Alex pulled it on its string; filthy socks and underwear, courtesy of the bigger boys; and a red and blue sweater Irene’s mother had knitted for Alex and given her two days earlier.
Irene slipped the sweater over Alex’s head. The torso came down to his waist, but the sleeves stopped four inches short of his wrists, no matter how much she tugged on them. Could her mother have measured that poorly? And hadn’t it fit him when he tried it on the night before?
The front door banged open. Arthur and Benjamin whooped in with cries of No School! No School! Alex scrambled out of the room yelling for his brothers, leaving his mother holding his pants and wondering about the sweater.
“Ma!”
“What are you two doing home?”
“The pipes burst. There’s a flood.”
“At the school,” said Benjamin. “You should see it. They suh…sent us home. For all day. Honest, Ma.”
“Yeah, honest,” said Arthur. “Can we have something to eat? We’re starving.”
They were always starving, and always growing out of their clothes, too. Growing out of their clothes—maybe Alex’s arms were growing out of his. She laughed to herself at the thought. “First take off those galoshes, you’re tracking slush all over the place. Mind your brother and I’ll make you some oatmeal.”
“But we had it for breakfast.”
“Yeah, can we have bacon and eggs and toast and jam?”
Alex said, “Alex wants bacon and eggs.”
“Come on, Ma, make it for us, for a treat, there’s no school.”
Irene looked at her big boys with their arms around Alex. It would make a nice picture, those two big boys, their faces flushed full of life, and her little one, basking in his brothers’ attention. So precious. She needed to have pictures taken, before they were no longer so cute. “Well, all right, but you two mind your brother now. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
“Come on, Alex.”
Forty minutes later, as Irene stacked Alex’s clothes in the cedar chest she used for his dresser, she thought about the sweater again. It was possible some of the stitches could have pulled out, or her mother could have measured the sleeves incorrectly, but her mother was so picky about everything that that seemed unlikely. She came back to the bizarre thought that maybe Alex’s arms grew overnight, like Jack’s beanstalk. She imagined Alex’s arms growing longer and longer, like fleshy runaway vines up the side of the house and into the clouds. No, her mother must have measured wrong.
Something crashed in the living room, followed by a high-pitched shriek. Irene rushed in to find Alex sitting next to a broken clay flowerpot, with dried flowers strewn on the floor. The older boys stood there with their heads down, like dogs about to be beaten.
“Well?”
Arthur said, “What, Ma?”
“Don’t you what Ma me. You know what. I told you to mind your brother. What in the name of God Almighty is going on here?”
“See, we were playing muh…monkey in the middle with Alex.”
“Benjamin, don’t stutter.”
“Suh…sometimes I can’t help it.”
Alex said, “Alex is a monkey.” He loped around the room like a chimp, propelling himself with his elongated arms. Arthur and Benjamin tried to control their laughter, lest their mother smack them.
“We’ll clean it up, Ma,” Arthur volunteered. “But Alex did it.”
Alex made more monkey jabber.
“Alex, stop that. You two, you egged him on, I know it.”
“But Muh…muh…”
“Just go get the broom and dust pan.”
“Then can we go out?”
“Go, for the love of God.”
They ran to the kitchen.
“Alex go, too.”
She bent down. “Just look at your hands.” His knuckles, the size of pencil erasers, were raw and bleeding.
“Alex wants to go . Please, Momma? Alex will be good.”
The little conniver, she thought. He already knows how to navigate around his mother’s heart. Well, maybe she should let him out for a few minutes. It wasn’t all that cold. His brothers would
Irene slipped the sweater over Alex’s head. The torso came down to his waist, but the sleeves stopped four inches short of his wrists, no matter how much she tugged on them. Could her mother have measured that poorly? And hadn’t it fit him when he tried it on the night before?
The front door banged open. Arthur and Benjamin whooped in with cries of No School! No School! Alex scrambled out of the room yelling for his brothers, leaving his mother holding his pants and wondering about the sweater.
“Ma!”
“What are you two doing home?”
“The pipes burst. There’s a flood.”
“At the school,” said Benjamin. “You should see it. They suh…sent us home. For all day. Honest, Ma.”
“Yeah, honest,” said Arthur. “Can we have something to eat? We’re starving.”
They were always starving, and always growing out of their clothes, too. Growing out of their clothes—maybe Alex’s arms were growing out of his. She laughed to herself at the thought. “First take off those galoshes, you’re tracking slush all over the place. Mind your brother and I’ll make you some oatmeal.”
“But we had it for breakfast.”
“Yeah, can we have bacon and eggs and toast and jam?”
Alex said, “Alex wants bacon and eggs.”
“Come on, Ma, make it for us, for a treat, there’s no school.”
Irene looked at her big boys with their arms around Alex. It would make a nice picture, those two big boys, their faces flushed full of life, and her little one, basking in his brothers’ attention. So precious. She needed to have pictures taken, before they were no longer so cute. “Well, all right, but you two mind your brother now. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
“Come on, Alex.”
Forty minutes later, as Irene stacked Alex’s clothes in the cedar chest she used for his dresser, she thought about the sweater again. It was possible some of the stitches could have pulled out, or her mother could have measured the sleeves incorrectly, but her mother was so picky about everything that that seemed unlikely. She came back to the bizarre thought that maybe Alex’s arms grew overnight, like Jack’s beanstalk. She imagined Alex’s arms growing longer and longer, like fleshy runaway vines up the side of the house and into the clouds. No, her mother must have measured wrong.
Something crashed in the living room, followed by a high-pitched shriek. Irene rushed in to find Alex sitting next to a broken clay flowerpot, with dried flowers strewn on the floor. The older boys stood there with their heads down, like dogs about to be beaten.
“Well?”
Arthur said, “What, Ma?”
“Don’t you what Ma me. You know what. I told you to mind your brother. What in the name of God Almighty is going on here?”
“See, we were playing muh…monkey in the middle with Alex.”
“Benjamin, don’t stutter.”
“Suh…sometimes I can’t help it.”
Alex said, “Alex is a monkey.” He loped around the room like a chimp, propelling himself with his elongated arms. Arthur and Benjamin tried to control their laughter, lest their mother smack them.
“We’ll clean it up, Ma,” Arthur volunteered. “But Alex did it.”
Alex made more monkey jabber.
“Alex, stop that. You two, you egged him on, I know it.”
“But Muh…muh…”
“Just go get the broom and dust pan.”
“Then can we go out?”
“Go, for the love of God.”
They ran to the kitchen.
“Alex go, too.”
She bent down. “Just look at your hands.” His knuckles, the size of pencil erasers, were raw and bleeding.
“Alex wants to go . Please, Momma? Alex will be good.”
The little conniver, she thought. He already knows how to navigate around his mother’s heart. Well, maybe she should let him out for a few minutes. It wasn’t all that cold. His brothers would
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