I straightened. “What do you mean?”
Ben frowned. “He just did. He smiled at everybody, but not with his eyes.”
That answer came from a child, which somehow made it hit harder.
I asked, “Did something happen on the bus?”
Ben shook his head. “No. I saw the date on his little calendar by the steering wheel.”
I waited.
“It’s his birthday,” he said quietly. “And nobody said anything.”
That did it.
I wish I could explain exactly why. Maybe because the image landed too fast: This older man, who spent every year remembering the children’s birthdays, and then sitting alone on his own birthday like it was any other day.
He said, “He remembers everybody else’s.”
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