Tim was sitting on the steps that led to the schoolyard. It was recess. All the other kids were playing, laughing, chasing each other... some were even fighting. Tim just sat there, not part of that world, holding a piece of bread with margarine and eating it slowly. The margarine tasted strange, but he didn’t know why.
“Is that bread with butter?” asked a sharp, sweet little voice.
He looked up and saw a girl from his class. She had brown hair tied up in a ponytail with a white band. She wore dirty sneakers, caked with days of grime, and had a band-aid on her forehead, off to one side.
“No, it’s margarine,” the boy answered.
“Can I have some?” the girl asked.
Tim handed her the bread, stretching out his arm. The girl took a bite and frowned. “It’s the one with the cow on it. Mom buys it because it’s cheap, but it tastes bad. Do you like it?”
Tim shook his head.
“No. I usually eat butter, but Leta bought margarine because there wasn’t any left.”
“Who’s Leta? Is she the robot?” the girl asked, innocently curious.
Tim nodded.
“Is she your nanny?”
“What’s a nanny?”
“It’s the lady who takes care of you when your parents can’t. Don’t you have parents?”
Tim paused before answering, trying to absorb this new concept. “No,” he finally said.
“Why not?”
“Because the police took them away. Because they were bad to me.”
“They were bad to you? What did they do?”
“They yelled at me, hit me, didn’t give me food,” Tim replied, his eyes glassy, on the verge of tears, remembering his past life.
“Are you gonna cry?” the girl asked, scared and confused, still holding the bread. She didn’t know how to react. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she added, repentant.
One of the teachers on recess duty happened to glance in their direction and saw the girl standing in front of Tim, who was sniffling with tears rolling down his cheeks.
The woman sighed, slightly irritated, as if tired of her job, and walked over to the children like an annoyed, towering giant.“Alright, Meli, what are you doing? Give Tim his bread back,” the teacher said, taking the bread from the girl’s hand and squashing the margarine with her thumb. That irritated her even more.
She grabbed the bread with the other hand, as if the milky stain were a personal offense.
“There, take it. You’re gonna cry over some bread?” she said to Tim, practically throwing the bread at him.
Tim caught it reflexively, afraid, sensing the woman’s irritation. The teacher turned to the girl.
“And you, Meli... go on, go play with the girls.”
“No, it’s not because of the bread. He’s crying because he doesn’t have parents,” the girl tried to explain, confused and innocent, not realizing her words wouldn’t help. “What now?” the teacher snapped, annoyed and not understanding.
“Go on, go play with the other kids, Meli. Leave him alone,” she said, placing a hand on the girl’s back to steer her away from Tim, who stayed there, tears still falling slowly and the bread full of thumb dents in his hands, as if it somehow mattered.
Meli, from a distance, watched him. She felt guilty, though she didn’t really know why. She only knew Tim had gotten sad, and she felt like it was her fault.