I found work in the elementary school cafeteria almost by chance.
It was supposed to be temporary.
Forty years later, I was still there.
Children have a way of rejoining the small pieces of your heart without asking permission.
He knew who hated peas.
Who needed the edges of the sandwich removed.
Who always forgot lunch on Thursdays because his father worked the night shift.
A young boy hid the broccoli inside his milk carton every Monday.
I pretended not to realize until he was old enough to believe that he had cheated on me.
Life was not what I had imagined. But it was still a life.
However, each spring it opened the cedar wooden box.
The bouquet was still there. Michael's boutonnière, no.
It felt strange... like a phrase that was missing the last word.
***
Then came last Thursday.
I had just finished separating three second-graders arguing over the mashed potatoes when a girl walked out of line for lunch.
