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Back before Stanford and Stanley were born, Shermie knew that the life he lived with his parents wasn't simple. The memories before his Papa opened the pawnshop that they're all living in were etched in the 8 year old's mind. Memories made from a couple few dingy places. Now, Shermie is curious about one thing: "How old were my parents when they had me?"
"So my Mom was born in 1929 and my Dad was born in 1928..."
Shermie started to speak to no one except himself in his bedroom. As he remained comfortable on his bed, his hand moved the pencil on a page of a notebook. He would write the years down separately next to each other.
"And I was born in 1944. Now, 1944 minus 1929."
Shermie jolts down his birth year just on top of the years of his parents. He starts to calculate the numbers, subtracting his year to his Mama's first.
"15."
Shermie took a pause at the number he got, blinking at it. What?
"That can't be right. That is not past 18.”
Shermie repeats what he did, recalculating his and his Mom's years again on the side of the page. It came to the same result. He stared at the numbers wide in astonishment in brief silence before looking at where he wrote his father's birth year. He heaved a heavy breath before calculating his year to his.
"1944 minus 1928. A year before Mom."
"16."
A heavy feeling starts to grow in Shermie's heart as he processes the results in his head. It was so heavy that the pencil he had slipped out of his hands and his vision started to spiral. His mind starts to recall a few things as much he couldn't help to:
“Sorry, sweetie. We can’t get you that today.”
"You got enough of 'hat at home, son."
The same words Shermie heard when he was denied getting too many each time, especially a toy whenever he accompanied either of his parents to the store. When he was much younger, he did cry when he was told no. Eventually with enough chiding, especially from his Dad, he learned that he couldn't always get his way.
“Always save any money ya find, even from the ground, boy. A dollar or penny is worth a lot. You can get lots of things if you have enough.” The time he saw his Dad collecting some lost coins from the floor and he gave some advice. He was encouraged to keep any glass jars as some kind of makeshift piggy bank in his bedroom.
“But many things can come from lying, sweetheart. There are good and bad lies. For me, I lie to people for them to pay me enough money for us.” When he asked his Mom why she lies to people about their fortunes for her job as a phone psychic.
“You boys should be grateful for everything we have. I always work hard to put food on this table along with this roof above our heads. You better make up to me someday when you grow up.” His Dad’s words before he argued with Mom when he briefly pointed out the food made for meals. They never usually had much fancier and bigger meals.
Shermie set the notebook away and held his knees up to his chest. He lays his head down against his arms.
"It all makes sense now." Shermie murmured.
Shermie came out of the bedroom. The person he had been thinking about, his Mom, is in the living room. His little brothers are both sleeping over at the couch as Mom picks after the scattered mess of their toys in the room. As Mom gathered some of the toys into their toy box, Shermie ran behind her. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned her head to him.
"Oh, Shermie. What did yer Dad and I tell you about running-"
Before Mom could finish her words in her usual light-hearted tone, Shermie wrapped his arms around her arm, bringing her into a sudden hug. She paused in shock.
"Mom." Shermie greeted quietly against her arm. At his tone, Mom's gaze turned into concern.
"Yes, sweetie?" Mom inquired softly as she brought her hands around Shermie.
"Were you and Dad happy when I was born?"
At the question, Mom's breath hitched.
"Now now, Shermie. Where did this come from?"
"Please answer me." Shermie’s voice cracked as his hands clenched onto the fabric of Mom's dress. "I want to know, Mom."
Pause. Mom reaches her other hand to Shermie’s head as she holds onto his shoulders.
“Will you tell me why you’re askin’ this? I need to know what we’re talking about here to give an answer, hon.” Mom inquired gently. A tone gentle enough that told Shermie that she won’t judge him. To actually listen to him.
Shermie stayed silent, pondering over his answer.
“I… I wanted to know how old you and Dad were when you had me.”
Mom hummed as she listened.
“So I did some math. I got numbers lower than the adult ages of 18. 15 and 16.”
“Oh.”
“No matter how much I tried to fix that, I got the same numbers. Did you and Dad really have me that young?”
Just as Shermie inquired once more, his voice cracks as he tries to blink to keep himself calm.
“Is that why you and Dad are struggling? Working hard for money constantly…”
Shermie sniffled a bit as he tried to speak once more.
“You work to lie to people for their pockets. All to keep us under a roof.”
No matter how hard Shermie tried to hold himself back, his vision started to blur from tears. Wetting the fabric of his Mom’s dress.
“Am I the reason why we’re living like this? Did I ruin everything–“
Before Shermie could finish, Mom brought him against her shoulder into a much proper hug. Shermie’s breath sharply hitched at the sudden change.
“No, no… Yes, we had you in our teens. We kept you, Sherman,” Mom reassured as she patted Shermie’s back. “You never ruined anything.”
“I don’t believe that. Dad never smiled,” Shermie argued through a shaky voice, “He always seems so tired and sad all the time.”
Upon hearing Shermie’s words as he cried, Mom softly sighed. She lightly pulls Shermie’s face off her shoulder, her gentle gaze meeting with his teary face.
“He isn’t good at showing it but…” Mom spoke as she lightly wiped the tears off Shermie’s cheeks.
“He does care deeply for this family. He shows his love differently for all of us. You may have changed our lives, but you’re our pride and joy.” Mom answered with such reassurance, keeping a rather gentle and light-hearted face. She brings Shermie back into their hug.
As much that did make Shermie’s tears eventually fade away, the doubts in Shermie’s heart lingered. But he still leaned into his Mom’s hug. Her hugs are always the warmest.
Shermie helped his Mom with carrying both of his brothers to their room after their moment and some cleaning. She carried Stanley while he carried Stanford in their arms. She left the room to make some supper. Shermie would’ve followed after her, but he felt like staying.
Shermie is sitting down on the floor with his back against the wooden frame of a bed belonging to one of his brothers, his knees up to his chest and his arms crossed. He takes in his surroundings within his brothers’ room, specifically noticing their toybox. Most of their toys were once his that he recognizes somewhat. A lot of his things, if they were still intact and usable, were handed down to Stanford and Stanley.
‘Now that I know, everything feels sad.’ Shermie mulled over before he sighed.
As Shermie wallowed in his thoughts much further, he heard faint shuffling sounds. At the sounds’ direction, Shermie turned his gaze. There, he sees the sleeping form of Stanley almost hanging off the side of his bed.
Out of immediate concern, Shermie dragged himself up to move the small boy in the lightest movements he could. Now Stanley is laying on his back, his arms spread out and his mouth agape from snoring. When Shermie looks at him, he is reminded of a screeching hawk. The silly image of his baby brother made him chuckle away the heavy emotions he was feeling.
‘A hawk would fit Stanley,’ Shermie pondered in amusement as he stood up from Stanley’s bed. ‘Once he grows up with all of that free spirit in him.’
Shermie looks down at his other baby brother, Stanford, who is peacefully snoring away at his bed.
‘Maybe… I’m born to help them reach high skies, as their big brother.’
Shermie smiled.
‘I hope I don’t ruin it.’