#23 I , Isabel Scheherazade recount the beginning of the sad tale of little Clyde. ( He’s the twin whose cowlick swirls to the right. Sam and Clyde are mirror image twins.)
As soon as I hear hollering–all the way down the hall and around the corner from my fourth grade room–I’m out of my desk and through the door. It’s my brother, I say to the teacher. He needs me.
No! No! Clyde has plastered himself to the wall outside his kindergarten room. He swings his arms at a bunch of grown-ups trying to grab him.
He’s a lamb surrounded by wolves, I think to myself. His teacher, the principal with her big shoulder-pad suit, and the guidance counselor have him cornered. I spy Pop’s head going by the outside courtyard window. The school must have called home, so I’m guessing the eruption started inside the room and then spread to the outside.
Pop and I reach Clyde at about the same time. When he sees us, he crumbles like a muffin.
What’s up, buddy? I give him a hug, and he clutches me like a koala bear.
Hey, boyo, what’s cooking? Pop kneels so his face is close to Clyde’s. He’s the only one of the grown-ups that knows it’s important to be right at Clyde’s eye level. Clyde tries to burrow into Pop’s quilted vest.
But wait, it gets worse.
You said I needed to go to school, Pop. Clyde gulps–he has the I’ve-been-crying-for-a-while rash and hiccups. So, I WENT. Yesterday!!
–Uh oh, I’ve got to stop writing and help Mimi. She’s just called up the stairs that she doesn’t have enough eggs for the french toast she’s making for our supper. So I need to run up the hill to Miss Mary’s barn and rummage the nests!! (THIS is a different type of chore, don’t you think?) I’ll get back to the story as soon as possible.)