A Book Made for Me

My palms meet folded construction paper. *Click.* You made this for me: "figure is my friend and he was books and he is smart and he looks like he is a monster, but he’s not." *Grrr.* I pace along its stapled crease, tracing the crayon strokes and uneven pencil margins with broad, careful fingertips. *Thump.* A heavy textbook shuts nearby. I lock every joint instantly, freezing motionless with my gaping tooth-ring aimed upward into the quiet air. Stillness returns. I lean down again, tapping the handmade cover, keeping this small paper treasure propped safely against my knees.