PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

him.

They called him Mr. Reeves.

Every time I heard it, I thought of those foil labels tied with string.

One afternoon, a woman around my age came in with two children. She apologized three times before taking food.

“I’m not usually someone who needs help,” she said.

I heard my mother’s voice in my head.

Let people eat first.

So I smiled and said, “Today continue reading …