Volume 1, Issue 3 & 4 - Diverse Voices Quarterly

toward the trough at the allotted feeding time. You might think he’d be locked in his
office reading text books, but you’d be wrong. He’s a real team player.
“Not so bad. Actually, it’s Nicholas,” the kid says.
“How’s that?” Bob Patterson asks, eyelids aflutter with innocence.
“I prefer to be called Nicholas. Not Nick.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Bob Patterson says. “I prefer to be called ‘Your Highness.’ Did
you hear that, George? I said I prefer to be called ‘Your Highness.’ Did you like that?”
“Yes, Bob. That was pretty funny,” George says.
Nicholas looks down, examining the stripes in his tie, as though uncertain if
they properly match his cobalt-blue shirt.
“So, Nick,” Bob continues. “Did you happen to catch the Patriots game last
night?” He looks over at George, who has cocked his head, and holds out his hand as
if to restrain him.
“No, I missed it,” Nicholas says.
“Well, that’s not surprising,” Bob responds, his voice loud enough for the
potential audience at the other end of the room. “Considering it’s May. Not football
season at all. Right? Guess you didn’t know that.”
Mary Lou laughs—just a whimper really—with a sidelong glance at Lacey.
“I don’t follow sports much,” Nicholas says.
“Football, no. But maybe figure skating?” Bob asks.
The room is filled with cowardly giggles. Bob Patterson is nearly quaking with
amusement.
“Go to hell,” Nicholas murmurs.
“Aw, don’t be like that!” Bob counters, aghast. “I was only joking. Just having a
bit of fun. Right, George?”
“All in good fun,” George corroborates, shaking his head, all amiability. I have
an urge to ask him what Christ the Warrior would think of Bob Patterson’s attempts
at humor.
Nicholas tells us he is taking his coffee back to his desk. His face might be
flushed, but his eyes are not downcast. He nods at me as he leaves the kitchen.
Bob Patterson barely notices Nicholas’s departure. He’s already moved on to his
next topic.
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