"Malcolm, Reese, Dewey! Now!"
Uh-oh, morning. That's my mom's first call to breakfast. I had at least three more minutes before I had to get out of bed. Unless ...
Too late.
Dewey rolled over and did something that rippled our covers like waves on a cotton ocean. I don't even want to know what it was.
I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Reese was still asleep. His left nostril squeaked like his head was full of mice.
Dewey sprawled across our shared double bed. His bare feet kicked against my back. That's right. Kicked.
The alarm clock radio clicked on. Reese sat up and smacked me with his pillow. "Hit the snooze button, moron," he said without opening his eyes, and plopped back down to resume his nasal symphony. Dewey rolled over, and the sheets rippled again.
"Malcolm! Reese! Dewey! Get in here this instant! I'm not gonna call you again!" Mom's voice rattled the windows. I slid out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. The best thing about childhood is that at some point, it stops.
Minutes later, the three of us trudged into the kitchen like prisoners on a forced march. I heard the whir of electric clippers. My mom, the "Mad Barber of Linoleum," was at it again.
With her brown hair piled on her head, my mom has that frazzled look of anyone with four kids like me and my brothers. But the first thing you'll notice about my mom is her eyes. They're big and brown and are like these X-ray laser beams that can see through anything. I swear, she can see through walls easier than she can see through Francis's lies.
Clipping Dad's hairy body was a monthly ritual. He looked like a werewolf if it wasn't done regularly. It's totally freaky watching the hair buzz off him. When it's all over, he's pink and smooth as a baby's bottom; if a baby's bottom had stubbly black hair, of course.
"Hold still, dear," Mom said. "I don't want to miss a spot." She ran the clippers up and down my hairy dad, who stood naked in the kitchen reading his morning paper.
Do I need to see this at breakfast? I don't think so.
"There's only two toaster waffles," Mom said without looking up. "So one of you has to have cereal."
"It's not gonna be me," Reese exclaimed. All three of us bolted for the refrigerator. I yanked open the door. Reese dove into the freezer hands-first and grabbed the frost-coated waffle box, squeezing it tight. Two frozen waffles popped into the air. Reese snagged one, and I got the other.
"Hey! No fair," Dewey whined. "You cheated! Give it! C'mon!"
"Grow taller, shrimp," Reese replied. He jerked down the toaster arm in a smooth move that ended with a punch to Dewey's shoulder.
"Ow," Dewey cried.
If everyone did evolve from lower life-forms, Reese is still a work in progress. He's a little taller than me so he gets more wind-up in his punch.
He's got beady little eyes, and when he laughs, his head bobs around like those stupid big-headed dolls you see in the back of old cars.
"Enjoy your bran flakes, doofus," Reese added. He pulled the waffle out and plopped it on a plate. Dewey grabbed the cereal box and held it tight Ñ he wasn't taking a chance with that one.
Dad put down the paper and looked at us. "Hey, have some consideration," he said. "There are people in this house trying to forget they have kids."
"Sorry, Dad," we said in unison, and sat at the table. Dewey unhappily dragged the box of cereal behind him.
"Ouch." Dad jerked forward. "Honey!"
"Sorry," Mom said as she rubbed her fingers across the clipper blade.
"These are dull already. Honestly, Hal, you're like a monkey." She spun Dad around so his back faced the kitchen table. Like that's what I want to look at while I'm eating a half-frozen waffle with no syrup?
"Take a good look, boys," Mom said. "This is your future. You've got maybe five more years of being cute, then you start sprouting hair like a bunch of Chia Pets. And it never ends. It's an itchy, overfertilized lawn that bursts through your shirt."
So my dad's an ape. But so was King Kong and he did pretty good for himself until he fell in love. I guess you could say the same about my dad? He's goofy-looking like some dads, except for those old man reading glasses he wears at the end of his nose. My dad's never seen the inside of a gym, but he's still in pretty good shape. Being married to my mom is all the exercise any man would need.
"Arms up," Mom instructed. Dad raised the paper over his head and tried to keep reading.
"That Dagwood never learns," he chuckled.
Mom continued buzzing Dad. Think it can't get worse? One minute later, she drops this total bomb on me. "Oh, Malcolm," she starts off sweetly. "You have to come right home from school today. I made a play date for you with Steve Kenarban, and you have to take a bath."
"What? Mom! No!" I was horrified. Taking a bath was bad enough, but a play date? What's she trying to do? Humiliate me to death?
Reese hit the taunt buttons. "Malcolm has a play date!"
"Shut up, Reese. Mom, I Ñ"
"With ÔStevie the Wheelie' Kenarban. Oh, man!" Reese doubled over with laughter and shoveled in a huge bite of waffle.
"Shut up! Mom, make Reese shut up!" I whined my best whine.
Reese choked on his breakfast Ñ and kept laughing. Mom walked over and Heimliched him. A piece of waffle shot through the air. It landed in Dewey's cereal bowl.
"Cheaters never win," Dewey said, crunching the lone waffle piece.
My dad sighed. "So, Malcolm, why is playing a problem for you?"
Can you believe I actually have to explain this?
"First off, you only have Ôplay dates' when you're, like, five. Second off, I don't even know Stevie."
Mom was confused. "I saw his mom at the grocery store. She said you boys ate lunch together."
"One time!" I exclaimed. "He rolled his wheelchair over to me, and I couldn't say go away. He's not even in my class. He's in the Krelboyne class. In the trailer." I paused. "Next to tetherball."
Did I need to explain everything to her?
She wagged the clippers in front of my face. Bad sign. And then she started: "You listen to me, young man. That one lunch obviously meant a lot to Stevie. He's a human being, with human feelings. Now you're gonna be friends with that crippled boy and you're gonna like it. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am." I sighed. "Understood." If I shut up now, maybe I wouldn't get the lecture.
"You kids don't know how lucky you are," she started.
I winced. Incoming: the lecture.
"You just take your legs for granted," she continued, "like nothing could ever happen to them. Well, let me tell you, that is just wishful thinking. There's meningitis, car accidents ... I could be giving you a spanking and accidentally snap your spinal cord! Every day is a lottery, and first prize is you don't have to push yourself around town on a skateboard with your hands. Think about that."
Reese and I went mute. We pretended to think about that very thing.
Dewey piped up. "I don't take my legs for granted, Mom."
"I know, honey," mom replied. "You're a good boy. Now quit playing with yourself and get ready for school."
