by Elizabeth Anderson
My head is buried in the pantry when I hear bare feet pad up softly behind me. “Mom, where...” my little boy starts, but his voice cracks on the second word, so he clears his throat and tries again: “Mom, where does Dad keep the shaving cream?” This time the words come out deep and clear. “In the cupboard under the bathroom sink,” I answer, turning to look at him. Look up at him that is, because he’s taller than me now. And then I notice the size of his hands, his legs, long and lean in faded jeans slung low around his hips, his hair almost to his shoulders, and I can’t help but wonder, when did my little boy become a man?
Elizabeth Anderson teaches elementary school children in northern California. She dreams of publishing a novel one day - she just has no idea what it will be about.