A Change Gonna Come

The apprehension began as a little ball in Charley’s stomach.  He had seen those brooding eyes several times, always either briefly or in his periphery, but he had seen them.  There could be no mistake.  A man so cold and callous surely could not be here, Charley thought, after all, this is heaven.  So unnerved, Charley walked around the woods all day, scratching his head and squinting.  The little ball of apprehension grew until it roared.  He was positively starving.

Charley headed into civilization to get some food.  Through the woods, he walked, more hurriedly than usual.  He crossed the field to his family’s breakfast spot and was surprised to find it crowded.  Usually, he and his family could sit in a booth and have the booths to either side empty.  Today, he walked in and saw people lining the walls waiting to be seated.

If you wish, go around back to the kitchen door to pick up food, he was told.  He did so.  In the back of the building was an oak door, sliced in half horizontally.  The top half was open, revealing a flat-top and some griddles.  Charley was dished with a meager portion of bacon and hash.  I hope there’s more, Charley said.  There isn’t, we’re too crowded, come back later.  Charley walked back toward the woods and scarfed his food.  By the time he reached the tree line he had nothing left.

When he arrived at the cabin, he found Ness still in bed.  He sat on the edge and stroked her back until she craned her neck and smiled meekly at him.  Her pretty face sagged from her skull a bit, pasty but flushed.  What is this, Charley asked.  I don’t feel well, she responded, did you bring me anything to eat.  Charley allowed his fingers to penetrate his thick mop and scrape against his head.  No, I’m sorry, love; let me get you something.

He could have died again.  His selfishness never ceased to amaze him.  He took off in a bolt toward town, allowing his body to reach its running homeostasis.  He gradually lengthened his strides until he nearly soared.  Back at the kitchen door, he received another small ration.  He carried the portion in a small brown bag as he loped back to the cabin.  He wiped stinging sweat, mixed with tears, from his eyes.

Here, my love, please eat this food.  I’m sorry I did not think to bring it before.

It’s okay, dear.  Thank you.  Is this all there is.

Yes, they are rationing it out.

Strange.

It was strange.  The food had always been portioned, but there had never been too little.  He had also never been hungry until that morning.  Nor had his wife.  After checking to see if his wife needed anything else-she did not, just sleep-he excused himself to the woods, to walk and squint and scratch.