It was a learn your commas, know your measurements sort of day. Childhood began with Billy opening his eyes. He progressed to breathing and then crying. He cycled through this options for a few months before lifting his head and using his legs. And his teeth, too. Billy knew his teaspoons from the other ones.

            Billy learned to talk. He ended everything in vowels, as toddlers should and slobbered, as toddlers will. Billy hit. His mother hit back. Billy briefly relapsed into his original cycle, breathing and crying and breathing for more crying. Billy had been bad.

            Billy grew on. Billy ran. He was The Hulk for Halloween. His mother was a witch. She smiled at him. She was missing a tooth. It was covered with soot. He liked the way it looked. He learned of measuring cups.

            Billy learned to skate and brake. He yelled and watched Power Rangers. He hated peanut butter but loved nutella. He called it New-weLLa. He ate it everyday. Then, he started school and ate turkey sandwiches instead. With the crust and onions. Billy learned the meaning of one-half.

            Billy colored inside the lines and the other boys teased him. He said he was just a neat boy. They disagreed. Billy ran to the nurse’s office. His face hurt. His mother had told him to never hit back. Billy went back to the original cycle, breathing and crying and loving it. He breathed hard some days and didn’t have to go to school. He cried some days and got to go home early. He liked this now. He learned what it felt like to be almost whole.

            Billy cried everyday for an entire year. On Mondays and every other day except Fridays. He went home. He ate nutella and he loved it. Billy stopped talking and thinking. He moved his bed to where the sofa used to be and watched The Price Is Right. His mother was never home. He ate nutella. Bob Barker taught Billy how to spell.

            Billy stopped crying and going to school altogether. He sat with Bob Barker for seventeen more years after the first eight spent crying. He stopped eating. He stopped writing but continued spelling and learned when to use a comma and when things weren’t necessary. Billy learned enough. Thank God for Billy.