This isn't really a lesson; it's more of a story.

Two days ago, Ed and I came back to Central. We left the countryside and its serenity for the ordered chaos and cacophony of noises that form the thing we call a city. Did I ever mention how much I dislike so many sounds at once? When all you can do is hear, loud noises are disorienting. Try walking when you can't feel or hear your footsteps. It's hard to know what's going on.

Anyway, back to the story. We checked into our new room and brother immediately began to work. I also settled in to read the new books we had picked up from Central Library. It was around ten in the morning at that point and he didn't come out of his trance-like state until four o'clock. I hadn't noticed it was getting that late or I would've done something. Ed can be a devil when he's hungry, and that's exactly what he was.

Needless to say, I booked it out of that room to head for the nearest market. Behind me, I left a groaning Ed lying on the floor in the fetal position proclaiming to the world that he was dying. He was acting like it, too. Anyone would think that it had been days since he had last eaten instead of just seven hours. He did do that once. He began working in the morning and didn't stop until it was almost morning again. He would have worked longer, but sleep is a tough opponent. When he woke up, his complaints were enough to make a person wish they were deaf. It was that extreme. Usually I just wish I had ear flaps so I could block out noise on command.

At the market, I began looking for food. I settled on a loaf of bread that sounded right when tapped, sliced roast beef, three apples, cheese, juice (definitely not milk) and some candy. It would be enough for one meal and they were things I could pick out.

Halfway back to the hotel, I spotted an old man on the side of the road holding a sign. His weathered face and clothing showed the strain of many years and he claimed to be a veteran of the Amestrisian military. The scratchy lettering on the sign read, "Hungry. Anything will help."

Anything.

I looked down at my bag.

I can't eat. This means that I can't taste Winry's apple pie, Granny's stew, or drink a cup of coffee with Ed and the Colonel. I miss a lot of the things that others take for granted. I can't even simply make small talk during dinner about how good or bad the food is. I have to sit there the entire time twiddling imaginary thumbs so I don't seem rude. Like Tantalus, every day I have to see what I'm missing, but it always remains beyond my reach. However, it also means that I never go hungry. I never feel that nagging pain in my stomach that I remember from my childhood. I don't have to worry about that.

The old man looked up as I walked over to him. He was probably wondering why a big suit of armor was on the street to begin with and secondly, why it was coming at him. I stopped in front of him and held out the bag. His eyes widened in surprise. Wrinkled hands took the paper package from cold metal gauntlets. He looked in the bag and then smiled at me.

I will never forget that smile.

He reached in and took out two pieces of candy. One was offered to me, but I shook my head. He offered again, but I told him 'No, it's for you.' He looked stupefied. Shrugging, he turned and gave it to a barefoot kid who had been watching everything. The boy took his prize and darted away, waving at us before he turned a corner. The old man ate the other piece himself. Watching the look of joy on his face, I could taste the candy. At that moment, the taste was more real than if I had suddenly been granted a body and allowed to eat it myself. The light in the ancient eyes as he gazed at the spot where the kid had disappeared from view was all I needed to know that the old man felt the same.

I said goodbye and he thanked me. He poured his heart into the words as though I had given him gold instead of food. Perhaps to him it was.

On my way back to the market to re-buy the groceries, I imagined Ed's reaction. He would be annoyed that I took so long to bring him food, and would grumble more than a little about how much money it would appear that I had spent. He would be annoyed, but I could deal with that.

I could still taste that candy.