Panini

I could hear Charlie's voice tunneling down the narrow hallway. I was at the back of the house in the bedroom chamber. Clothing covered the bed. A heap of cotton and wool and polyester and spandex, stitching and weaving, rivets and zippers, threads, buttons, dyes. In the front of the house, Charlie played independent of my supervision. He has proven to be trustworthy. He can bang all he wants. It is the silence that catches my attention.

"Panini! Found a Panini!" I heard him say.

He is good at finding food crumbs around the house. Most days he has an appointment with detail small. The convergence of his exploration and the fact that I haven't run the vacuum for a couple days translates into a great many stale food objects uncovered. I can't normally get to him before he consumes the food. I don't get too worried. The vast majority of his finds are goldfish crackers. We were standing on the steep part of the back yard. Charlie lost his balance and rolled down the grade. His hat fell off his head. When he went to put it back on, one of those goldfish crackers fell out the hat lining to the ground. Charlie smiled, said "Goldfish!" scooped the cracker from the grass and ate it.

I could not remember the last time I had made a Panini at home. It had been weeks, I was sure. The image of rotting meat and sour mayonnaise motivated me into action.

"Charles!" I shouted. I ran down the hall. I hoped I could make it.

When I rounded the corner, I found him standing there with his arm outstretched.

"Panini! I found a Panini!"

It wasn't a Panini. He was holding a penny.