Fan Fiction ❯ Blue Cups ❯ Blue Cups part 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Blue Cups,

by P.H. Wise

Part 2

"How many cups are there, Paul?"

I looked at the cups. They were clear blue plastic cups, shining in sunlight like some sort of blue gem that I don't actually know the name of, but would probably be a really impressive metaphor if I could. The kitchen was all lit up with the sunlight streaming through the window like… some… other metaphor I can't think of right now. I looked out the window. Vultures circled overhead in an ever-widening gyre. I pointed at them, and asked what they were. A troubled look flashed across my mother's face. She was probably wondering why I got distracted so easily. She didn't say anything about that, though. She was more concerned with cup counting. "How many cups, Paul?" she asked.

I didn't much want to count cups just then. I wanted to go outside and play. I was a kindergartener, and I was being home schooled, and my mother was determined to teach me math. And that meant I had to keep counting cups and dishes, and tell her how many she had taken away, or added, or whatever she did. She did it with grass cups … wait, grass cups? Or was that a dream I had? Something might have broken at some point, but that's a story for another time.

My brother, Andrew, was always trying to show me up. "I know how many cups there are," he'd say. "Maybe the reason you don't know is that you can't count them." He was always doing things like that. Trying to make me look bad. Destroying my things. Flicking my ears. It was all totally unprovoked. He even snuck into my room once and poured red pepper all over me and into my eyes and mouth. I woke up screaming. I'm not bitter at the little jackass. Even though he threw my A-Team van into the creek that one time.

I counted the cups and found that there were eight of them. "Eight cups, mom," I said. She smiled. She took some of the cups away and made me count again, and I had to think about it. Andrew laughed at me. I threw up on him once, you know. I was on the top bunk, and he was on the bottom. I was retching, and he looked up and said, "What's wrong?" That was when I threw up all over him. I was too sick to appreciate it much then, but it makes me smile to think about it now. Then there was the time I punched him in the face.

Anyways, I told my mom that there were now six cups, and that she had taken two of them away. Andrew grinned that annoying bigger brother grin of his and said, "I learned that faster than you, Paul."

You know, I broke his hand once. Heh. That was pretty sweet.