Absolutely Almost(11)

            I tilted my head to the side and probably looked more confused.

            “Albert Einstein,” she explained. And when she said it, she looked like I really should’ve known that. Like maybe I wasn’t so smart after all.

            I waited for Mom to say something about that, but when I looked up at her, she was smiling a smile without teeth. “It was lovely running into you, Theresa,” she said, and then she hugged the lady again, and I had to hug her too, but after that the lady went away, which was good.

            “My name’s not Albert,” I said when I was sitting down again, back to sipping my hot chocolate. “It’s Albin.”

            “I know that, Albie,” Mom said. “I named you, remember?” She finished the rest of her coffee. “You about ready?”

            “Yeah, almost.”

            I let the last sip of hot chocolate sit on my tongue for a little bit before I swallowed it down, and then Mom and I headed home.





almost, albie.




            My whole life, I’ve always been an almost.

            “Almost, Albie.”

            “Almost.”

            I was an almost in kindergarten when I asked if I could use markers at art time, instead of just crayons.

            “Almost, Albie,” the art teacher said. “Let’s wait until your grip is a little stronger.”

            I was an almost in first grade when I wanted to walk our dog, Biscuit.

            “Almost, Albie,” my mom said. “He still tugs too hard for you.”

            I was an almost in second grade after I spent a whole weekend practicing my sounding-out words so I could move up to the red reading group.

            “Almost, Albie,” Miss Langhoff told me. “You have a tiny ways to go.”

            I was an almost in third grade too, when my poem wasn’t picked for the wall for Parents’ Night.

            “Almost, Albie,” Mr. Vidal said. “I almost put yours up. But there were so many to choose from.”

            By fourth grade, I was an almost every day.

            “Almost, Albie.”

            That’s what they tell me.

            “Almost.”

            “Almost.”

            Always, always almost.





a real a-10

thunderbolt.




            Me and my dad went to the Sea, Air, and Space Museum together once, when I was nine. We spent the whole day together, me and him. It was the best day. Dad even had fun too, I think. He said he did. Afterward he said he wasn’t so sorry the subway broke down and got us stuck there, all the way over on the west side of Manhattan, where no cabdriver would ever dream of picking us up.

            Dad bought me a model airplane from the gift shop, a real A-10 Thunderbolt. He said he’d help me put it together. He hasn’t had a lot of time lately, but one of these days, he will. It will be a lot of fun.





math club.




            Mrs. Rouse signed me up for math club. She did it without even asking me, which I thought wasn’t very fair. I told her I didn’t want to be in any math club, because math is the worst subject out of any subject in the school. Only I didn’t exactly say the part about math being awful, because she taught math, so that might make her sad. Even if she did deserve it, because of signing me up for math club without even asking me.

            “I think you’ll like it, Albie, really,” Mrs. Rouse told me, which was what grown-ups said right before they made you do something that stunk. I wrinkled my nose. “Just give it a shot, all right?”