He Wished He could Fit
by Martha Davis
The storage room in the basement was musty, cold, and hard; he didn't want to be down there too long. He sat crouched with his knees at his chest, digging through cardboard box after cardboard box which were damp and starting to show signs of mildew. As he made his way to the bottom of the pile, each box sagged a little more when he set them to the side. His toys had remained packed ever since they moved, and he never came down to look through them. The light bulb had since burned out in the damp room, so he used the little bit of sunshine that was able to make its way through the dirty window to look for his tiny house. He caught a glimpse of a white, pointed roof, but it was only his toy barn. He could hear the rattle of the plastic chickens rolling around inside as he moved the barn out of the way and continued searching through the boxes. The tiny house that he looked for was nothing as elaborate as the toy barn with its livestock and tractors. The house was modest with only one floor, and it had no shutters on the windows. He remembered building it to be sturdy in order to withstand the wear while his father showed him where to place extra glue in the crevices between the tops of the walls and the roof. As he crouched there, searching for the familiar tiny house, he tried to forget about his crying yesterday. It was the first time he had ever felt humiliated in front of his mother, and he tried to understand.
He and his mother stood in the kitchen, the heavy scent of pine needles in the air. He held his mom with the top of his head pressed against her stomach--she was so tall. He watched his tears as they dripped onto his black boots, making them shine again. Their new house was different, but he couldn't understand why nothing felt the same. His mother worked so hard to make the new house feel like the old one, but their simple traditions felt interrupted and broken this year. He was sure his dad would be home soon.
He found the house in a box tucked next to his old bear. He grabbed the house and left the musty room. He went meandering down the sidewalk, swinging the house back and forth by his knees and stole away to his secret place in the park. He laid down with his stomach touching the cold ground and rested his head on his elbow while he kicked his feet slowly behind him. He hummed a tune that was strange to even him as he walked his fingers into the little door, remembering when he could fit his whole hand--mittens and all--inside. He looked at the tiny house imagining that if he could just tuck his knees close enough to his chin, he could wriggle right in the front door and make himself at home.
He and his mother stood in the kitchen, the heavy scent of pine needles in the air. He held his mom with the top of his head pressed against her stomach--she was so tall. He watched his tears as they dripped onto his black boots, making them shine again. Their new house was different, but he couldn't understand why nothing felt the same. His mother worked so hard to make the new house feel like the old one, but their simple traditions felt interrupted and broken this year. He was sure his dad would be home soon.
He found the house in a box tucked next to his old bear. He grabbed the house and left the musty room. He went meandering down the sidewalk, swinging the house back and forth by his knees and stole away to his secret place in the park. He laid down with his stomach touching the cold ground and rested his head on his elbow while he kicked his feet slowly behind him. He hummed a tune that was strange to even him as he walked his fingers into the little door, remembering when he could fit his whole hand--mittens and all--inside. He looked at the tiny house imagining that if he could just tuck his knees close enough to his chin, he could wriggle right in the front door and make himself at home.