Miggy shook his head to clear away his ugly thoughts. He didn’t want to think about his part in the past that had brought him to this place in time. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. He looked at the mess the boys had created, then simply walked away. The carcass of the chicken was picked clean, and not a smidgen of ham remained on the bone. The bowl that had been full of spaghetti and meatballs looked like someone had licked it clean. He opened the refrigerator to see empty bins and shelves. The monster cooling unit looked as if it belonged on a showroom floor, waiting for someone to buy it.

Miggy looked around for a pantry and finally found it. It was stocked from top to bottom with paper products, canned fruits and vegetables, and packages of pasta. Extra-large scented trash bags were on the bottom shelf. Miggy shook his head again. Rich people certainly knew how to live. Scented garbage bags. He hadn’t even known there was such a thing.

Because there was nothing else to do, Miggy tidied up the kitchen, including washing and drying the spaghetti bowl and putting it away. Then he sifted through the pile of mail on the counter to see what kind of letters rich people got. Alonzo was right, there was nothing interesting in the stack except the postcard from the kid. His eyes started to burn when he remembered what he was doing when he was ten years old. There was no summer camp for him. He was running the streets, hanging with the gangs, stealing every chance he got, and fighting for his life a time or two.

Miggy squeezed his eyes shut and wished the way he wished a thousand times that a genie or a fairy godmother would appear to grant him a wish. He’d wish he could turn back the clock to his early childhood before he started running with the gangs. He’d wish to spend more time on his schoolwork, listen to his mother more, helped her more, prayed more, and attended Mass with her on Sundays. Maybe if he had done those things, he would have a better life. He’d have a job, his own apartment, maybe a girlfriend he’d take home to Sunday dinner with his mother.

Miggy snapped out of his reverie when he sensed Alonzo standing next to him. He looked up at the giant standing over him. “You wearing Cricket’s clothes?” he asked inanely.

“The only thing I could find. The guy is one big dude. At least I’m clean, and the clothes are clean. That’s why they make belts and suspenders. The kid’s sneakers fit me. Cricket’s shoes could pass as canoes, that’s how big they are. What were you thinking just now, Mig? You’re starting to worry me.”