Sleeper

For the first time in Toby’s life, the pain of hunger was not consuming him. He was consuming instead. No, it did not matter that that glorious feast laid out in front of him, nearly finished, was in an honor of a fellow orphan who had been adopted just that day.  Toby’s small, trembling mouth had been stuffed with bread so light it felt like air and giving him cheeks that resembled a chipmunk’s. He swallowed and in his nine-year-old mind he had wondered if the other guests were looking to adopt as well.

It was his first night at an orphanage and he loved it already. It was better to be sleeping on stiff beds than bathroom floors. He didn’t know how long he’d be here. A day or two perhaps before running away again. It all depended on if they had meals like this every night. Could they throw parties every night? Probably not.

Living on the streets was not fun. He’d started on the streets with his father and a man named Gabe. His had had said that they were going on an adventure. That they had to leave home and never go back. But one day when Toby had lifted his head groggily from the pillow of paper towels and crawled over bathroom tile to wake up his father, the older man wouldn’t wake up. Gabe had scooped Toby up in his arms and said that his father was busy and they needed to leave. That was months ago. Gabe had watched after him since then. Until he dropped Toby off at the orphanage that morning. And he told Toby where to find him if anything went wrong. He didn’t understand why these things were happening but he knew not to question. That was how he had been taught.

Toby had been able to ignore the other kids that were staring at him. Probably at his ribs, which were all too visible through his skin. Or his mess of blond hair on top of his head. His tiny, bony hands had reached forward to snatch another roll, shoving it past his lips with as much grace as he could muster. He had stolen a pick at the boy who’d been adopted. He had to be around the same age as Toby, with mousy hair and squinty little eyes. Toby chewed thoughtfully, wondering how easy it could be to get adopted himself.

He was cute enough, with eyes like pools of the richest chocolate, and a dimpled grin that had helped him on so many occasions. His little, famished, body made him look young and helpless. People thought that was cute, right? He was skilled enough too. He could read and right, do addition and subtraction and was just starting to learn his times tables. He even knew how to write in cursive. All of which he’d picked up on the streets

That was earlier. Now, however, that party…that meal…it had all come to a crashing halt. And it was all Toby’s fault. His hungry mind kept shoveling food into his empty stomach. And he wasn’t picky about it either. The richest food slid down his throat before he could even second-guess what he was even eating. But going weeks without real nourishment had taken a toll on Toby. His stomach, which once probably would’ve grumbled once in dissatisfaction at what Toby was eating and how quickly, turned on him. He felt an acidic burn rising in the back of his throat along with building pressure in his stomach.

And Toby couldn’t move fast enough. With one great cough, he bent over and ruined the carpet, and the party. He was mortified. All eyes were on him and not for his too skinny body or dirt caked hair and face, but because he’d eaten himself to illness. And Toby could barely pay them any attention as he realized that all that food he’d finally been able to eat was gone.

That realization, and the ever so slowly returning hunger and the pure humiliation made the room unbearable for Toby. Then he heard the other kids snickering to themselves. Tears clouded his vision and his chest started to heave as he tried to keep in the sobs that were threatening to rise in him. He shouldn’t be crying. He couldn’t be crying. His eyes stung from having been dry so long and his lungs struggled to expand the way they needed to.

And that flooded out too. With as much force as he had heaved up his dinner, tears and sobs poured out of him. That petite body wracked with tremors as months and months of disappointment and suffering were released from him.

Toby didn’t even notice as the room was cleared of adults and children alike. He sat in the corner, hands pressed to his eyes as he bawled for no reason in particular. He missed the footsteps of people coming back into the room. And he couldn’t hear the words being exchanged. He felt someone pull him to his feet and hold his hands but he couldn’t see through the haze of tears as he alternated between sobs and hiccups.

“Toby, you don’t belong here,” a voice said. Toby nodded helplessly. He didn’t belong in an orphanage. He belonged on the streets, where he’d been for months. Maybe longer. He’d lost track. Find his friends who helped him get scraps and makeshift shelters.

“Come with me,” the voice said, picking him up and ignoring the tears that would inevitably stain their clothing. He continued to cry, not noticing that he was being carried out of the orphanage.

And Toby cried himself into exhaustion. He fell asleep in the arms of a near stranger, and continued to be soundly asleep through an entire car ride. He slept as his new guardian carried him upstairs and covered him with blankets after setting him in bed.

Toby slept through the first time he’d ever been tucked in. And he slept through his adoption.