Marcia Sanders was washing dishes in the kitchen, as her son burst through the front door in tears. She knew instantly what the commotion was about.
"Oh, honey! Did that Jimmy boy make fun of you again?" she asked, running to him and wiping his tears.
"Y-y-yes. He m-made fun of m-my of my..."
"Joey, don't let anyone make fun of your stutter, no one is perfect. I'm sure that Jimmy Spadia has some problems too that he doesn't tell anyone. C'mon, I made chocolate chip cookies. They're in the living room. After you do your homework you can go out and play."
He took off his backpack and went into the livingroom as his mother went back to washing dishes. Marcia loved her son more than anything. He was all she had. Being a single mother with twelve-hour workdays, she had great difficulty raising a child. Marcia tucked a stray strand of her soft blonde hair behind her ear and stacked the last dish. It was 4:13pm and she had to be to work in less than twenty minutes. Was getting pregnant at fifteen part of her plan? No. Nothing good had come out of that two minutes of pleasure. Except Joey.
"Alright, kiddo. I gotta go to work. The number's on the fridge. Have whatever for dinner. And don't go to bed too late. Love ya," she kissed him on the cheek, and was out the door.
Joey diligently finished his homework and went outside. Some of the boys in the neighborhood were already out riding their bikes so Joey joined them.
"Hey Joey, guess what I got in the mail," said Tim Foster in a braggy tone.
"I don't know. W-what?"
"Check this out," he handed Joey a folded letter. Joey flattened it out and read it to himself:
29th Annual Ritnerville Youngster Marathon
To the parent(s)/guardian(s) of Timothy Foster,
Congratulations! Your child has been chosen to be among the two hundred children picked at random on January 24, 2189, to take part in Ritnerville's 29th Annual Youngster Marathon. You shall consider it an honor to have your child in our marathon. The event takes place on March 1st at 3 o'clock pm at the town track in front of Ritner Tower. Any questions, feel free to visit the Ritner Estate on 24 Providence Street.
Memorial Service will be held the next day, Sunday the 2nd at 1 o'clock pm.
Your child's number for the marathon is sixty-seven(67) which is enclosed. Good luck!
Signed,
Jasper Williams
Vice President, Ritnerville
Joey refolded the letter.
"W-whoa that's so c-cool," he said.
"I know," said Tim, "look at this, it's my number," he held up a large sticker with the number sixty-seven in black digits. They boys gathered around Tim congratulating him.
"Man, you're so lucky, Tim. I wish I was in that marathon," said a neighborhood kid, Toby Simmons. The rest nodded in agreement.
"Well, my dad said that the letters are still being sent and tomorrow's the last day until all two-hundred kids get their stickers. Maybe one of you guys will get a letter and we can run together!" said Tim, exciting his friends' hopes.
After another two hours of hanging around with his friends, Joey went back home. He made himself macaroni and cheese to go along with a glass of milk, his favorite meal. He finished his meal, watched some television, and went to sleep, with hopes of getting that coveted letter tomorrow.
At midnight Marcia got home from work, peeked in on her beautiful little boy dreaming, and went to sleep also, after a long day.
*****
Recess. It was usually every little boy's favorite time of the day, but for eight-year-old Joey Sanders, it was forty-five minutes of avoiding Jimmy Spadia. He hated Jimmy and Jimmy hated him. Joey had never done anything to offend him and he had never even really talked to him before, but Jimmy still persisted on incessantly teasing Joey because of his stutter.
"Hey, Sanders! How many times did you fuck your mom last night?"
"Sh-shut up. G-go aw-away, Jimmy."
"Oh, honey! Did that Jimmy boy make fun of you again?" she asked, running to him and wiping his tears.
"Y-y-yes. He m-made fun of m-my of my..."
"Joey, don't let anyone make fun of your stutter, no one is perfect. I'm sure that Jimmy Spadia has some problems too that he doesn't tell anyone. C'mon, I made chocolate chip cookies. They're in the living room. After you do your homework you can go out and play."
He took off his backpack and went into the livingroom as his mother went back to washing dishes. Marcia loved her son more than anything. He was all she had. Being a single mother with twelve-hour workdays, she had great difficulty raising a child. Marcia tucked a stray strand of her soft blonde hair behind her ear and stacked the last dish. It was 4:13pm and she had to be to work in less than twenty minutes. Was getting pregnant at fifteen part of her plan? No. Nothing good had come out of that two minutes of pleasure. Except Joey.
"Alright, kiddo. I gotta go to work. The number's on the fridge. Have whatever for dinner. And don't go to bed too late. Love ya," she kissed him on the cheek, and was out the door.
Joey diligently finished his homework and went outside. Some of the boys in the neighborhood were already out riding their bikes so Joey joined them.
"Hey Joey, guess what I got in the mail," said Tim Foster in a braggy tone.
"I don't know. W-what?"
"Check this out," he handed Joey a folded letter. Joey flattened it out and read it to himself:
29th Annual Ritnerville Youngster Marathon
To the parent(s)/guardian(s) of Timothy Foster,
Congratulations! Your child has been chosen to be among the two hundred children picked at random on January 24, 2189, to take part in Ritnerville's 29th Annual Youngster Marathon. You shall consider it an honor to have your child in our marathon. The event takes place on March 1st at 3 o'clock pm at the town track in front of Ritner Tower. Any questions, feel free to visit the Ritner Estate on 24 Providence Street.
Memorial Service will be held the next day, Sunday the 2nd at 1 o'clock pm.
Your child's number for the marathon is sixty-seven(67) which is enclosed. Good luck!
Signed,
Jasper Williams
Vice President, Ritnerville
Joey refolded the letter.
"W-whoa that's so c-cool," he said.
"I know," said Tim, "look at this, it's my number," he held up a large sticker with the number sixty-seven in black digits. They boys gathered around Tim congratulating him.
"Man, you're so lucky, Tim. I wish I was in that marathon," said a neighborhood kid, Toby Simmons. The rest nodded in agreement.
"Well, my dad said that the letters are still being sent and tomorrow's the last day until all two-hundred kids get their stickers. Maybe one of you guys will get a letter and we can run together!" said Tim, exciting his friends' hopes.
After another two hours of hanging around with his friends, Joey went back home. He made himself macaroni and cheese to go along with a glass of milk, his favorite meal. He finished his meal, watched some television, and went to sleep, with hopes of getting that coveted letter tomorrow.
At midnight Marcia got home from work, peeked in on her beautiful little boy dreaming, and went to sleep also, after a long day.
*****
Recess. It was usually every little boy's favorite time of the day, but for eight-year-old Joey Sanders, it was forty-five minutes of avoiding Jimmy Spadia. He hated Jimmy and Jimmy hated him. Joey had never done anything to offend him and he had never even really talked to him before, but Jimmy still persisted on incessantly teasing Joey because of his stutter.
"Hey, Sanders! How many times did you fuck your mom last night?"
"Sh-shut up. G-go aw-away, Jimmy."
