Nothing Fits, Anyway...

Charlie remembered feeling very strange when he awoke that morning. Like the entire day was a little out of proportion, a little left of center. He would later shudder at this dark recollection, wondering where it could have went wrong. But, after all, could any explanation really fit the situation? He thought not...

It seemed, on the surface, to be like any other morning. Charlie popped up at the alarm clock, 6:00 am, time to get ready for school. He still hadn’t got used to 3rd grade, sometimes Charlie even secretly worried that he would never get used to it.

His mother called up the stairs to him, ‘Charles, hurry up and get dressed. You’re always late! Your breakfast will be cold…"

"So what if it’s cold..." Charlie thought, "and I hope I’m late…"

Charlie was your average nine year old, average student, not too good at anything, not too bad, just average. He liked his blue sweatshirt, wooly and snotty, pinecones and glue, he snuggled in it nicely on cold days.

Charlie cracked his bedroom window to get a feel of the weather. He couldn’t quite decide what it was. Not too chilly, but also it was not warm. He caught a big, gusting breeze, "Burr…" Charlie thought, " I’m gonna wear my blue sweatshirt again, no matter what mom thinks…"

He dug the old, reliable shirt out of a pile of clothes near his bed, and began to ease it over the shoulders, down past his head. " Strange!" was his first remark. Charlie walked to the mirror on back of his door. "Strange…" he remarked once more, loudly this time. His mother called, " Come on, Charles! You don’t want to be late."

"But, mom," Charlie cried, "my blue sweatshirt doesn’t fit!"

"What do you mean?" she replied, "Forget that, anyway, you’ve already worn it twice this week, you don’t want the other boys to think your weird, do you?"

"But, mom!" Charlie protested, "it doesn’t fit, it’s too big for me!"

"You’ve probably stretched it out from wearing it too much," his mother, faintly listening, said, "Nevermind, you can wear it, just finish dressing and come eat your breakfast, it has to be cold by now…"

Charlie shrugged; his favorite blue sweatshirt was now huge on him, like a nightgown. He hurried and threw some pants on, they would barely buckle. New pants, tried on yesterday, fit like a glove. "What is wrong today?" Charlie sighed to himself.

At the breakfast table, Charlie waited while his mother microwaved his food, not noticing his ridiculous appearance. She quickly handed it to him, scurrying off to get her purse. Charlie looked at the plate intently, and then took a bite of his pancake. "Mom," he said, "this doesn’t taste right," spitting the food into his napkin.

"What do you mean, doesn’t taste right?" his mother called back, "Oh well, you can eat at school, we’ve gotta run, your late!"

Charlie began to feel really warm, and really sick.

The feeling still hadn’t passed in the car. After trying forever to get his seat adjusted right, Charlie gave up. He just couldn’t get comfortable, not at all. At the moment when he thought his feverish heat stroke would surely kill him, his mother snapped, "Charles, look at you, did you dress in the dark? I just bought those pants…Have you gained weight?"

"Mom…" Charlie croaked, "I’m burning up, check my forehead."

"Burning up!" she cried, "It’s freezing in here, and you look fine, your not getting out of school today, young man…"

They were just pulling up at the building, when the bell rang.