Bobby’s bedroom door creaked open. The top of his mother’s head peaked in, “Bobby you should have been up an hour ago. It’s already 10:30 and you need to get out to Momma Pelimanni’s.”
Bobby rolled to his right and sat up, removing himself from the warmth and safety of his bed. He stood up, threw on some clothes and scuffled into the upstairs bathroom. He examined his face in the small cracked bathroom mirror. It was an average face, not unattractive at all. Maybe the nose was a bit too big, but overall he pretty much looked normal. He washed up, brushed his teeth and headed downstairs for a late breakfast.
As Bobby plodded downstairs, each wooden step intoned a unique protest under his weight. On the bottom third and fourth steps Bobby stepped back and forth “taaa da da taa da da ta da ta da ta da da” creating a short symphony.
From the kitchen, Bobby’s mother yelled, “Bobby, stop that already and get in here before I throw your breakfast in the garbage.”
Bobby walked into the kitchen and plopped himself at the antique kitchen table. His mother placed a warmed plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him. Bobby grabbed the butter knife and spread slabs of softened butter on the pancakes. He next swirled on a load of his mom’s home made maple syrup. He waited a couple minutes for the syrup to soak in before launching into his food.
Billy, Bobby’s younger brother, bounded into the kitchen. He glanced at his older brother and grunted. Bobby returned the acknowledgement. Billy handed a small grocery bag to his mother, “Mrs. Herman said that they didn’t get the egg delivery yet, so I can go back later if you want.” Bobby raced out of the kitchen.
“As soon as your brother is done with his breakfast he is going out to the farm, if you want to go,” mom said.
There was a creak from the staircase. “Ummmm, ok.I guess I’ll go.”
As the two brothers jumped on their red Schwinns, Bobby knew they would take the alley across town. Billy rode first, Bobby close behind. As the two brothers crossed Third Street, Billy turned around, “Hurry up,” he said. He stood up, put his head down and pumped his legs as fast as he could past the rear of the market. As Bobby followed he saw three of Billy’s friends hanging outside the front of the store. He looked at Billy’s back and knew that his brother was embarrassed to be known as Bobby Metsa’s brother, but why? Why am I different?