When I helped him put on the straps, he did not twist away.

The bag looked light.

It still carried a child’s day: pencil case, schoolbook, lunch things, a drawing he wanted to show someone.

I did not search it with the urgency of that first Thursday.

We had returned to the ordinary habit of checking what needed washing, signing, or packing for tomorrow.

His sleeves were pushed above his wrists.

At the bus stop, he stood with the other children rather than watching the curve of the road for a different car.

“Have a good day.”