After the guests left and Jackson at last fell asleep, Steven, Jackson’s 4-year-old brother, entered quietly, tiptoed to the crib, pressed his face between the bars and watched his little brother sleep.
Steven tried to remember back to when he himself must’ve looked like Don Rickles, but couldn’t. He didn’t even know who Don Rickles was, but his parents had shown him pictures, and now he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Didn’t all babies look more or less like Don Rickles?
Stretching out the collar of his T-shirt and pushing his left shoulder up and through, Steven searched for scars of a 1-inch fluorescent pink square. Nothing. But maybe, Steven reasoned, hospitals were making different kinds of babies now.
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