He was bent over a superhero comic, his sneakers barely reaching the floor.
Publicidad
Noah was a Marvel kid. He knew all of it. Every character. Every storyline. Every impossible resurrection and alternate universe.
I tried to speak his language.
"Buddy. Listen. I know you're Mom's protector. But even superheroes have to go home and rest, or they can't protect anybody. Let's go home tonight."
He looked up at me.
"What day is it today?"
"Saturday."
His face changed.
Not dramatically. He just closed the comic.
"I can't do Saturdays. Mom won't have anyone to talk to."
Publicidad
For a second, I thought he was playing.
"Don't joke about that, Noah."
"I'm not joking." He sounded almost annoyed with me. "She only talks to me."
