I spend the night tossing and turning in bed, and after another restless sleep, I wake up to find myself drooling all over my pillow. The warm glow of the sun shines right through my window and hits me right in the eyes. Why is it so bright this morning?

  I pull myself up from my bed with messy hair to check the time on my clock. I rub my drowsy eyes as I make out the numbers 10:21...

  "10:21!!" I yell in astonishment as I immediately push off my blankets. Crap! How could it get so late without my alarm going off? Grrrr, the stupid thing must be broken!

  I rush through the cold hallway barefoot, forgetting my shoes in all the excitement, and as I stand in the living room, I don't see my mom anywhere.

  "Mom?" I call out. Considering how late it is, surely my mom must be up by now. I walk into the kitchen, expecting to find her there.

  "Mom?" The kitchen is empty. A sense of panic rushes through me. Where could she be?

  I then dart into her bedroom.

  "Mama!" I cry. I look down at the neatly folded sheets lying across her mattress, and I can tell she has already made her bed. It is clear to me that she has left of her own free will.

  After one last look around her bedroom, I slowly turn to the door. Not knowing what to do with myself, I pace back and forth through the living room. My mom has never left me home alone before. In fact, my mom rarely ever leaves the house anymore.

  Why would she go? Does she... hate me? What if something were to happen to her? What if she were caught? It will all be my fault!

  After an hour of arguing with myself, I lean against the front door, sobbing so loudly that I can't hear the growling of my own stomach. Hesitantly, I pull myself up from the floor, and as I turn my head, I notice a small note taped to the door, right above the knob.

  Curiously, I bend my knees to get a better glimpse of the note and make out the words:

  "Gone into town to take care of some business. Back tonight. Don't wait up."

  I instantly gaze down at the note, comprehending each word until they echo in my mind. I sigh and rise from my knees before my back starts to cramp. I scratch the scalp of my head as I stand idly by the front door, not knowing how to spend the rest of my morning.

  Going to school this late would be senseless. Besides, no one would care one way or the other with Gabriel keeping their attention...

  My eyes turn to the flickering of a lit oil lamp lying upon the coffee table. I gaze deep into the warm glow reflecting off my pupils. All of my senses leave me defenseless as I am pulled toward the bright flame.

  Looking down at the lamp, mesmerized, I hesitantly begin to dip my finger into the open flame when suddenly, someone outside yells,

  "Daniel!"

  I gasp, immediately darting away from the oil lamp as my gaze snaps toward the door with wide eyes.

  "Daniel! You home?"

  I slowly unlock the door and crack it halfway as I poke my messy head out to see who is outside my house. Gabriel stands leaning beside a mailbox in front of the street.

  "Gabriel?" I ask in surprise.

  He waves me over, and without noticing, I run across the yard, shoeless and in my pajamas, out of the excitement of greeting him.

  "Gabriel!" I exclaim as I run up to him.

  "Shouldn't you be at school?"

  "I was, but—but—achoo!" Gabriel sneezes into his sleeve as water starts to fill his eyes.

  "The teacher let me out early," he continues, reaching for a tissue from his pocket, "so I decided to come visit you. Speaking of, shouldn't you be at school?"

  "My alarm clock broke, so I kinda lost track of time," I explain, rubbing my head in embarrassment.

  "Why would the teacher let you out early?" I ask curiously.

  Before he can respond, Gabriel once again sneezes into his sleeve.

  "Ugh, I must have caught something..."

  My eyes widen in shock. "You what?!"

  He rubs his arm, embarrassed.

  "Meh, it's just a little cold, that's all," he reassures me. "It's nothing I can't handle."

  "I knew this would happen," I groan. "I tried to tell you!"

  I walk closer and take his hand.

  "Daniel!" Gabriel calls out.

  "Back off! I'm contagious, remember?"

  "Hmm? Oh, I'm not worried," I say, lightly pushing off his warning. His health is more important than mine after all, I think to myself.

  Holding onto his hand, I lead Gabriel inside and lay him down on the couch.

  "Look, I'm fine, really!" Gabriel says, pulling himself up.

  "Wait," he pauses, his eyes scanning the room. "Is your mom home?"

  Distracted, I respond with a vague "No" while I search for a sheet.

  "Aw, man..." Gabriel mumbles, disappointed, while snapping his fingers.

  "I'll be right back," I abruptly tell him, darting off to my room.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I quickly grab a blanket from my bed and rush back to Gabriel, who by now is making himself comfortable on the couch.

  "Hold still," I tell him as I gently wrap the blanket around his shivering shoulders.

  "How does that feel?" I ask.

  "It feels... nice," Gabriel replies with an awkward smile as he clings to the blanket. "Nice and warm. Uhm, thanks."

  I nod with a curious expression as I observe Gabriel's uncontrolled shaking underneath the warmth of the blanket. I wish I could do more for him. Maybe... maybe I can.

  "Well..." I begin, hesitating for a moment, then continue, "My mom might not be here, but I can fix you some nice, warm soup."

  Gabriel laughs in disbelief.

  "You don't know how to cook."

  "I do too!" I protest, knowing that it is far from the truth. "In fact, I'll just go and make you some right now! You sit right here and rest, got it?"

  I run into the kitchen and look through the backs of cabinets in search of any unused cans my mom forgot about. My mom rarely ever buys canned food anymore, but I know we still have some! We must!

  However, all I find are homemade ingredients, but I have no clue what to do with them!

  After desperately rummaging through the cabinets, I finally manage to find one whole can of Pudliszki tripe soup at the very, very back.

  I stretch my arm out as much as possible to reach the can, and as soon as I wrap my fingers around the tin-plated steel body, I pull it toward my grasp.

  "Yes!" I mutter in accomplishment.

  Looking down at the can, however, I find myself at a loss for what to do next.

  "Um... is there like, instructions on this thing?"

  I turn the can upside down, right side up, and sideways, looking all over the packaging, hopelessly reading every word, but the only words on there are the brand name and the ingredient list.

  This is pointless... I don't even know how to get the damn thing open!

  I try pulling on the lid as hard as I can. All I accomplish is hurting my wrist. I try banging it against the counter. Nothing.

  I try to recall the times when I used to watch my mom prepare canned foods for dinner... That is, until the war... That seems so long ago.

  Suddenly, the image of the metal pincher-thingy hits me.

  I remember my mom having to use this tool to try to open the cans. Immediately, I shuffle through the items on the counter, looking at everything until I finally find something that exactly matches the description from my memory.

  Yes! This is it! It's so dusty. It appears that it hasn't been used in ages!

  "Okay," I say with a puff and hands on my head. "Now what?"

  I grab hold of the metal thingy and press it against the side of the can. It slips and makes a loud clack. I frown.

  I try again. Harder. I stab down suddenly, showing no mercy. The blade punches through crooked, soup slashes everywhere. I jerk my hand back, startled.

  Now the lid is dented, the opener is stuck, AND I'VE JUST ABOUT HAD ENOUGH WITH THIS DAMN THING!

  I yank the opener free with all of my strength and pry the lid back just enough so it's no longer sealed. The leftover soup remains in the can, and the jagged lid is bent outward, so I should be able to make do.

  As I place the damaged can on the stove, my finger begins to hurt pretty badly.

  "Ow," I announce in pain, looking over the thin, deep cut on my finger.

  I sigh. Distracted and impatient, I turn the stove on a very high setting as the can sits directly on the burner.

  While the furnace does its thing, I turn to face the counter and take a long, well-deserved stretch, followed by a satisfying yawn, breathing in a sharp, burnt smell.

  I guess the soup must be almost done.

  I walk toward the doorway to take a quick peek at Gabriel before I check on the soup. To my surprise, Gabriel's still on the couch, keeping himself occupied with a book in his hand. I smile.

  I'm forced to avert my eyes, however, when suddenly, I hear a faint sizzling from behind me that doesn't sound like liquid.

  I turn to face the stove as smoke starts to fill the room, and a small orange tongue of flame licks up the side of the can.

  "AH!" I scream, jerking back instinctively by the doorway.

  "Oh my gosh!"

  "Hey," a voice says from behind me.

  "AH!" I scream again, whipping my head around to see Gabriel standing by the doorway.

  "Is everything okay in there?" he asks, trying to look past me as I intentionally stand between him and the kitchen.

  "Wait... do I smell smoke?"

  "Smoke?" I ask with a cough, waving my hands around my face. "I don't smell any smoke."

  "Daniel—"

  "—Well, I don't know what you're smelling," I quickly interrupt, slowly reaching for the knob as I close the door to the kitchen, "but there's certainly no smoke in there. Oh, you must be coming down worse than I thought..."

  "Daniel," Gabriel says again as he points his finger at my shirt. "You're covered in it."

  I look down at my ash-covered clothes.

  "Uh," I begin with a nervous laugh, looking up at Gabriel. "I'd better go check on the soup now."

  I sling the door open and slam it shut before Gabriel can see.

  I cover my hands over my mouth as I make my way through the thick smoke and grab a pan from the counter without thinking. Hesitantly, I approach the small fire burning upon the stovetop, and with the pot in hand, I instinctively cover it over the bright flame, hoping that will put it out.

  I then switch the stove off.

  After waiting several minutes, I carefully begin to lift the pot, but immediately dart back from its scorching heat. Rubbing my hands in pain, I reach for my oven mitts and try again, slowly lifting the pot to see if the sparks are now gone.

  Sheer silence fills my head as I gaze down at the charred clumps of what used to be a can of soup before I ruined it.

  I let out a heavy sigh. I look out the window and into the late evening sky. It's too late to try to make something else. Gabriel's gonna have to make do.

  I walk into the living room and find Gabriel back on the couch, looking through a book.

  "Ahem," I cough to get his attention, hiding the can behind my back. "Gabriel, I, um, have something for you."

  "Fixing me something to eat didn't prove too troublesome for you, I presume?" Gabriel teases as he looks up at me with a warm smile.

  "Whaaaat? Nooooo... Don't be ridiculous!" I say, awkwardly laughing off his true assumption. "It was a piece of cake!"

  "May I please have it then?" Gabriel asks politely.

  "Um, yeah, I was just getting to that..." I begin nervously, "Just, uh, don't mind the burnt spots here and there."

  I hesitantly pull the can out from behind my back and present it to Gabriel.

  "Ta-dah!"

  Gabriel looks down into the can and instantly bursts out in laughter.

  "What?" I ask, giggling. "It's not that bad! Is it...?"

  Gabriel grabs it from my hands and, using the spoon I had earlier put in there, he begins to take a bite out of the solid, pitch-black vegetables.

  "Oh, careful!" I advise. "It might be a little... hot."

  He chews carefully, deliberately, as if testing each bite.

  "It's actually pretty good," he says.

  "What, really?" I ask skeptically. "You're not putting me on?"

  "It's better than anything straight from the can," he replies as broth drips from his chin.

  I laugh.

  "That means a lot," I say, reaching for the handkerchief in my left pocket, "coming from you."

  Apprehensively, I lean closer, careful and unhurried, pressing the folded cloth to his chin. Gabriel doesn't resist; instead, he sits perfectly still, eyes closed, as he allows me to be so close to him.

  Wiping the broth from his chin, we both awkwardly chuckle as I quickly pull myself away from him.

  As he continues to enjoy his, uh, "soup," I look down at the closed book lying upon the couch and decide to take a peek at what he was reading.

  Holding the book in my hands, I notice the pages feel heavier than normal paper. The black and white image of a 10-year-old me wearing a baseball cap suddenly appears before my eyes as I open the first page.

  This is my family's photo album. Why would Gabriel be looking at this?

  "Any particular reason you were looking through my baby pictures?" I ask playfully.

  "Oh, uh," Gabriel begins shyly, coming up with a good excuse—I'm sure. "I was just, um..."

  "Wait." I abruptly interrupt. "Were you trying to find my mom?"

  "No!" Gabriel bursts out, choking on his soup. "Not at all!"

  "Ugh," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "You dope," I say, playfully giving him a shove, more annoyed than anything.

  After midnight, Gabriel lies asleep so peacefully next to me on the couch. Gazing deep into his closed eyes, he looks so much like an angel.

  I smile enrapturedly and gently cover his body in a warm, cozy blanket.

  Left all alone in the dark, cold living room, my face darkens as I turn back to the flickering flame of the oil lamp lying a few feet away, refusing ever to look away.