The One-in-a-Million Boy

by Monica Wood

The day’s chores finished, she poured his milk and offered him cookies. “The Meals on Wheels pulled a fast one,” she said. “I was just getting used to the animal crackers and they come up with these phony macaroons.” The boy chewed one up and made a face. “I know,” Ona said. “But I’m supposed to purr my head off nevertheless, like a tabby cat grabbing up table scraps.” It was the thing she liked least, so far, about her second century on earth—the presumption of neediness, the expectation of gratitude, the general public’s disappointment at her refusal to be fulsome. Since when was a simple thank-you not enough? She’d had every species of do-gooder in and out of here for the past twenty-five years, from the Daughters of Isabella to the county social services, and every one of them, excepting this little boy, had found her wanting in the appreciation department.