People treated him as if he didn’t matter. As if they didn’t even see him. Their ignorance grated. If they knew the truth of who he was, of what he had become, the stupid smirks would be wiped from their faces. Their mouths would fall open. And then they would tremble in fear. At moments like these, when everyone tried to make him feel powerless, he returned again and again to the memory of his first time, playing it out in slow motion. He let the moments slip through his mind like pearls on a string, each one precious and distinct. He had met her downtown. She told him she was hungry, and the hollows in her cheeks underlined the truth of that. At a nearby McDonald’s, he bought her a hamburger, fries, and some kind of abomination called a McFlurry, but suggested they go elsewhere to eat. They went to the park. It was a perfect Indian summer afternoon, the turning leaves, shades of yellow and red, silhouetted against the bright blue sky. The food was gone in just a few bites. She sucked the salt and ketchup from her fingers, but her fingernails were still rimmed with dirt.
