Three Hundred and Seventy One

A telling of a boy who just wants a family.

Three Hundred and Seventy One

Exactly eighty-seven thousand, six hundred and fifty-eight hours ago, I was found on the murky doorsteps of the Braido Foundation Orphanage. I don’t remember much of that day since it was ten years ago, making me exactly one hundred and twenty hours old.

Normal boys my age love to play tag, soccer, and with plastic action figures, but not me. I prefer to count things. I love to count anything really. I know that there are seventy-two tulip buds and fourteen oak trees planted around the front lawn of the orphanage. There are two thousand five hundred and ninety-seven red and rusty bricks on the front of my home building with thirty white-framed windows.

The boys and the girls are separated, each getting their own sides of the orphanage, with eight people per room. Usually all the kids avoid me because of my habit, but my bunkmate, Robby, always tries to talk to me, although its hard listening to him. He tells me about his previous abusive foster family in Chicago who had three dogs, two cats and one sibling, but his ketchup-colored freckles always distract me. All two hundred and sixty-three of them. My room isn’t any better than the conversations I have with Robby. When it’s lights out, the constant, slippery water droplets of the ceiling plumbing keep me up. One time, I counted to four hundred and seventy-five. Since I have the top bunk of the squeaky beds, the grey ceiling is my replacement for the starry sky. I’ve always wanted to count the stars in the sky, that would be a dream for me, but we aren’t allowed outside after six pm. So I count the cracks instead. Eighty-seven.

It’s Saturday again, which means I’m scheduled for another potential adoption session. Usually, I have a session a week, but there are a few occasions when there are two or maybe three. So far, I’ve had three hundred and seventy sessions already.

Today, a tall man of forty-three and a woman of forty sit across from me in the white, nine by eleven room. They look typical to the other people I’ve met, always coming in pairs of two, nervous and a bit excited as well. But as my eyes scan across, I see something else besides the woman. There is a little boy, about my age, making them a group of three. In all my sessions, never has the parents brought a child. A slight, one hundred and twenty degree angled-smile appeared on his face and I found myself returning it.

“Sylvester,” the orphanage’s head lady, Ms. Lana said to me. “I want you to meet the Smith family. They are very interested for you to be part of their family.” All four hundred and sixty two of her top lashes fluttered with thick black paste.

Mr. Smith coughed three times. “Hi there, Sylvester,” he said. His smile created two layers of dimples on his cheeks.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Mrs. Smith spoke up. “Jack here has especially been excited.”

The other boy looked at me with interest. He was biting his bottom lip, chewing on it mostly, out of nervousness. I found the idea of living with them, drifting through my head like a cloud and I realized my mind was wandering away from the numbers. But I too, was nervous and the counting returned like a slick boomerang. My eyes scanned back and forth over every detail of the three in front of me.

“What do you like to do for fun?” Mrs. Smith said. “Jack loves to play video games and Frisbee.”

I found my hands shaking a little. Not only did these parents want me as their child, but Jack wanted me as a brother and a friend. “I like to count,” I replied before I could stop myself.

“Count? What do you mean count?” Mr. Smith asked.

            “Mr. Smith, your shirt has exactly eight buttons and a total of fifty-six plaid stripes. Your metal plated watch has twenty-two rigs on it. Mrs. Smith, your necklace has exactly sixty-one chain cuffs and you have three beauty marks on your face. I know Jack has only twenty freckles on his face and seven loose seams on his shirt.”

            Mr. and Mrs. Smith looked at me strangely and turned to Ms. Lana. “Is this a habit of his?” Mrs. Smith asked. Jack stared at me with confused eyes.

            I spoke up again. “Do you have any pets? Two dogs perhaps? Or three cats and one fish, two turtles and a parrot? Maybe seven lizards, three hamsters and a rabbit?”

            Mrs. Smith nervously adjusted in her seat. “Look at the time! Jack is going to be late for his soccer practice!”

            “But its only been thirty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds,” I said.

            “Mr. and Mrs. Smith, if you would just please sit back down…” Ms. Lana waved them down, but they were already gone.

            Maybe I’ll have better luck at session number three hundred and seventy-two.

Author's Note

I would love any kind of feedback!

Reviews

[Mia]

Very interesting story, I really enjoyed reading it. It makes me sad for him. No kid should have to feel unwanted especially one this charming!! Great story and well written :)

[Libby Carsons]

thanks! i appreciate your time!

[beautiful dreamer]

aw what a sweet sad story :( i would definitly adopt the poor thing. i need someone good at counting and math, i'm bad at it :) great story :)

[Libby Carsons]

thanks so much!

[Zenithex]

Cool! I love it

[Libby Carsons]

thanks so much!

[Talal Hussain]

nice stuff :-)

[Libby Carsons]

thanks you!

[Marie]

I would take this kid in a heartbeat. He's a lot more interesting than boys who play frisbee...

[Libby Carsons]

Yes I feel the same way :)

[Daniel Eckert]

I automatically fell in love with the main character. He is phenomenal! Your lines are well formed; I enjoyed the dialogue. I would thoroughly enjoy to read more of this child's life! The ending as it is now leaves me wanting more.

[Libby Carsons]

oh thank you so much! i'm glad you feel that way and i appreciate you reading!