Page 8 of Beautiful Small Things

“Obviously,” I scoff. “You should prepare yourself, Kid. Some of this stuff is going to be unflattering. Remember that movie ‘The Hangover?’ It would be like that if the movie lasted twelve years.”

“I obviously won’t recount those details to the foundation committee,” she says, causing my temples to throb. I take a sip of amber liquid and feel the warmth travel to my stomach, giving me the courage to continue this conversation.

“Tell me another story that encompasses you as a child. Maybe a story about you and Uncle Callan.”

I think for a moment before settling back in my chair and speaking. “Here’s a perfect example of what Callan and I were like as children.”

Marcus - Age 6

I run a few houses over as fast as my legs carry me. Knock, knock, knock. Then, knock, knock, knock, knock in quick succession because I’m impatient. Callan answers the door looking sad.

“Dude, can you come over this afternoon?” I ask him. “We can go to the beach. My parents said they will get us some surfing lessons.”

“I wish. I have to go to the hospital,” Callan sighs.

“Again? That sucks. Maybe tomorrow?” I ask him.

“Maybe. We will see what my parents say.”

He shuts the door and I walk back to my house with my hands shoved deep in my pockets and my head bowed. I feel bad for my best friend. He’s always having to go to that stupid hospital, and he hates it. I wonder if his parents even ask him how he feels about it. I doubt it.

“MOM!” I yell as I open the door.

“Yes, Marcus,” she responds from the kitchen, annoyed. She hates it when I yell for her instead of looking. I do it anyway.

“CALLAN CAN’T GO TO THE BEACH!” I shriek, plopping down on the chair with an exaggerated “thud.”.

“Well, we don’t have to go today.”

“I still want to go. It’s just that Callan can’t,“ I whine.

“You can stop being so dramatic, Marcus. I’ll cancel the lessons. We can do it another time,” my mom says.

“No! Keep the lessons,” I say, jumping out of my chair. “We are going to the beach today and Callan is coming with us.”

I straighten up and march toward the front door. As the door shuts, I hear my mom yell, “What are you doing now?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Wait 2.3 seconds. Knock, knock, knock, knock in quick succession. Mrs. Prince opens the door as I offer my sweetest smile.

“Hello, Marcus,” she says curtly. “We are on our way out to go to the hospital.”

“That’s why I’m here, Ma’am. You see, I have a sore throat.”

She looks at me quizzically as I continue. Soft cough. Just enough to sell it. “And I was with Callan just yesterday at school. I fear I may have given an illness of some kind. Perhaps, a rhinovirus.”

“A rhinovirus,” she repeats incredulously.

“Yes. I may have contracted the common cold virus and unknowingly passed it on to your son.”

“Is that so?” she asks. I can’t tell if she is horrified by my audacity or impressed by it.

“I know how careful Callan has to be around his brother. Perhaps he should skip the hospital today and just come to my house?”

She narrows her eyes as she considers my offer. I can’t tell if she’s bought it. “I think that’s a good idea,” she agrees. “I’ll tell Callan to pack a bag. Wait here.”

“Excellent idea, Mrs. Prince.”

Callan comes out of the house five minutes later with his backpack and a smile.