Toy Boats

The late afternoon light seeped under the dusty vinyl blinds and sank heavily in the tepid air. Alex stood barefoot on the stale carpet, his liquid brown eyes even with the top of the cheap hotel mattress. Standing on the tips of his toes, he gazed at his sleeping mother. His stomach rumbled softly and he extended his hand, pulling back before he touched her tear-stained face. Her auburn hair was matted to her head and flecks of mascara had made the journey from her eyelashes to her cheeks.

Alex pressed his back to the side of the bed and slumped down to the floor. He started softly counting, hesitating when the numbers grew. The reverberation of the nearby highway nearly drowned out his diminutive voice as the afternoon sank into early evening. Alex rose from the carpet like an old man pushing his way out of a sinking armchair. Crossing the room, he peered at the leather purse perched on top of the corner chair. Glancing tenuously over at her, he pulled the purse toward his chest and gently set it on the floor.

When he was younger (he was four now), she would say that she had everything that she needed in that bag: band-aids for scrapped knees, wet wipes for sticky fingers, and lemon drops to pacify impatient children. Alex’s stomach rumbled like a nearing thunderstorm and he slowly reached his hand into his mother’s purse. His little fingers grasped and clutched, pulling each item to the top and immediately releasing it back into the depths. Alex paused for a moment and crossed his arms over his chest. Moving stealthily, he grabbed the purse and quietly tipped it over, releasing its contents. Leaking pens, old receipts, and unwrapped pieces of tobacco-covered gum littered the stained floor. He carefully extracted the gum from the pile, and tentatively placed it in his mouth. Chewing once, he gagged loudly.

Alex quickly covered his mouth, his eyes wide with fear. His mother rolled out of bed, with a vacant look in her eyes. Coming over to him, she roughly grabbed Alex by the right arm and yanked him close to her. His eyes watered at her fetid breath.

“Alex, how many times have I told you that my purse is not a play thing? You’re just like your father. You can’t leave well enough alone.”

Muttering low expletives, his mother crossed the room to scoop up the contents of her purse. She turned back to him and, seeing his small eyes filled with tears, came back and crouched down till her face was level with his.

“I’m sorry Alex. I guess I’m just not cut out for this. If you’ll be a good boy and stay here, I’ll go find something for us to eat.”

Alex nodded numbly and she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, crossing the room and heavily opening the hotel door.

As the door closed, Alex began to cry with great heaving sobs. He ran to the window and looked over the dusty window sill down the narrow balcony. Abruptly, stark determination crossed his face and Alex turned, marching to the small bathroom.

He remembered a time when he had made his mother laugh; she and his father were holding hands, her head tilted comfortably near the crook of his neck. They were watching him as he motored his toy boats around the large white claw-foot tub. When his boats crashed, Alex would make loud noises and his mother would throw back her head, her laugh ringing out like wedding bells.

Alex reached up to the sink, his small hand grasping for the wrapped cups he couldn’t see. His tiny fingers pinched the plastic and a cup tumbled to the floor. He picked it up, excitedly tearing at its protective cover. Moving back to the bathtub, he climbed in and plugged the drain as he had seen his mother do before. He opened the tap, and as the water filled the tub the plastic cup danced on the surface like a small plastic boat.