Walking Zombies
A young couple on the bus, oblivious to the prime of their lives, his pillowed body curled into the nook of her milk chocolate neck. Her callused hand asleep on the lap of his dirty white-washed jeans.
In the next seat over sitting alone, their eight year old son shines bright for their attention. Eager to show them the spiral-bound hand-drawn cartoon. He longs for his drawing of a monster soldier under a blue-inked sun to wake them up, to make them see just how much love he has to give them. No matter their deep pit of need, no matter their daily failings.
The pierced eyebrow father glances at the paper and mumbles, “I’m almost afraid to look, you’re so excited.” The proud boy acknowledges with a quiet glance and waits for their approval. The magic of the cartoon to take effect. Without a word, the father shoves the notebook on the mother’s lap and goes back to sleep. His checked-out head bobbing up and down with the push-pull of the bus climbing up the hill.
The mother looks at the page with heavy eyelids. She cannot see through the thick haze of what her life has become. She passes the notebook back to the boy. He forgives her before the next stop.
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