Days, I work as a teaching aide for the special-needs kids at the elementary school, and nights, I work a flex shift transcribing medical dictation for the pediatric clinic. Days, Buddy goes to the elementary school, and when he’s done he walks home and plays Halo on Xbox and eats Cheetos and macaroni and raises more fat cells. I am a responsible mother, but aside from making enough money to meet the house payments, also the phone and electricity, and keep him supplied with macaroni and Cheetos, I haven’t got time for much else. One weekend I took him to the beach, but he complained of sunstroke and West Nile virus and said there were dead things floating in the water. Another time we tried hiking at the state park, and Buddy lay down on the trail claiming dehydration and snakebite when we were still in sight of the parking lot. I blame my husband for taking off like that and living on the other side of the country with another woman named Millie (she is really nice and a Christian and was married to our pastor before the trouble).
