Potato Chip Man

Scenes from the driveway: spring

"Hi, Bailey." It's a warm, sunny afternoon. The boy is sitting at the end of the driveway, next to the mailbox, not saying anything, not playing with anything, just sitting there, legs out, feet bare. His little sister sits next to him, glancing at him now and then to make sure that she's copying him right. "What are you guys doing?"

"Waiting for potato chips." He looks intently out towards the road.

"You're what? What potato chips?"

"Not telling."

"What, you're getting potato chips in the mail? The mail already came today. Is the UPS man bringing you potato chips?"

"No?" His voice rises at the end of the word, but it's not really a question.

"It's going to rain potato chips?"

He doesn't even look at me. He knows better. And so do I. His father promised him potato chips last night, if he did his homework. And he did his homework. So here he is. I didn't even know he knew how to read the clock, but he's right, his father does usually come home about now.

He's waiting for the Potato Chip Man.