It Looked Different on the Model - Laurie Notaro [54]
“Not really,” he said honestly. “Grandma says only hoboes sleep in dirty clothes. Mom forgot my shirts, too. I only have this shirt and three pairs of shorts.”
I was shocked. While I wouldn’t be surprised if she forgot to pack a toothbrush or comb, it was rather unlike my sister to forget to pack something like clothes. Any of them. While Nick was well stocked on socks and underwear, everything else was missing.
“Are you sure?” I asked my nephew. “You checked everywhere?”
“Yep,” he said, nodding.
“Where did she think we were going that you wouldn’t need shirts?” I asked aloud. “Alabama?”
I finally talked him into sleeping in the shirt he was wearing—but not before much, much arm-twisting and the agreement that we would get him some new clothes the next day, although I had no idea where. We were almost in the middle of nowhere, and the only thing separating us from actual nowhere was a small grocery store across the street that, while offering live bait and bags of microwave pork rinds, thankfully did not offer apparel of any sort.
Being that the cabin had one bedroom and a small futon in the living room, I gave Nick the choice of whether he wanted to sleep on the futon by himself or bunk with me in the bedroom, and he chose the latter. Even though he was eleven, sleeping in a strange place without either of his parents might be a little bit unnerving, I realized, so I decided not to make a big deal out of it. I was, however, touched that I got to hang on to the last moments of Nick’s kiddom, of his not wanting to be quite so independent, and I was happy that those moments weren’t all gone, not just yet. We got ready for bed, Nick brushed his teeth, I got my sleep mask and earplugs out, and we all called out good night to one another.
Nicholas got under the covers, snuggled up to the pillow, and I was going to turn the TV off, but I couldn’t find the remote control.
“Where’s the remote?” I asked him.
“I have it,” he said, looking at me. “I need the TV on to fall asleep.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, not finding any joy in that news. “Don’t you want to just give it a shot?”
He shrugged. “Not really,” he replied. “That’s why I picked this room with the TV. Because, you know, I thought the futon looked fun.”
“Does it have to be ESPN?” I asked. “Could we at least put it on Bravo?”
“I don’t watch any shows on Bravo. It’s a lady channel,” he said decidedly, and without much of a response, I caved.
Remarkably, though, I fell asleep pretty quickly, because the next thing I remember was that someone with Chex Mix breath was shaking me.
“Aunt Laurie,” I heard. “Aunt Laurie.”
I jolted awake and my eyes flew open immediately.
“What’s the matter?” I said, ripping my face mask off and plucking out my earplugs as a shot of adrenaline surged through my system. “What happened?”
Nicholas slowly and cautiously pointed to the ceiling. “I saw a spider,” he whispered.
“Are you sure?” I whispered back wearily, my heart still pounding in my throat. “I bet it was just a shadow, honey. Or a fly. I bet it was a fly.”
He shook his head. “I saw lots of legs,” he confirmed. “Eight. I counted them.”
“This is what happens when you keep the TV on,” I whispered back as I got out of bed and turned the light on. “When it’s dark you don’t know that spiders are crawling above you.”
But I looked at the ceiling and didn’t see a thing, and certainly not a big enough spider whose legs could be counted by a little boy through the flickering light of basketball highlights.
“Right there,” Nick said, pointing to a teeny spot on the ceiling on the far, far side of the room.
“That?” I said as I got closer to it, realizing I’d had pimples bigger than the fearful creature. “Now I know why your clothes are missing: Your mother packed your night-vision binoculars instead. You counted the legs on that?”
Nicholas nodded. “Eight. That’s what qualifies them as arachnids.”
“Nick, it looks like a Skittle from here,” I argued, grabbing a shoe and climbing onto a chair to