Painting by Yisu
Words by Mo
The doctor gasped. “But, but...”
“What?” The new mother’s face turned swiftly from red exertion to ashen fear.
“Ten fingers? Ten toes?”
“Yes, but...”
Dr. Morris shook her head. She had never seen anything like this in all her years on the maternity ward. She looked at the new mother’s face. She couldn’t meet her eyes, so she just focused on her mouth instead.
As she delivered the news, two deliveries in such a short span, the mother’s lips formed a perfect o. She screamed as Dr. Morris lifted her baby’s face into view.
***
Ellis was at least as nervous as any other kindergartner on his way to school for the first time, maybe more. He looked around his familiar kitchen; a table laden with breakfast foods lovingly prepared by his mother. There were scones with currants, creamy butter and blueberry jam to accompany them, there was muesli with milk, and even a perfectly poached egg resting in his favorite little egg cup.
The egg cup had been his grandmother’s--a relic from another age. He examined its familiar lines, the curve of the lip, the zig of white atop a zag of black which patterned the cup to its little rounded feet. His grandmother must have bought it somewhere exotic, and its animal print pattern seemed incongruous with what else he knew of her personality. She was such a proper woman. Ellis’ father still referred to her reverently as “Mother”, and the other items inherited from her collection of china were quite prim, really. Tiny flowers on bone colored porcelain, a thin strip of gold leaf inlaid among pin-sized cobalt spots.
But zebra print? On a lone egg cup? It was odd.
For obvious reasons, the egg cup was Ellis’. He loved it because it was so like him. It was one of those perfect coincidences in life, one lone moment of alignment in Ellis’ few years on earth.
Ellis was not hungry, in spite of the spread of favorites before him. He wanted to curl back up in bed and never get up again. He had been dreading school since the beginning, and this first day of it was bound to be the worst of them all.
How would he survive it?
As he hung his head even lower and let out a big sigh, his mother came into the kitchen. She had a lightness to her step that Ellis envied. She didn’t have to go to school. She didn’t have to face the humiliation, the shame of it all. She got to stay here and care for the goldfish, take Rumba for a walk, cook dinner. It just wasn’t fair.
“Good morning, sweet thing! Are you ready for your first day?”
“Oh Mom, I don’t think I’m ready for this.
Maybe I should just start school next year.”
His mother looked unfazed, like she had known he would say this.
“Ellis, you know it’s time. You’re five! You can do this. It might be hard sometimes, but I know you’re going to do just fine. The first day is never easy,
but soon you’ll be excited to go to school!”
“I don’t know about that, Mom.”
As Ellis’ mom placed a jug of juice on the already overflowing table, Ellis caught a glimpse of his reflection, a reminder of all he was up against as he went out into the world. He saw a tear run down his black and white cheek, and his long thick tongue reached instinctively out of his horsey mouth to catch the saline driplet.
His mom came over and gave him a reassuring hug, but it didn’t really help. He felt as miserable as could be. Ellis walked dejectedly over to the chair by the door where his sneakers were waiting to be put on, but he could hardly see to lace them through the cascade of tears that wouldn’t stop welling up in his big black eyes. His fingers, usually so nimble and able, were practically useless, and in the end his mother had to come tie his shoes for him, patting his pink dimpled knees as she finished up.
She passed him a tissue, and he loudly blew his giant velvety nose, promising himself not to cry anymore. He breathed in deeply, grabbed his orange backpack,
and marched out the door.
“Bye Ellis,” his mother said quietly, “I hope it goes well.”
She had done all she could to prepare him for this day.
Now all there was to do was to hope.
***
The walk to school was easy, he just turned right out the door and went straight until he reached the fire station, where he and his dad would go and watch the firemen polishing the trucks on Saturdays. Once there, it was just another right and then a left until he reached the big building teeming with kids. When he saw the crowds heading to their first day of school Ellis started to feel queasy. The other kids wouldn’t understand, how could they, I mean he hardly did himself. To be born with such a condition, such a crazy fluke of genetics and fate, there was no way anyone would ever accept him.
Ellis looked down at his body. Everything he could see looked just like every other kid walking through the school gates. He wore sneakers, shorts and a red t-shirt. His arms were tan from a summer of swimming at the lake in Maine. His knees were a little scraped from when he had fallen over last week, but lots of kindergartners had skinned knees. No, his real problem was not his body. It was his head.
From the neck up, Ellis was utterly different from most boys his age. From most boys any age, really. Just like his egg cup, he was zigged and zagged black and white. All the way down to his shirt collar, he had a mohawk of black and white coarse hair. All those years ago, Ellis had made medical history when he was born with the hitherto unknown, and therefore unnamed, condition Zebritis. He had the body of a little boy, but the head of a zebra.
His nose quivered and tears threatened to spill from his large eyes, but he inhaled again and steeled himself for his grand entrance into kindergarten. He could do this.
So he did.
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