Free Spirit Pouch by Stanford Vaterlaus

that comes from being the older brother.  I do not have an older brother, but I have heard that tone of voice from some of my friends that have younger brothers.
    “Thanks,” I say, even though I think the idea is a terrible waste of perfectly good eggs and delicious bacon.
    Tom finishes his bite of grits and eggs and then turns his head toward me.  “You’re not from around here, are you?”
    “Of course not,” Henry and Elizabeth answer for me in unison.
    “I live on Cromwell Street,” I say, looking around the table.  “Anyone know where Cromwell is?”
    Each person shakes their head in denial and says nothing.
    I take a deep breath in an effort to expel the frustration and despair that settles on my heart like a thick fog in the night.  “Okay,” I say.  “If you don’t know where Cromwell is, then just tell me where I am.”
    “Ha! That’s easy,” Joseph laughs.  “You’re in our house with us!”
    Everyone laughs, and even I think it is slightly amusing and force a smile.
    “No, silly,” Annie jabs him in the ribs with her elbow.  “Jared wants to know what street we’re on and what town we live in, because he’s lost.”
    “Oh,” Joseph says.
    I can see in his eyes that he feels sorry for me.
    “It is no fun being lost.  I lost my shoe once,” he says.  “But I found it outside.”
    I smile again.
    “You are in Dogtown, [14] ” George says as he seats himself next to Tom.  He is late and missed the family prayer.
    “Be on time for the prayer next time,” Elizabeth says quietly.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Dogtown?” I say trying to steer the conversation back to my situation.  “Where is Dogtown exactly?”  I envision a small neighborhood, perhaps near the Tucson city dog pound, or the Humane Society.
    “It’s halfway between Central City and Nevadaville,” George continues authoritatively.
    “Are you saying that I’m in the state of Nevada?” I ask, even though I know that is a really stupid question.  I guess I ask it just to see if I am talking with sane people.  I am beginning to think I am the brunt of an elaborate practical joke.  Well, if they say I am somewhere in Nevada, then I will know it is all a joke.  How can I possibly get from Tucson, Arizona to Nevada in a few seconds?
    “No,” George says hesitantly, as if I am the insane one in this crowd.  “You are in the great territory of Colorado.”
    “Colorado?”  I nearly choke on the grits!  “I can’t be in Colorado,” I shriek.
    “Oh, you’re in Colorado, all right.  They call it the richest square mile on Earth.”  George continues as if he is reciting a textbook.  “You’re only thirty-three miles from Denver.  A good wagon team can do that in two days.” [15]
    “Where were you hoping to be, son?” Henry asks.
    “Home,” I say.
    “You can stay with us,” Joseph says with a concerned look that is much older than he really is.
    “Thanks,” I say smiling at Joseph.
    “I know,” William blurts out.  “Maybe you could come with me into town.  Mr. Roworth could always use another hard worker.  And maybe when you see Central City you will get your bearings and figure out which way is home.”  William turns and, with his eyes, transfers the question over to his mother.
    “Well, you boys better get a move on,” Elizabeth says.  “You’ve got chores to do before you go, and you haven’t even finished breakfast yet.”
    I can tell that Elizabeth is staring at my bowl of grits, so I pick up my spoon and gulp down a combination of grits, eggs and bacon.  This really is not that bad, I think.  But I am eating quickly now.  At home my mother would have said, “Taste it, why don’t you?”  But I decide that tasting it can be dangerous.  It would probably be better to just eat it and worry about taste later.  I grab my glass of milk and chug it, only vaguely aware of the slimy clumps as they slither down my throat.
    “Come on,” William says, motioning with his hand