Golden Child

Before their embrace, he visited the bathroom yet again.

“Got cash?”

She paid. They both knew he should have his own fare. They both knew why he didn’t.

“Talk soon?”

Both knew he wouldn’t call. Since birth (her third Passover), he couldn’t be tamed – first “class clown,” then “life of the party,” now “a danger to himself.” All grown, he remained a laughing cherub tugging on her braid. She’d always love him anyway.