The Between Years

voice tremble. “What's wrong, little buddy?”

    “ You know what I mean! Do you know how to knock?”

    Again, Randy was taken back then he decided that Kenny was right: maybe he should have been more considerate. He understood that Kenny was in adolescence now and privacy was a huge issue, whether he was the boy's father or not. He'd felt the same way when he was that age, but judging by his expression, he wasn't interested in an explanation. Randy did care about the way Kenny had spoken to him though. He wouldn't have dreamed of speaking to his own father that way-nor would he have dreamed of getting away with it-but he was willing to let it slide for now.

    “ You're right, Kenny,” he said. “I'm sorry. I'll knock next time.”

    “ What do you want?”

    “ I want you to start speaking to me with some respect, young man, or I'm going to have to penalize you. Now I've told you I was sorry for walking in without knocking, but that doesn't give you the right to take that tone with me.”

    Kenny climbed out of his chair, turned his back and flopped onto the bed.

    While Kenny's back was turned, Randy spotted the closet door being opened slightly. He grabbed the door and opened it farther. Inside he found cupcakes, brownies, empty chip bags, cake, M&M's and Reeces Peanut Butter cups. Has he been hoarding all this? He wondered. That would account for at least part of Kenny's weight problem, but he knew he wouldn't keep that much junk food in the house. Randy had no problem with giving the boy some sweets or maybe some extra dessert, but he couldn't believe it could have become so out of control. But then he couldn't keep an eye on him every moment, and he couldn't control how he spent his allowance, he supposed. The best he could do was to cut him off.

    Not that he was judging the boy, he thought. He would never do that. He was simply concerned about the damage his weight could do to his health. Randy figured Kenny was about twelve years old and weighed in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds. He'd known people his own age who weren't terribly obese, but who'd made abominable dietary choices, and were already rendered diabetic. Kenny was headed down that road too, he knew, and Randy didn't want to see that happen to the boy. Not when he'd had a second chance at life.

    How he would communicate that to Kenny left him feeling stuck. He remembered how much he'd felt like he'd been walking on eggshells last night, when he'd been indifferent about Randy's presence. That paled in comparison to the anger that boiled inside the boy tonight. He wandered over to the bed, sat down next to Kenny, and threw his arm around his wide frame. Kenny didn't flinch or even look at Randy.

    “ Give yourself a chance to calm down,” Randy said. “Just take a deep breath and let it out nice and slow. You'll feel better.”

    Kenny did nothing Randy suggested, but Randy wouldn't let the boy test his patience.

    “ I just want to have a talk,” Randy continued, “and I want you to know that I'm not mad at you. But I think you need to do something about what you're eating, and how much. It might not seem like a big deal now, but you need to do it for yourself.”

    “ Maybe you're not mad, but you are ashamed of me,” he said. His voice sounded small and squeaky.

    “ I'm not ashamed of you, Kenny. Not at all. I don't want you to ever think that.”

    “ All the kids at school, they make fun of me. How do you think it feels to be called a chunky fat ass and goat tits? And then you get a call from my teacher to hear about how I locked myself in the bathroom to cry my eyes out.”

    “ I'm sorry, Kenny, I don't know how it feels, but I do know that it's an awful thing to say about anyone. But I hope we can talk about what you can do to change all that, just a little at a time. I promise you, if you take charge of it and have the right attitude, you can lose that weight. You'll start to feel good about yourself too.”

    “ You're just saying stuff like that!”

    “ I meant it, Kenny. I know you love the food you're eating. It doesn't mean you can't have any of it anymore, you just need to eat less of it. And we'll throw in some exercise too. You and me, we'll take bike rides together and play catch in the back yard.”

    Kenny didn't respond, as if he'd heard these platitudes a thousand times before. He wondered if he'd done anything that had led to his eating problems, or if it was the product of things he'd left