The Children's Hour

It is the striped jet navy and orchid cravat this evening.  Caleb dumped off his backpack in the foyer and wrenched off his school tie.  The thump of his bookbag echoed in the cavernous house.  Sighing deeply, he wandered into the kitchen.  Where was Cook? he wondered.  Shrugging, he made his own jelly sandwich, leaving the purple smears for her to clean away later.  It was almost always quiet when he came home.  Quiet and dark.  Not so much dark like no lights on inside, but dark like no happy on inside.  Caleb opened his sandwich, flattened one side against the wall, and drew it along with him as he walked.  Caleb and His Purple Jam.  He smiled, happy inside.