we have not found his body yet.” I said “How do you know he died?” He glares at me. “Mom and me went to his house this weekend. We knocked and knocked, and no one came.” I am on board so far. Mom pointed to Rex’s water bowl and said “You know what this means don’t you?” Rex is his dog? Head nod. “What did it mean?” “It means Uncle Tom is dead. He would never let Rex run out of water.”