Nothing Fits, Anyway 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. "Late! Like I said, run along, Charles, I'll see you this afternoon." his mother wisped, while pulling off. "School,' Charlie thought, "For once, now that I'm here, I'm glad. Good ole' comfortable school." Suddenly, a cold chill ran up his spine. Charlie had always gotten along with his classmates alright, at least most of them. He tried to fit in, but mostly he just blended, forgotten. Charlie rushed to his room, Mrs. Hines' class. Mrs. Hines always had a friendly disposition, a born parents favorite, middle-aged woman, thick glasses. Charlie slid into his desk, his knees slamming against the underside. He let out a wallop, and tried again. No luck. "This hasn't happened before." Charlie thought, and it was becoming a common thought, "I'm too tall to fit in the desk." He glanced downward, and saw his feet dangling above the floor. "It must be the chair." He assumed. "Mrs. Hines, I need a new chair, a lower one." Charlie called out. "Well, here you are, my dear," she replied, scooting him a new, lower chair. Charlie tried again, to fit into the desk. Bump, his knees once more hitting the bottom of the metal frame. "Forget it,' Charlie mused, "I just can't win today." Mrs. Hines began the class as always. She called roll, Charlie forgot to raise his hand. "That is very unlike you Charles, please pay attention." was all that was said. "Get out your notebooks, class, last night's homework, multiplication." Mrs. Hines went to the chalk board and scrawled out a problem. 2 x 12. "Can anyone answer this?" she glanced out to the room. Charlie, as if involuntarily, raised his hand, and before even being called on, blurted out "Africa," to his own and everyone's amazement. Mrs. Hines looked at him, her smile fading, and said, "Is that some kind of a joke, Charles?" "Sorry, ma'am." was his only, embarrassed reply. She looked away. Charlie saw his reflection looking back at him from the window. Now his right shirtsleeve was longer that the left, and his left pantleg seemed to grow with every instant. He violently shook his head, as if trying to escape a bad dream. He now noticed that the bangs of his hair were thicker and blonder than ever before. Charlie choked back a scream, he wanted to shriek so badly, but did not dare. He sat there, now almost motionless, as Mrs. Hines shouted, "Charles! Charles! Are you coming up to the board or not?" Like a trance, Charlie walked up to the front of the class, he could hear their snickers and giggles. From another world, Mrs. Hines said, "Now, Charles, please answer this problem, no jokes this time." 10 x 3. "This is easy." Charlie thought, recovering a bit, "I do this, sit down and it's over with." He began to write, but then it all went wrong. First off, his three was gigantic, covering half the board, and his zero was barely visible to the naked eye. The entire class erupted into laughter, loud and cackling laughter. Mrs. Hines screamed, "Charles!" and stopped. She watched as he hit the floor, finally observing his appearance, everything out of place. His sobs were wild and uncontrollable. "Nothing fits, today!" exclaimed Charlie, in his state, "Well, nothing fits, anyway." Mrs. Hines could not convince him to stop crying. Scared and frightened, she ran and got the school nurse. She said to her, "Something is wrong with Charlie." Charlie's mother rushed to the school as soon as she got the call. "Charlie had to go see the nurse, oh my god, Charlie had to go see the nurse." was her sole, repeated thought. She burst through the office doors upon her arrival, and exclaimed, "Is my baby alright?" Principle McVick calmed her and took her aside. "Miss," he began, "don't worry. There is physically nothing wrong with your son. Our nurse has run some tests, all of which came up negative. Honestly, we weren't or still aren't quite sure what is wrong with him. We had to call in a specialist; he's waiting, with Charlie, in the room behind you." With that, she walked directly over to the thick, black door and opened it. A large, bearded man in a grey suit sat at the desk, with Charlie in one of two seats opposite him. He said, in a gruff voice, "Please, have a seat with your child." "What is it, doctor, I have to know, what is wrong with him?" she cried out. "Please, Miss, sit down, sit down and take a good look at your son," he replied, sharply. As she seated, she looked at Charlie. His favorite blue sweatshirt was now much too tight for him, his pants, baggy, like a clown's costume. He was shivering, but the room was perhaps overheated. The man at the desk began, "Well, for starters, I'm sorry, but there is really nothing we can do for him, me or you. He's just going to have to learn to live with it, his affliction, I mean. Sometimes people and things in life just don't fit, and we can't force them to, like your son. Charlie does not fit, and if this progresses, one day he will not fit anything. He seems to defy all reason; molding to whatever shape that doesn't fit the mold. Most likely, without proper care, which we can't say what that is, nothing will ever fit your son, again. But, on the good side, in time he will begin to deal with that. Time is the key. Once more, I'm sorry, if you have any questions contact me at this number, but it won't do you much good. I only begin to understand his predicament. Good day to you both." Slowly, Charlie and his mother walked out of the office, as if in a daze. Then, out of nowhere, Charlie knocked his head on the top of the door frame, which should have been physically impossible. The word "Ouch." crept from his lips.
Copyright © 2003 Daniel Taylor |