Part 8 (1/2)

Very carefully he reached up with the scissors and snipped at a curl. It fell into the sink on top of the foam. Where the curl had been, there was now just a small tuft of hair. It was sticking up. Straight up.

He stared at it. It was the beginning, he realized, of a punk haircut.

He snipped another curl and watched it drop into the sink.

And another.

He began to wonder whether, when he finished the top, he would be able to figure out how to make the little tail in the back.

He snipped again.

Twenty minutes later, through the closed bathroom door, Sam could hear his mother's footsteps coming up the stairs. He could hear her voice.

”Anastasia?” she was saying. ”Sam? It's awfully quiet up here. What are you guys doing?”

”Homework,” Sam could hear his sister call.

Sam put his scissors down. He looked around the bathroom. The beard foam had dissolved and was mostly gone. But there was hair everywhere.

”Is Sam in your room?” he heard his mother ask.

”No, he went downstairs a long time ago,” Anastasia replied.

”Sam?” his mother called.

Sam leaned over the sink and looked once more into the mirror. Foam had dried on his chin and cheeks, and snippets of hair had dried in it, so he had a fuzzy beard. His curls were mostly gone. Here and there a curl remained, but most of his head wasa”well, it wasn't what he had hoped.

He had hoped for little tufts and spikes, like Adam's hair, and a small tail in the back.

But something had gone wrong. It was chunks. And there was a bald spot right in front. He hadn't wanted a bald spot at all.

”Are you in the bathroom, Sam?” His mother's voice was louder.

He looked at himself again. The head looking back at him didn't look like Sam Krupnik at all.

”No,” he called. ”Someone else is in the bathroom.”

His mother knocked on the door. ”I beg your pardon?” she said.

”Are you looking for your cute little boy, Sam?” Sam called nervously.

His mother chuckled. ”Yes, I am,” she called through the door. ”It's his cute little bedtime.”

”Well,” Sam replied very slowly, ”Sam has disappeared. He turned into someone else, I think.”

His mother opened the door. She opened her mouth, as if she were going to say something, but no words came out. She stared.

”I'm not Sam anymore,” Sam whispered miserably.

His mother's mouth remained open, but she didn't speak.

”I'm a porkypine,” Sam wailed. ”An ugly one!”

For a very, very long moment his mother still said nothing. They stared at each other in absolute silence.

”Sam,” she said at last, ”I have never ever wished to have a porcupine instead of a son.”

”I know,” Sam said, sniffling.

”And for the very first time, I feel a terrible desire to spank you,” his mother said. ”An urgea”an almost uncontrollable urgea”to spank you. A need to spank you.”

Sam poked out his tongue to catch a tear that was coming down his sticky cheek. He tasted hair and dried foam.

”I don't think,” his mother continued, ”that I am actually going to spank you. But I want you to know that I would like to.”

Sam nodded. ”Me too,” he said miserably. ”I want to spank myself.”

”Do you think,” his mother asked, ”that we could try to laugh, instead?”

”I don't feel like laughing,” Sam said, spitting out some stray bits of hair.

”Neither do I,” said his mom. ”But here are the choices. You could cry. I could spank you. If I spank you, then I will cry, too. Or we could both laugh.”

”Let's try to laugh,” Sam said sadly.

”Ha ha,” they both said, and turned the corners of their mouths up very slightly.

Sam's lower lip was still quavering. He laughed again. So did his mom. At first it wasn't easy. But after a moment, the laughter was real. It got louder and louder. Anastasia came running in to see what was going on. Sam's father came upstairs with the newspaper in his hand.

For a very long time, all four Krupniks stayed in the small bathroom together. Sam's father was sitting on the edge of the tub. Sam was still standing on the closed toilet seat. His mother and sister leaned against the wall where the towels hung.

They howled with laughter. They laughed until they were exhausted.

The next morning, bright and early, Sam went with his mother to the barber for repairs. For four weeks, until his curls grew back, he had the most interesting punk hairdo in town. It was even better than his friend Adam's.

12.

”Katherine,” Sam's daddy said at dinner, ”this is terrific fish chowder.”

”Thanks,” said Sam's mother. ”It is good, isn't it? It's fattening, though. All that cream.”

Sam looked up from his own chowder. He liked it because he could mash up crackers in it, which was fun. But he wasn't thinking about his chowder. He was thinking about something that he had just noticed for the first time.

”Why,” Sam asked his father in a thoughtful voice, ”do you call Mommy 'Katherine'? But I call her Mommy?”