GOVERNMENT CHEESE

We knew we were poor, clad in our secondhand outfits, forever shaped to someone else's frame, the bangs of our unruly hair trimmed to a high and crooked fringe by the uncertain hand of our mother. But we knew, occasionally, the joy of opening that oblong box of cardboard, the newness of its smell, silver foil gleaming within, brighter than a handful of freshly washed coins. We would tear into it with haste, cut a jagged slice with a butter knife, then another, never making a straight line. We never asked where it came from or why, though we gave thanks, as always, before wolfing down our grilled cheese and tomato soup, the finest I've had to this day. It was a delicacy lost to many, but not on us peasant kids, smiling our greasy smiles, wiping our mouths with the backs of our hands before racing out into the world again.