MICHAEL SOLOMON

You could tell that Henry was disturbed as his feet were constantly stumping the ground, gallivanting without aim. His mind was filled with so much thought that one would think he was suffering from depression. The thoughts of his uncle meeting my family didn't go down well with him.

"When did you say your uncle was coming?" I asked, throwing myself on my bed.

"10 p.m., that's what he said," Henry answered, his right thumb on his lower lip.

I checked the wall clock and said, "Well, it's just 9:30 p.m.; you can relax."

"You don't know my uncle," Henry sat on the bed. "His mood and attitude changes like the hands of a clock."

"Why are you scared, exactly?" I said, sitting upright, next to Henry. "Are you scared he will stop you from coming here?"

"No, that's not it," Henry shook his head, slightly. "I'm scared he would say something that would infuriate your father."

"Is he really that annoying?" I pushed my head backward a little.