Cameron and I are greeted with the delicious scent of pumpkin soup as we step back inside our house. I sigh loudly as steam wafts into my nostrils. Cameron sets me carefully onto the kitchen bench as he gives mum a hug. She’s still dressed in her work clothes; a white button up blouse and a tight black skirt. Her feet are bare, but she usually wears high heels to work.

“Hey boys.” She smiles warmly at Cameron first, and then me. “How was your first day of school?”

When Cameron answers, I quickly scamper over to the cutting board on the other side of the bench to grab a scrap of crusty bread from the corner. The loaf itself rests on the cutting board with a knife beside it, but I can’t exactly fit that bus sized thing in my mouth, so I settle for the crumb. Noticing me eating, mum shoots Cameron a mock disapproving look. “Didn’t I tell you to share your lunch with your brother?” She asks.

I wipe my flour coated mouth with the back of my hand before replying. “Sorry mum. The principal didn’t let me sit with him so I went hungry.” I say. “A guy gave me some of his burger, though. He’s called Kevin, I think.”

Mum laughs. “Learn from ‘Kevin’, Cam. He’ll give you lessons on sharing.”

Cam folds his arms in a pout. “You try finding Marcus in a school of over 200 kids! It’s hard enough as it is!” He complains, careful not to speak too loud with me in the room. Mum and Cam never raise their voices around the house, because my sensitive ears pick up everything, even with my earmuffs on.

“I hope that’s a compliment.” I call out over their sarcastic argument, causing both of them to giggle. I’m glad our mum’s so laid back. She’s not into the whole tugging at ears when naughty or screaming movement, like you get with most mums. I guess I’m the cause of most of that gentleness, being midget and all, but I don’t complain.

Mum turns away from Cameron and I so she can begin serving the thick soup into two white bowls; one for herself and the other for Cam. I pick myself up from my cutting board chair and walk across the bench to grab one of my little doll’s china bowls and spoon from a doll’s cupboard which rests atop the bench directly below the regular sized cupboards. Our house is rigged with stuff built to my scale, particularly in the kitchen, to make it easier for me to get around. For instance, there’s a miniature ladder beside the bench so I can access the floor and… (which is suuuppppeeeerrrr embarrassing) a ladder that allows me to reach the toilet.

 I hug the doll’s bowl to my chest as I trek to the stove, where mum’s serving up the soup. My bare feet are cold against the marble bench, which feels like ice to my skin, which isn’t as warm as a regular sized person’s. My body temperature is five degrees, actually. It’s simple to work out. Just divide 37, the normal body temperature by approximately seven. Ok, ok. Let’s forget about all this maths.

I pass my miniature bowl up to mum, who takes it between her thumb and forefinger. I watch as she uses a syringe to squirt the smallest portion of hot soup into the bowl before wiping it clean and adding a dollop of cream on top. Mum’s an expert with cooking, particularly when it’s to my scale. According to Cam, my doll’s bowls are like tissue paper to a normal person and are easy to break. Not that I think so, of course.

As mum returns the bowl to me, now lukewarm from the soup inside, I sigh. Cameron gently lifts me to the dining room table with mum behind him, carrying the soup. This is what I look forward to every day. Dinner. Any person would, with mum’s cooking. Sometimes she even brings my little sister downstairs from her crib. It’s late now, though, and she’s probably asleep.

“So, what did you guys get up to today?” Mum asks as the three of us begin eating. I lick the thick soup from my spoon.

“You know how there are around 90 grade eighters at the school?” I say.

“Yeah.” Mum confirms.

“I was checking Instagram this afternoon and practically all of them are now following me!” I laugh. Cameron shoots me a funny look.

“That’s kinda creepy, Marcus.”

I shrug. “I think they like me.”

“They only like you because you’re tiny.” He mumbles. I wince at that word. Sure, I can handle being called midget. Even small, if it’s worded nicely. But tiny? That makes me feel sick. The pumpkin soup in front of me is suddenly unappealing.

“You know I hate that word…” I say slowly.

“You can’t sugar coat it, Marcus!” Cameron suddenly yells. I cringe at the amplitude of his voice. When I stare up at his face, he looks pained. “You can call yourself midget, sure! But Marcus, it doesn’t deny the fact that you’re handicapped! These kids could kill you! They have no morals! You think that they’re nice but I’ll bet they’re just paedophiles who think you’ve got no bite… which you don’t! As much as you hate to admit it, Marcus, you’re puny! You can’t fight back, not even against Katherine!”

 I stare into my soup bowl, ready to throw up. Cameron has never said something like that to me. Sure, he teases me, pokes at me and spits on me because it’s like being hit with a bucket of water to me, but he’s never actually said…

“Cameron!” Mum scolds, her playful attitude evaporating. I’ve never seen her so angry. “Don’t say things like that about your brother! It’s hardly fair to blame him for what that stupid oncologist woman did to him!”

“Stop.” I say over her booming voice. I look away from my dinner and up at mum, whose eyes are up in flames. “Cameron’s right.” I feel like crying right now. “I am puny…”

Cameron wears a mask of anger. He takes a deep breath, so deep that I can feel the air sucking into his lungs and stands up, causing the cutlery on the table… and me… to shift on the spot. My ears ring from the screeching of his chair against the wooden floorboards. Cam’s eyes blaze when he sees me sprawled on the table, my doll’s soup bowl upturned and spoon snapped in half. “Marcus, you’re too small to do anything! I can’t think straight knowing you’re on your own at school!” He snaps. I’m about to croak out a reply but he’s already stormed upstairs. I hear his bedroom door slam and wince.

 Mum purses her lips, before carefully grabbing my broken cutlery and placing it on a napkin. The remains of my soup are splattered around me. I sit up slowly and sigh. “He’s right, isn’t he?” I mutter. “It’s why you’ve home schooled me up till now. I’m too small to do anything.” I stand up and kick the side of a vase of flowers to emphasize my point, my toes snapping dully on impact. The vase doesn’t even budge.

“You know that’s not true, honey.” Mum says gently. I can see it in her eyes, though. She knows Cameron’s right. She knows I’m right. “Cameron’s just overtired.” She adds.

“I’m going to go talk to him.” I say softly, eyes downcast. My dinner has gone to waste but I’m no longer hungry.

“Do you want a lift upstairs?” Mum asks automatically. Usually, I’d say yes… but tonight…

“No thanks.” I mumble. Mum opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something but closes it abruptly and nods. She stacks Cameron’s and her bowls together, wraps my broken cutlery up in the napkin and stands up.

“Ok then.” She smiles a little. “I’m going to wash up. Just don’t listen to what your brother said. He’s upset. That’s all.”

I watch my mother with weary eyes as she disappears through the hallway to the kitchen and then stare down at my feet. My motivation from earlier this afternoon is gone. After a few minutes though, I begin traipsing across the table top to the midget sized ladder installed on the edge. It takes me a good half hour to scale the staircase and by the time I’ve hauled myself up onto the second level of the house, my arms are like lead. I haven’t actually tackled the stairs by myself in a few months, and the exercise isn’t welcomed by my already tired body.

Feeling deflated, I continue down the upstairs hallway, past my bookshelf and towards Cameron’s bedroom door. It’s closed, as expected, but I squeeze under the gap in the bottom anyway so I’m inside my brother’s room. His room is so different to my own, because, well… it’s normal. Heck, I live in a bookshelf. His bed is on the other side of the room on top of a shaggy red rug which he bought specifically to slow me down during one of my pranks on him. I’m not here to play pranks though.

Cameron sits with his head down on his bed now, the only light coming from his bedside lamp. I walk slowly across the room towards it, moving around discarded t shirts and sweat smelling socks that I could sleep in if I wanted to. My brother is so preoccupied in sulking that he doesn’t notice my grand entrance. He does notice me though, when I manage to climb up the power cord to his bedside lamp, get onto his table and then onto the bed itself. The whole journey has taken my just over 45 minutes.

“You took the stairs, didn’t you?” He asks dully, without looking up.

“Yes.” I reply, panting. I can barely stand up because the bed’s mattress is so soft.

“I’m sorry.” Cameron sighs, finally acknowledging me. He swivels around so he’s facing me as I scramble onto his pillow. “I didn’t mean it, Marco.”

“No.” I say, keeping my voice stern. “You’re right. I am puny.”

“Wait-“

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t go to school and make friends. If you don’t like that, then sure, go ahead and stick me in a jar so I can’t leave the house. Just don’t take away the only quality I have that makes me normal. My ability to have fun.” I say.

Cameron doesn’t say anything for a long time. Too long for my liking. I’m actually getting scared that he’s taken my suggestions about jarring me on board and is planning to do it… But then, after a few minutes, he brings his hand out to scoop me up and I let myself fall backwards into his palm. “I love you, bro.” He says softly, lifting me up so I’m at his chest level. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“That’s alright, Cam.” I smile back. “I love you too.”