My Mrs. Schnitzer
I was standing next to the kitchen stove, peering into the array of pots, basking in the warmth and abundance of home. I sampled a chicken wing from the soup, then a piece of stuffed fish, and a few strands of noodle pudding. My mother watched me approvingly, certain that I had starved all of the long year spent at college so far from home.
“ Better than cafeterias?”
“ A hundred times better,” I said.
I thought for a moment that she would begin again the long discussion about my going away from home. “ Why,” she asked over and over again, “ when there are so many schools in New York is it necessary for you to go to Chicago?”
I couldn’t tell her, but it was necessary, and I hoped she wouldn’t ask.
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