by Mikki McLeod

Created on: June 26, 2008   Last Updated: February 09, 2012

Henry The Second

She smelled like cinnamon buns and Lemon Pledge. Henry's grandmother sat in her rocker reading the latest "Reader's Digest." She was just about to start on the word puzzle when a loud, screech of eight year old frustration exploded in the front yard.

Pounding foot stomps up the front stoop stairs led to a desperate, exhausted knock on the front door. There he was; so sad, so disappointed. It was hard to tell his sweat from his tears.

"It happened again," blurted Henry. And although his grandmother hadn't heard the story yet, she knew just what he needed.

She ushered him into the front hall. He threw down his backpack and kicked off his muddy cleats. Henry just played soccer and smelled like wet grass and orange peels.

Even though a bath was probably priority, Grandma pulled Henry close and hugged him.

Henry's after school time was usually spent at his grandmother's house. Grandma always had something cooking, so her house became a warm, yummy, soft spot, where Henry felt safe. The treat today was gooey, cinnamon apple pie with warm drizzles of caramel on top. The spiced scent lingered through the house like the smells of Christmas morning.

Once Grandma released her comforting hug, she sent Henry off to wash up and change out of the latest series of grass stains and grape juice.

She headed straight to the kitchen table. On top of that bright yellow circle of sunshine sat the cooling dessert. Grandma quartered out two slices of yumminess, then sat down and waited; for a much longer time than usual, for Henry.

Henry, however, was upstairs, replaying the day in his head. He climbed up to the sink and washed his face.

"Aargh!" he grunted, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror and asked, "why me?" "Second place again?"

He started thinking about all the times this happened before; this curse of second place. No matter how hard he tried, practiced, or even wished, Henry was convinced that he'd always come in second.

"It always happens to me," he uttered as he remembered a time at school, during recess.

Jimmy, by far the tallest and skinniest kid Henry had ever met, started gathering all the other kids to play Dodgeball.

"Of course, Jimmy was the captain of the blue team. He's always the captain," grumbled Henry.

Then Jimmy picked his best friend Billy as the captain of the red team. Billy didn't talk much, but he loved Dodgeball. Billy, a stocky, little red-haired kid reminded Henry of a bulldog, strong in presence, but moved kind of slow.

Picking

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