How Was School Today?

I pulled my chair to the table and made eye contact with each boy. “What did you learn in school today?”

They glanced at me, then resumed eating.

“C’mon, guys, work with me.” I’ve read articles and tips and know to ask open-ended questions.

James heaved a sigh and placed his fork beside his plate. He pursed his lips, tapped the table, then brightened and turned to face me. “Nothing. Can I have some dessert, please?”

“And you, Ian?”

“Nothing.”

Grudging or not, Mr. Congeniality had replied. However, I wasn’t satisfied. Did they have a meeting to go over talking points? Was this something covered during classroom drill?

But, Ian wasn’t finished. “Can I have dessert?”

I cleared my throat and glared at him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Can I have dessert? Please?”

OK, technically, they’d both answered my questions, and their plates were clean. I gave them two cookies each.

The school year passed, but I persisted each night.

“James—”

“I learned that the sun will become a red giant in about four to five billion years and destroy the earth, but all life will end in about two billion years when the sun gets too hot.” His words spilled out in a rush. “Can I have my dessert, please?”

I gloated in silence. Not just success, sweet victory.

But something didn’t feel right. “Two billion years? Are you sure? I learned five billion. When the sun goes nova.”

“I heard it, too, Dad. James is right,” Ian said, in a rare show of support for his brother.

At last, the boys had answered, and I rewarded them with three cookies each. But joy eluded me, and their answer filled me with an irrational disquiet. I was counting on that time. Where did my three billion years go?

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.