He came to me for help again today – asked to use my phone to call his grandma to see if she’ll pick him up this weekend. As usual, he stayed a while after, watching TV and the window at the same time. I offered him a sandwich but he refused, saying he didn’t want to upset his father by spoiling his dinner with an after school snack. I told him one sandwich wouldn’t ruin anyone’s dinner, but he just looked and smiled in that polite way he does when he’s trying not to say too much. 

He sat on the edge of the couch – backpack still on sometimes – like he’s ready to go at any moment. Like comfort is temporary or being relaxed now might cost him later. I try not to pry because people talk, and families get defensive when “outsiders” notice too much. But it’s so hard not to notice an empty driveway and stark environment. When the father is home from time to time, the whole block feels it. Even grown folks lower their tones around him, maybe without even realizing. 

I’ve never seen anything obvious or violent, but there is a palpable pressure when Dad is home. The boy watches for it constantly. Last winter I heard yelling from next door. I couldn’t make out the words but I could tell everyone in the house was emotionally rearranging themselves around one person’s negativity. Then deep silence afterward,  like no one even moved for a while. The next morning, the little one still brought the newspaper to my porch from the driveway and said “Good morning.” 

I asked if he was excited for summer break coming up. He hoped maybe his grandmother would let him stay longer this year if his father “doesn’t get upset about it.” Then he changed the subject quickly. I hope he gets to go; the whole family deserves rest. If I could do more. I would.