One September morning as my mom and I sat on our back porch steps, a group of children walked by, happily swinging colorful metal boxes. They laughed and giggled with huge smiles on their faces. I thought they were the luckiest kids on earth.

“Where are they going?” I asked.

“To school.” Mom lit a cigarette, threw the used match into the dirt.

“What’s school?”

She inhaled and then blew out the smoke. “You’ll find out in a few years.” I coughed as her smoke filled my throat and nose.

Two more happy kids walked by, carrying those strange boxes.

“Why are all those kids carrying metal boxes?”

“Their lunches.” She inhaled again, this time, thankfully, turning her head to the side before blowing out the smoke.

“Can I have one?”

“It’s too early for lunch.”

“No, I mean,” as I nodded in the direction the kids had gone. “Can I have a box, too?”

“Not until you go to school.” Using her scuffed tennis shoe Mom ground the cigarette into a mashed-up blob.

“Can I go to school now?” I asked.

“Not until you’re five.”

I counted on my fingers. “So in two more years.”

“Yes. Your brother will go to school next year, then you the year after that.” My mother lit a new cigarette. She inhaled and then once again, her smoke drifted my way.

“What do you do at school?”

“Learn things.” This time she leaned her head back before sending her smoke into the sky. With her cigarette dangling from her fingers, she stood, brushed off her skirt, turned and opened the door. “It’s time to go inside.”

I followed her into the kitchen. “Why can’t I have a lunchbox now? Why do I have to wait two years?”

“There’s no money and you don’t need one.” My mother bent over and removed two pans from the cabinet. She opened doors and drawers, taking something from each. Lastly, she dug around in the refrigerator, emerging with something in each hand.

“I want a lunchbox now.”

She flung a hand toward the front room. “Go away and quit bothering me.”

I went into the bedroom that I shared with my brother. I climbed up on my bed so I could see out the window. A few more smiling kids went by, each of them swinging a lunchbox. I placed my right hand on the window glass, as if I was reaching out, wishing I could walk with them. I watched for a while longer, but saw no more kids.

When my dad came home, before he could hang his coat over the back of a kitchen chair, I asked him for a lunchbox. I thought he’d understand since he carried one. His was old and dented, not new like the ones the kids had, but he had one.

“Can I have a lunchbox?”

He looked over at my mom who was doing something in the kitchen.  “Why does she want a lunchbox? Did you put that foolishness in her head?”

Mom shook her head, but didn’t turn around. “She saw kids carrying boxes like they do every morning and that’s all she can think about.” My mother scooped food into bowls and carried them the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

My brother was already seated in his chair.

I slid into mine and began swinging my legs. “I to be like those kids.”

“Let it go.” My mom glowered at me.

I knew that was the signal to shut up, but I didn’t want to shut up.

“Daddy, do I have to wait until I go to school? Can’t I have one now?”

“Shut up and eat,” he said.

I did the best that I could with tears in my eyes and dripping down my throat. It took me a long time to finish, long after Mom had washed the dishes and put them away.

I was still seated at the table when I heard Mom tell my brother than it was time for bed,

Knowing my dad was alone, I tiptoed into the front room. “Please, Daddy, can I have a lunchbox?”

“Go to bed,” he said without looking my way.

The next morning, I sat on the kitchen steps again, watching kids go by. “Mother, I’d take really good care of a lunchbox.”

“Shut up about it.” Her face looked angry, so I was quiet while my mother finished her cigarette and went inside.

I drew pictures of lunchboxes and kids and me, all walking together, smiles on our faces.

When my dad came home, I asked him again. He didn’t say no, but he didn’t say yes, either. I listened when he went into the kitchen where my mom was working on dinner. I tried to pick out words, but not even one came clear. We ate dinner and then my brother and I went to bed.

In the morning, I discovered a blue metal box sitting on the kitchen table. “What’s that?”

“Something your father brought home,” my mother said. There was a look on her face that I didn’t understand. She didn’t seem to be angry, but she wasn’t smiling, either.

My fingers carefully touched the sides of the box. It was bumpy in places and smooth in others. “Who’s this for?”

“Open it up.”

Inside I found a sandwich wrapped in paper and an apple. “Is this for Bill?”

“No. It’s yours.”

My eyes grew huge with surprise. And when my mom nodded, I picked it up by the handle. I walked all over the house swinging it just like those kids. “Does this mean I’m going to school?”

She shook her head.

“Did Bill get a lunchbox?”

“He doesn’t want one.”

“Oh.” I rocked back and forth, thinking. My brother didn’t get a box and he had to go to school first. “I get to keep it?”

“Yes. It’s for you.”

I carried my lunchbox into the front room and sat on the couch. I opened the lid. The sandwich and apple were still there. I picked each one up, turned them from side to side and then put them back inside. I closed the lid and flipped the latch. “When will it be lunchtime?”

 “Find something to keep you busy,” my mother called from the kitchen.

I went into my room and retrieved a coloring book and crayons from under my bed. Sat on the floor with my lunchbox at my side. I colored several pictures, taking time to stay in the lines like my mother wanted.

My mother called from the front room, “Lunch time.”

I put my things away and carried my lunchbox into the kitchen. I placed it on the table and sat in my chair. I opened the lid and took out my sandwich.

“Is this what kids do at school?”

“Yes. They sit at tables to eat.” My mother opened the door and stepped outside. She lit a cigarette, inhaled and blew smoke out into the air.

I took a bite of the sandwich. “Why do I have this if I can’t go to school?”

“Your father wanted you to have it.” She inhaled again. “Just be grateful.”

I was grateful.

That blue metal box was my most precious possession until it got lost during one of our many moves.