The Stomach's Busy Day

Hello. My name is Gus.

I am a stomach.

Now, before you say "Ewww!" or "That's weird!" — just hold on a second. I have a VERY important job. I am the busiest, squishiest, most hardworking part of this kid named Marcus, and today? Today is going to be a BIG day.

I can feel it.

It starts at 7:42 in the morning. I know because that's when I start grumbling.

"GRRRRROWWWWL," I say. Which, in stomach language, means: Hey! Down here! I'm EMPTY! Send something!

Marcus is sitting at the kitchen table. I can hear his mom say, "Eat your breakfast, baby."

And Marcus — wonderful, beautiful Marcus — picks up a spoon.

Here it comes.

I wait.

I wait a little more.

Then — WHOOOOOOSH — down the long, slippery slide called the esophagus, here comes... OATMEAL!

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" I say, stretching out wide. Oh, it's warm. It's mushy. It's got little bits of brown sugar and — wait, are those blueberries? Oh, Marcus, you ANGEL.

Now here's where my job begins. I squeeze and I squish and I tumble that oatmeal all around, mixing it with my special stomach juices. Think of it like a washing machine, but instead of making clothes clean, I'm breaking food into teeny-tiny pieces so Marcus's body can use it for energy.

Squeeze, squish, tumble. Squeeze, squish, tumble.

The oatmeal doesn't even recognize itself anymore. It's all soupy now. "Off you go!" I say, and I push it along to the small intestine, who takes over from there.

"Nice work, Gus," says the small intestine. His name is Reggie, and he is VERY long. Like, ridiculously long.

"Easy peasy," I say.

But the day is just getting started.

At 10:15, something new comes sliding down.

It's... an apple! Crunchy bits and sweet juice and little pieces of peel all tumbling into me like a waterfall.

"Oh, hello!" I say. "You're a fun one!"

The apple is a little harder to break down than the oatmeal, so I have to work extra. I squeeze tighter. I tumble faster. My stomach juices get REALLY bubbly.

"Hey, take it easy in there!" says Marcus's brain from way up top. She goes by Beatrice, and she thinks she's in charge of everything.

"I'm WORKING, Beatrice!" I shout back.

"Well, work quieter. Marcus is in the middle of a spelling test."

Fine. I squeeze a little softer. But I don't stop. I NEVER stop. That's my thing.

Squeeze, squish, tumble. Squeeze, squish, tumble.

The apple turns into mush, just like the oatmeal did. Off it goes to Reggie.

"More already?" says Reggie.

"You're welcome!" I say.

Lunchtime. Oh, lunchtime is my FAVORITE.

At 12:05, it begins. And it begins BIG.

First comes a sandwich — bread and turkey and cheese, all smushed together. Then comes a handful of baby carrots. Then a juice box worth of apple juice splashes into me like a swimming pool.

"WOOOO-HOOOO!" I shout. This is what I was MADE for!

I stretch out wide — wider than I was for the oatmeal, wider than for the apple. I've got a LOT of work to do.

Squeeze, squish, tumble.

The bread breaks apart fast — bread is easy. The cheese takes a little longer because cheese is thick and stubborn. And the turkey? The turkey puts up a real fight.

"Come on, turkey," I say, squeezing harder. "Work with me here."

The turkey doesn't answer. Turkey never does.

But I keep going. Squeeze, squish, tumble. My juices bubble and fizz. I toss everything around like a big, sloshy soup, breaking it into smaller and smaller and smaller pieces until — finally — it's ready.

"Reggie! Big batch coming your way!"

"Oh my," says Reggie. But he handles it. Reggie always handles it.

Now, at 2:30, something unusual happens.

Something comes sliding down the esophagus, and it is... hmm. It's sweet. VERY sweet. Sticky. Chewy.

It's a giant gummy worm.

Marcus must have traded something at snack time.

"Well," I say, looking at this gummy worm. "You're... new."

The gummy worm just sits there, being sticky and weird. I try my usual routine — squeeze, squish, tumble — but the gummy worm is NOT cooperating. It sticks to my walls. It stretches instead of breaking apart. My juices fizz and bubble, but the gummy worm barely changes.

"This is going to take a while," I mutter.

And honestly? The gummy worm doesn't give me much to work with. It's all sugar and not a lot else. When I finally mush it up and send it to Reggie, he sighs.

"Gus, there's barely anything useful in here. What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Don't look at me," I say. "I just process what they send me."

Around 3 o'clock, Marcus's legs start feeling a little wobbly. His arms feel heavy. Beatrice gets foggy.

"I'm tiiiired," Beatrice groans from up top.

Of course she's tired. The gummy worm gave us a quick little burst of energy, but it fizzled out fast. Not like that oatmeal from this morning, which kept Marcus running and jumping and thinking for HOURS.

I miss that oatmeal.

But then — oh, THEN — dinner arrives at 6:30, and it is a MASTERPIECE.

Rice comes first, tumbling down like little white pebbles. Then chicken, warm and tender. Then broccoli — little trees! I love the little trees! And finally, a small piece of cornbread that crumbles into me like a hug.

"NOW we're talking!" I shout.

I stretch out nice and wide. I roll up my sleeves — well, I don't have sleeves, but you know what I mean — and I get to WORK.

Squeeze, squish, tumble.

The rice breaks apart beautifully. The chicken is protein, which means Marcus's muscles are going to be SO happy. The broccoli has all sorts of vitamins hiding inside, and I make sure to break it down carefully so none of them get lost. And the cornbread? The cornbread is just delightful.

I take my time with dinner. I mix and tumble and squeeze for almost two whole hours, making sure everything is perfectly broken down before I send it along.

"Reggie," I say proudly. "This is my best work yet."

Reggie takes it all in and sighs happily. "Now THIS I can work with. There's energy in here, and building blocks, and vitamins — Gus, this is fantastic."

I blush. Can stomachs blush? I think I just did.

By 8:30, Marcus is brushing his teeth and climbing into bed. Beatrice is yawning. His heart, Pumpernickel — don't ask about the name — is beating slow and steady.

And me? I'm finally quiet.

I'm not grumbling. I'm not squishing. I'm just sitting here, warm and satisfied, knowing I did my job today. Every single meal, I showed up. I squeezed when I needed to squeeze. I tumbled when I needed to tumble. I handled the easy stuff AND the sticky stuff.

Tomorrow, I'll do it all again.

But for now, the lights go off. Marcus pulls his blanket up to his chin. And deep inside, in the middle of this wonderful, sleeping kid, I settle in.

"Goodnight, Beatrice," I whisper.

"Goodnight, Gus," she whispers back.

"Goodnight, Reggie."

"Goodnight, Gus."

"Goodnight, Pumpernickel."

"Goodnight, Gus. And PLEASE stop calling me that."

I smile. Well — I squeeze a little. That's my version of a smile.

And then, finally, everything is still.

The End.