The Red Boy

He comes into the kitchen where I’m cooking dinner. “Mommy,” he says. “What?” I answer, distracted. “There’s a red boy walking in my room.” I glance at him. “A red boy?” He nods. “He walks like this.” He presses his chubby arms tightly against his small body and cocks his head to the side. He takes a few jerky, shuffling steps. _____________________ He carries an armload of plastic dinosaurs into the living room and dumps them on the floor. “Why aren’t you playing in your room?” I ask. I’m folding…