Nobody's Perfect

by Marlee Matlin

  “A purple room?” her dad asked, somewhat disbelieving.

  “Aaaahhh-choo!”

  It was Matt again.

  “Gesundheit, Matt!” said her dad.

  “Goodness gracious, Matt,” said Lainee. “Are you catching a cold?”

  “If you’re getting sick or something, could you not sneeze on me?” said Megan to Matt. “I’ve got a big weekend planned. I have to run the hamster through the maze—”

  “A hamster through a maze?” her dad asked, still somewhat disbelieving.

  “So I really don’t want to catch Matt’s cold!” Megan insisted.

  “I’ve got a big weekend too,” said Matt, sniffling and wiping his nose. “This is my baseball tryout weekend! I can’t afford to be sick!”

  “It’s probably just dust,” said Lainee. “You were perfectly fine earlier.”

  “Right,” Megan said to her dad, “and we run the hamster through the maze, from room to room.”

  “Hamster? What hamster?” asked David. He looked down the table at Lainee. “Nobody ever tells me anything.”

  “That hamster,” said Megan, pointing to the hamster cage on the floor in the corner of the dining room. “His name is Zippity.”

  “He belongs to the school,” Lainee announced with assurance.

  Zippity was awake now—go figure—and taking a rather lazy trot on the rodent wheel.

  “What’s a hamster doing in the dining room?” asked David.

  “Aaaahhh-choo!” said Matt.

  “It’s only temporary,” said Lainee.

  “We have to return Zippity to school on Monday,” said Megan. “So it’s really important that we run him through the maze tomorrow.”

  “ ‘We?’ Who’s ‘we’?” asked David. “Lainee, would you pass the garlic bread, please?”

  “Me and the difficult girl, Dad,” said Megan.

  “I don’t think you should call her the ‘difficult girl,’ ” said David.

  “Mom met her,” Megan protested. “Mom, tell Dad that it’s true. Alexis is difficult!”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘difficult’ necessarily,” said Lainee as she handed the basket of garlic bread down the table.

  But just as the basket passed in front of Matt—“Aaaahhh-choo!”

  Matt sneezed again, all over the garlic bread.

  “Ick,” said Megan, as her dad set the basket aside.

  “I think you’re definitely coming down with something,” Lainee said to Matt.

  “Something disgusting,” said Megan.

  “Megan, leave your brother alone,” said Lainee. She got up from her chair and stepped behind Matt so that she could place her hand on his forehead. “You don’t feel warm,” she said.

  “What’s that on your neck?” asked Megan. She was pointing at Matt.

  Matt tilted his head to one side and both his parents gasped. Tiny red welts dotted one side of his neck.

  “What is it?” said Matt.

  “I think it’s hives,” said Lainee. “Pull up your shirt.” She was already tugging on his T-shirt.

  “Mom!” Matt protested.

  “Don’t ‘Mom!’ me,” said Lainee. “I used to undress you all the time when you were a baby.”

  Matt rose from his chair and held out his hands to keep his mother back. “Mom, I’ll do it myself, okay?”

  Lainee backed off and crossed her arms. Matt lifted his T-shirt and turned around to display his bare back.

  Everyone gasped. Megan dropped her fork. Her mouth hung open even though it was full of spaghetti.

  “What?” Matt asked, looking over his shoulder.

  His back was covered with a crazy pattern of red splotches.

  “Disgusting!” said Megan.

  “Megan, shush,” said her mother, resting her hands comfortingly on Matt’s shoulders.

  “What is it?” said Matt with annoyance. He craned his neck from side to side, trying to peer at his own back.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know,” said Megan, with a mouthful of food.

  “You’ve got a rash,” said David. “Well, worse than a rash. It’s like welts. All over your back.”

  “It looks like one of those connect-the-dots games,” said Megan.

  “Mom, make her cut it out,” said Matt.

  “Megan, shush,” her mother repeated as she leaned closer for a better look at Matt’s back.

  “He asked me what it looked like, so I told him,” said Megan. “Doesn’t it itch? I bet it itches. If my back looked like that, I’d be itching like crazy.”

  “Megan, shush!” Lainee and David said in unison.

  David rose from his chair and circled the table to examine Matt’s back as well. “He must be allergic to something,” David continued.

  “Not garlic bread and pasta,” said Lainee. “We’ve had garlic bread and tomato sauce and pasta before.”

  “Maybe it’s the hamster,” said David.

  There was a pause in the room as everyone turned to look at the hamster cage. Zippity had given up on the rodent wheel and had curled back up into a ball.

  “Zippity didn’t do anything,” said Megan.

  “He doesn’t have to,” said David, “if Matt is allergic.”

  “We’ve never had a hamster in the house before,” observed Lainee, stroking Matt’s hair. “Were you playing with the hamster before dinner?”

  “I took him out of his cage,” said Matt.

  “Don’t touch my hamster!” Megan protested.

  “Megan, please,” said Lainee.

  “I get in trouble if anything happens to that hamster!” Megan continued.

  “I only had him out for a second,” said Matt. “I let him crawl across my shoulders and under my shirt, but his little feet tickled so I put him away.”

  “Did he crawl across your neck and down your back?” asked Lainee.

  “I think so,” said Matt. “I don’t remember.”

  “Have you ever been allergic to hamsters before?” asked David. “Maybe at school?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Matt. “Aaaahhh-choo!”

  Megan’s mom and dad glanced at each other. David pointed his fork at the hamster cage.

  “Oh, dear,” said Lainee.

  “Zippity has got to go,” said David.

  “No!” Megan protested. “My whole science fair project depends on Zippity!”

  “But it’s not fair to your brother to make him sick the weekend of his baseball tryouts!” said Lainee. “Go upstairs, Matt, and take a long, hot shower. That should take care of the hives. Then stay in your room and close the door. Go straight to bed. We’re putting you in quarantine. I’ll move Zippity to the garage and vacuum in here, but you should probably stay clear of the rest of the house until you feel better.”

  “All right,” said Matt, sounding worse by the minute.

  Megan felt bad for Matt. But she also felt bad for Zippity.

  “We can’t put Zippity in the garage all night,” she argued. “How would you like it? Spending the night in the garage.”

  Megan’s father had already left the table to pick up the hamster cage. “Zippity can file a complaint in the morning,” he said.

  “But what about this weekend?” Megan complained. “Without Zippity I’ve got no science fair project!”

  “We’ll call Alexis,” said Lainee. “Maybe Zippity can bunk there for the weekend.”

  Megan wanted to protest, but she couldn’t think of a comeback. Sometimes her mom had all the answers.

  • • •

  The next morning Megan’s mom telephoned Alexis’s mom. “Hello?” she said into the telephone. “Is this Alexis’s mom? This is Megan’s mom, Lainee Merrill. Yes! Our girls are working on a hamster maze experiment together.”

  Megan didn’t know why her mother found the expression “hamster maze experiment” so funny.

  “Is Alexis there?” Lainee asked.

  Alexis’s mom must have been talking for a few moments, because Lainee said nothing. T
hen she said, “Oh.” It wasn’t encouraging.

  “Where is she?” Megan asked with annoyance.

  “At the library,” signed Lainee.

  “Probably scrounging around for extra credit,” Megan signed back.

  Lainee twisted her face into a warning, as though she’d scold Megan if she could. “Unfortunately, it’s the hamster,” she said to Alexis’s mom. “My son, Matt, is allergic and we didn’t know in advance because—well, we’d never had a hamster to dinner before.” Megan’s mom and Alexis’s mom shared a little mom-laugh, and then Lainee continued. “Oh, really? You mean it?” she said into the telephone. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  Megan gestured “What?” but her mom wouldn’t answer. She grabbed a notepad and quickly jotted down an address.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much,” Lainee said into the receiver. “Megan and her father will be right over with Zippity.” Then she hung up the phone.

  “What’s up?” asked Megan.

  “Grab Zippity and his cage out of the garage,” said Lainee. “And find your father and find my car keys. You’re dropping Zippity off with Alexis’s mom.”

  “And the maze!” cried Megan. “I’m not moving Zippity unless we keep him with the maze.”

  “And the maze,” repeated Lainee.

  • • •

  “I know this neighborhood,” said Megan’s dad as they turned down Beckwith Street, the street where Alexis lived. “Your mother and I once looked at a house in this neighborhood.”

  “The address is 587 Beckwith,” said Megan, reading off the note her mother had given her. It was a pleasant two-story house, green stucco with black shutters and trim. A large Japanese maple tree filled the front yard.

  “You could convince me to live here,” David said, appraisingly.

  “Give me a minute, Dad,” said Megan. “I should be right back.”

  “Okeydokey,” he said, parking the car along the curb.

  Megan climbed out of the car, hauled the maze out of the backseat, and carried it to the front door where she propped it against a potted plant. Then she hurried to the car for Zippity’s cage, ran back to the front door, and rang the bell.

  The first thing Megan noticed at the front door was that Alexis’s mom was nice. She wore her hair braided in a thick French braid, and she answered the door in an apron dappled with flour.

  The next thing Megan noticed was the smell of cinnamon.

  “You’re making cinnamon buns,” Megan declared.

  “Cinnamon, yes!” Alexis’s mom cried. “I’m so embarrassed. You caught me up to my elbows in flour!” She wiped her hands off on the apron and tugged wisps of hair away from her face. Then she gazed at the girl on the doorstep, somewhat perplexed. “How did you know I was making cinnamon buns?”

  “I can smell it,” said Megan. “I’m Megan.” She reached out to shake hands but ended up waving instead because Alexis’s mom’s hands were covered in flour.

  “Oh, yes,” said Alexis’s mom. Her voice got louder as she connected Megan to her recent telephone conversation with Megan’s mom and remembered that Megan was deaf. “Megan! I’m so happy to meet you!”

  “I’m wearing a hearing aid,” said Megan. “So you don’t have to shout!”

  Alexis’s mom appeared confused. “Oh!” she said. “Alexis told me you were deaf but she didn’t tell me—”

  “I wear a hearing aid and I read lips,” said Megan. “So I can understand when you talk to me, but the thing is—I can only read lips so fast. So you can talk quieter and you can slow down.” Megan was accustomed to giving grown-ups and new kids the lowdown on being deaf. Megan was diagnosed as profoundly deaf, which meant she had some hearing in extremely high or low frequencies but at a very low volume or distorted and garbled.

  Megan’s hearing aid helped to clean up the sounds she could already barely hear—but it was more a matter of being trained to identify sounds rather than the ease of hearing most people have.

  “Well, I’ll talk slower then,” said Alexis’s mom, loudly and quickly. “Ohmigosh! That’s what I’ll do,” she repeated, only more softly and slowly. She gestured for Megan to step inside. “Alexis is at the library, but I’ll take Zippity off your hands.”

  Megan held on to the cage. “It’s only because my brother is allergic,” she said.

  “Yes!” said Alexis’s mom. “Your mother told me.”

  The third thing that Megan noticed was that Alexis’s house wasn’t upside-down at all. It was organized and nicely decorated. Megan was surprised that she didn’t notice any moving boxes at all. “I thought you were still moving in,” said Megan.

  “Oh, no,” said Alexis’s mom. “The first thing I like to do is unpack everything! I can’t stand living in a house surrounded by cardboard boxes and suitcases and all the bundles of whatever when you move.”

  That’s strange, thought Megan. Alexis said her house was upside-down with moving boxes. Why would Alexis lie about that? She didn’t mention anything to Alexis’s mom. Instead she asked, “Where do you want me to put Zippity?” She raised the hamster cage slightly. “I left his maze outside.”

  “Where to put Zippity? Where to put Zippity?” Alexis’s mom repeated as though she hadn’t planned on choosing the right spot for the hamster when she agreed to let Megan and Zippity come over. “I’m going to say—the coffee table in the den.” She pointed through an archway.

  Megan took two steps into the den and placed the cage on the small black coffee table. She turned back to Mrs. Powell and asked, “You don’t have any cats, do you?”

  “Cats? No,” said Alexis’s mom. “No, no, no.”

  At that moment Alexis’s little brother, Justin, came barreling into the den. He bounced like a pinball off the sofa and pried his way between his mother’s legs. Tumbling across the room, he rebounded off Megan and eventually collided with the small black coffee table. Stopping there for a breather, he ran his hand across one side of the hamster cage, apparently trying to pet Zippity.

  “You probably shouldn’t try to pet him,” said Megan. “You’ve got little fingers and he might try to bite.”

  “You can talk to Justin but he probably won’t talk back,” said Alexis’s mom, patting Justin’s head.

  “He won’t talk to me?” Megan asked.

  “Probably not,” said Alexis’s mom.

  The boy’s as bad as his sister, thought Megan. Alexis won’t talk to me. Justin won’t talk to me. The only one in this whole family who talks to me is the mom!

  “Justin is autistic,” Alexis’s mom explained, “which means, in Justin’s case, that he has difficulty talking.”

  Megan was puzzled. She thought she’d seen Justin talking. “You mean, he can’t talk at all?” she asked.

  “Well, he doesn’t talk to us,” Alexis’s mom stated. “Autistic kids like Justin see the world differently than we do, and that complicates things like, well, communication for one. It’s hard for us to understand him and it’s hard for him to understand us.”

  “It’s like that for me sometimes,” said Megan. “A lot of the time. Most of the time.”

  “I understand you just fine,” Alexis’s mom said, encouragingly.

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Megan. “I mean when people meet me, they think I can’t talk at all. Then they find out—I never shut up.”

  Megan laughed. And Alexis’s mom laughed too.

  “Maybe Justin talks all the time,” Megan continued, “and you don’t understand.”

  “I bet you’re right,” said Alexis’s mom. “I’ll have to ask Justin’s teachers.”

  “Justin goes to school?” asked Megan.

  “Justin goes to a special school where the teachers can meet his special needs,” Alexis’s mom explained.

  In the short time they had been talking, Justin had dropped his interest in Zippity and run to press his face against the sliding glass doors that opened onto the backyard. He left sticky fingerprints on the glass. Then he ran to the piano and pound
ed nonsensically on the keys.

  “Justin, we can find another time to play the piano,” said Alexis’s mom. She didn’t seem upset at all. She seemed perfectly accustomed to the degree of chaos that Justin brought to the house. She moved swiftly to the piano and placed her hands on top of Justin’s hands. Justin stopped pounding the keys. A moment later he had turned his attention back to Zippity. He slipped away from his mother’s grasp and ran to the table. He tapped on the top of the cage, trying to wake up the hamster.

  It happened two or three times like that. Justin charging across the room, distracted by any number of things—and then returning to focus on Zippity in the hamster cage.

  “Hamster,” said Megan. She pointed at the sleeping fur ball and nodded at Justin. “Hamster,” she repeated, adding the sign language for the word as well. She brushed her index finger across the tip of her nose—almost as if to suggest whiskers.

  “We’re not sure whether Justin has any words yet,” said Alexis’s mom. “We think he understands words, but he has difficulty expressing himself.”

  Megan repeated the sign for “hamster,” but she didn’t say the word out loud. Justin continued to watch her very carefully, and then abruptly turned on his heels to run in the other direction.

  Megan shifted toward Alexis’s mom and offered a small smile. “He really is very cute,” she said, pointing at the rambunctious child.

  At that moment Alexis walked through the front door with a hefty stack of library books. “Alexis!” cried her mom. “Perfect timing. Your friend Megan just arrived with Zippity, the hamster.”

  Alexis stopped in her tracks. She looked at Megan with an unwelcome scowl. “I saw the maze outside,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  Megan was surprised at the lack of hospitality she received from Alexis. “My brother Matt—you met Matt—is allergic to hamsters,” she said. “Sneezing, welts, hives, the works!”

  “Megan’s brother is allergic to hamsters, Alexis,” Alexis’s mom repeated, “so I said Zippity could spend the weekend here.”

  “You didn’t have to let her inside!” cried Alexis, pointing at Megan. “Couldn’t you take the cage at the door? Did you have to let Megan inside?”

  Megan and Alexis’s mom were both taken aback by Alexis’s outburst. Before either of them could say anything, Justin charged into the front hall from the den. He knocked into Alexis, tugging on her belt loops and her backpack and sending her library books crashing to the floor. He appeared to be screaming about something, but it wasn’t a high-pitched scream. It was like a loud, low-pitched, thundering groan. He stomped his feet in a circle around Alexis—and then, just as abruptly, Justin returned to Zippity in the den and gently strummed his fingers across the top of the cage.