Arthur and Arnold Carey
April 23, 2011 10:45 PM
Happy birthday to us (First Year Boys' Dorm) by Arthur and Arnold Carey
Arthur was just beginning to feel the warm glow of satisfaction and accomplishment that came with finishing a history exam in record time and knowing he’d known every answer when he was abruptly jerked out of the half-awake state he’d drifted into in order to have his testing dream by a pillow to the face.“You always were slow,” Arnold informed him in a whisper, bouncing away before Arthur could attempt to retaliate. “Still too slow. ‘Swhy I’m older than you.”
“No, you’re not,” Arthur groused, keeping his voice down, too. There was no need to wake up the dorm. “If you were, you’d be in the room over there.” He pointed to the wall to emphasize his point, “and I’d get to find out how that dream was going to end.”
“You’re really going to sleep all day on our birthday?” Arnold demanded.
Arthur glanced at the clock, and all became clear at once. Technically, for about the next thirty seconds, Arnold was older than him.
He decided, since it was their first birthday away from their parents, to be a good sport about it. “Happy birthday, then,” he said.
Arnold, being Arnold and therefore in possession of all the maturity of a gnat which had been dropped on its head as an egg, actually watched the second hand on the clock until Arthur was officially twelve as well before he nodded. “Happy birthday,” he replied. Then, without further ado, he turned to the large pile of packages which had somehow materialized at the end of his bed. “I almost saw how they got here,” he said. “I’m sure I heard them coming in.”
Arthur really looked at him for the first time and realized that, aside from having on no shoes, Arnold was already fully dressed. Had he seriously stayed at least half-awake all night to see if they would get their gifts delivered? And, if so, was he seriously as alert and chipper as he seemed right now? It was even more unfair than Grandfather getting to be head of the family and Arthur never getting Hamilton House when he and Father were the only ones left who cared anything about it.
“Who cares?” he said. “Presents!” And he grabbed one off of his own pile.
Arnold gave him a strange look. “I think we just switched personalities,” he commented.
Arthur shrugged and began opening his present.
He was admiring the binding on the new dictionary he’d asked for when a balled-up piece of Arnold’s wrapping paper hit him in the head and bounced off harmlessly. Arthur put the book down and gave his brother his best impression of the Fourth’s stern look. “No,” he said flatly.
“It’s tradition,” Arnold said.
“So you’re going to throw things at my head when we’re ninety?” Arthur demanded, hoping Arnold would recognize the fallacy in invoking a tradition which had begun when they’d allegedly tossed bits of paper in each other’s general directions as one-year-olds. Arnold, though, looked surprised in a way that Arthur didn’t like at all. It didn’t imply he saw Arthur’s point.
“Of course,” he said, as though Arthur were crazy to have ever doubted it.
“I think Mother lied,” Arthur said, crumpling up more wrapping paper in resignation. “She wanted to make a statement by not having her eldest be Eight, so she bought you off the black market and just told everyone that I had a twin.”
“You’re very – “ Arnold started to say, but was cut off when Arthur repaid that paper ball to the head in full. “Nice shot,” he complimented him.
“I’m a Chaser,” Arthur replied. Then it was war.
The rules were simple: hit the other one when you throw, and catch what the other one throws at you. The last usually went unnoticed in the ducking and covering, but Arnold seemed to want to show off by catching as many of Arthur’s projectiles as possible, and Arthur used that to get in several hits by throwing more quickly than Arnold could catch. If they had been keeping score, he supposed that would have made the points about equal.
He was just beginning to forget where he was and have fun with it and really help his brother make a mess when, trying to catch one that rebounded off a bedpost and went wide, Arnold lost his balance and crashed into the bathroom door with a sound that would have woken the dead, never mind their roommates. He winced in equal parts for his twin and for that realization as Arnold got back up, holding onto his shoulder and muttering words that he must have learned either from Grandfather or since they came here.
“Good morning,” Arthur said to the first face not related to him to appear. “It’s our birthday.”
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Arthur and Arnold Carey
Happy birthday to us (First Year Boys' Dorm)
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Arthur and Arnold Carey
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