“Mummy! Mummy! I’m hungry!” whined the little boy. The child had soft dark brown curls with matching brown eyes, an impish grin, and wore a T–shirt and shorts that were too large for his scrawny frame. It was already noon, Timmy’s tummy rumbled, and yesterday night’s sweet potato seemed like a distant memory. He always loved meal and bed times, they were filled with make-belief and fantasy. His tummy would hurt even after a meal and the rumblings made it really difficult to fall asleep as he cuddled with little teddy wishing that something extraordinary would happen to ease his hunger pangs.
When the family were having meals, mummy and daddy would describe all the different types of delicious foods; chicken patties, steak, pizza, cheesecake, jelly, strawberries and Timmy would bite into his sweet potatoes and imagine eating all the glorious, unknown wonders. Foods that would fill the emptiness that his tummy was accustomed to. Foods that tasted differently, looked differently – not the usual bland sweetness of the orange-colored potatoes he had daily. Chocolates, oh how he loved chocolates. There was only a bar left, and each month he was treated to apiece. Soon, even the last bar of chocolates would be gone.
Bed times were a treat because daddy would tell him stories of a fun place called the playground. Timmy would close his eyes and imagine a playground with nice sweet-smelling flowers, lush bushes, shady trees, green grass that would tickle his toes as he played bare-footed in the bright, warm sun. He could hear the chirping of birds and yaps of a golden retriever playing Frisbees with its owner. Nearby, there would be a faint tinkling melody of an ice-cream truck, whose owner was a kind, red round-faced, friendly man giving Timmy his favorite chocolate-flavored ice cream. There were metal devices that were called monkey bars and swings, where there would be other boys, other girls; other children playing with him. There were many other people… people other than daddy and mummy.
“I should finish the drawing that I was working on last night,” said Timmy rubbing his little hands in glee as he snapped out of his playground-absorbed thoughts. As he got down on his hands and knees, the sleeves of his oversized T-shirt came undone and he struggled working his art with his sleeves in the way. After awhile, he held up the canvas and admired the masterpiece, his brows suddenly formed a frown and he furiously started erasing parts of the canvas.
“What’s wrong, honey? Why are you erasing all those little friends you drew?” Mummy peered over Timmy’s shoulder and asked.
“Mummy! I want to eat fish and chips today. Could you cut my potatoes so that they look like fillets, Mummy? Oooo… and put the potato skins by the side of the plate. They’re my freshly baked French fries! Could I? Could I have fish and chips today, mummy?” wide-eyed, Timmy asked. He would never pass on playing make-believe with his mother. The drawing was for Timmy’s father and he didn’t want his parents to be concerned about him, as the drawing depicted how much he longed to play with other children.
“Yeah! Yeah! I know but will you hang on? Be patient, I’ve only got a pair of hands, you know!” laughed his mother.
Timmy’s tummy growled furiously. He patted his tummy and in a low whisper said to himself, “Shhhhh… keep it down, guys. Mummy is going to worry if you constantly growl like that.” He got up and gulped down a cup of warm water.
“I love you mummy… have I told you that today? NOW can I have my fillets yet?” said Timmy batting his eyelids, with an adorable puppy-like look on his face. He was only six, yet has learnt the art of manipulation well.
She moved swiftly to her son, quickly wound up the sleeves of his T-shirt, messed up his brown hair lovingly and said, “Look honey, it’s difficult enough to get food now so be patient, will you?”
