Day 11

As I handed Kyle his birthday card for his tenth birthday, he handed me a packet of twenty pages worth of storytelling.

The story was titled "Samsonite Blues" and it was told from the perspective of a lost suitcase and the trials it had as well as the triumph of finally being reunited with it's owners. It was surprisingly riveting handwriting and I applauded after reading the story silently.

"Why a Samsonite suitcase? What's so special about Samsonite's?"

Kyle raised his brows as he said, "Only that they're the Mercedes-Benz of suitcases. You don't travel much do you?"

"No, I'm poor," I reply. "But let me guess, you grew up in a family where there wasn't a summer you weren't on vacation. Maybe you went to some places where they do crappy trust exercises and some kumbaya shit."

"Kumbaya isn't shit. You're doing some Kumbaya right now by volunteering, Renata." Kyle gave me a disappointed look and I squirm in my seat. "As for trust exercises...every place we visited was more of a time for family bonding than trust exercises." Kyle looked off at his door as he whispered, "You can't family bond with a family that's already been broken."

Shaking my head I replied, "True that."

He smirked at me as he said, "You're not cool enough to pull that phrase off....Hey!" I kicked his leg hard with my foot. "Careful, I'm a dying man."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Unlike the other patients at this hospice center, you're young enough to take it." Both of us look at each other before Kyle smirked.

"I'm going to read my birthday card now." He opens his card and reads, "Congratulations! You're now a decade old and your age is the number of all your toes!" He closed the card and nodded, "I actually like that one. Simple, true, and a bit of humor with the toes bit. Good work, Renata!"

"Same goes for you," I said as I put his story in my backpack. I peek at Kyle from the side of my eye. "Are you sure you're okay with me turning in your story with my name?"

"I'm going to die, Renata. Someone better take advantage of my literacy triumph because it's not like I'm working on publishing a book anytime soon."

"Maybe not a book but did you ever think of writing your own obituary?" I asked him.

"My obituary?" he asked me. I'm about to explain why when Kyle snorted at me and said, "Get the fuck out."

"What?"

"You heard me, Renata. I'm not going to say it again." As I get up to leave, I look at him one more time.

"Just think about it," I said softly. Then I added with direct eye contact, "You piece of shit."

I didn't bother gauging his reaction as my vision was starting to go blurry. As a result of my blurred vision, I accidentally slammed the door.