Eric scanned the pantry – a can of chicken broth, a pack of tortillas, a box of PopTarts – until his eyes landed on the granola bars. “You said to grab five right?” He yelled like one must to reach a recipient one floor up and a few rooms over.
“Yep,” the nearby answer made Eric jump and his father grin.
“I thought you were upstairs,” Eric said. “Why do we need so many?”
His father unzipped a hefty tangerine-colored backpack and held out his hand. “Because. This way we both get one, and then another if we’re still hungry. And,” he held up his finger in anticipation of his own words, “we still have an extra if we lose one.”
“How are we going to lose one?”
“Hey you never know. Maybe…” he held out this last syllable and walked closer to Eric, and then in an exaggerated, cartoon-like voice, “the bears ’ll get ‘um!” Vic let the bag fall as he attacked his son with his tickling hands.
Eric screeched, laughed, and playfully yelped. He was just as terrified of being tickled as he was of bears! Finally, after what seemed way longer than a few seconds, it was over.
“Come on,” Vic ruffled Eric’s hair. “Let’s get going.” He zipped up the backpack and led his son out to the grey Jeep.
Sincerely, a bookworm. 