CHAPTER 22

Next morning the doorbell rang. “Who could that be?” my mother said. Teddy beat her to the door.

We heard a man’s voice say, “Air Mail, Special Delivery. Sign here please.”

“It’s for you, Al!” Teddy hollered. “It’s a big envelope for you.”

“Well, bring it here, wimp,” I called.

Al is one of those maddening people who studies a package before she opens it. She turned this big thick envelope one way, then another. She shook it and put it to her ear. The only thing she didn’t do was smell it.

“Who’s it from?” my mother said.

Teddy was breathing down Al’s neck. “Open it, open it,” he said, clutching himself as if he had to go to the bathroom. He probably did.

“The postmark’s Chillicothe, Ohio,” Al said in a tone of wonder. “That’s where the farm is. Chillicothe, Ohio.”

“For Pete’s sake,” I shouted, “it’s from your father. Open it before I kill you.”

She did, but slowly, so slowly I couldn’t stand it. “You must be a real winner on Christmas morning,” I told her.

She took out something dark blue. “What is it?” she said a few times. She held up something that looked like a huge T-shirt.

“Cool,” she said in a puzzled way.

“It has writing on it,” I said. “Shake it out and see what it says.”

Al stood up so she could get a better look. It was a very large T-shirt. On the front was spelled out AL(exandra) THE GREAT.

“Not to be confused with Alexander the Great,” my mother said. “That’s terrific. Here’s a note, Al. It fell out when you pulled out your present.” She handed Al a slip of paper. Al read aloud:

“To Al. This says it in a nutshell. You are great. We love you and will see you soon. Dad and Louise and Nick, Chris, and Sam.”

“What a nice present,” my mother said. “And they’re right, Al.”

“Put it on,” I told her. “See how it fits.”

“It’s gigantic,” she said, giggling Al almost never giggles, so I knew this was a big moment. She put on the T-shirt over what she already had on. She looked really fat.

My mother went out of the room. “Who in heck was Alexander the Great?” Al whispered. “I know I should know, but I don’t, and I didn’t want to let on when your mother said that.”

“Here you are.” My mother plunked down the encyclopedia on the dining room table. “Look him up. This will tell you everything you want to know about Alexander the Great.”

“Wow,” I said after we’d read Alexander the Great’s credentials. “Talk about being a real winner.”

It seemed that Alexander the Great, a.k.a. Alexander the Third, born 356 B.C., died 323 B.C. (I always like the way those B.C. dates go backwards), was one of the greatest leaders, not to mention generals and warriors, of all time. He was king of Macedonia and conquered almost all of Asia. When he wasn’t routing Persian forces, he was defeating anything and anyone that got in his way. Old Alexander the Great was a star. From start to finish. A real achiever. And he died when he was only thirty-three.

“Boy,” Al mused, “if that guy were alive today, he’d be the president of about ten corporations already. Do you think they’re trying to tell me something? Dad and Louise, I mean? Do you think they’re trying to tell me to get off my duff and conquer something?”

“No,” I said. “I think they’re trying to tell you they think you’re great. That you did something heroic when you said you couldn’t make the barn dance. That’s what I think.”

Al looked at me in a dazed way. Her eyes glittered as if they were made of bits of glass.

“You are young but very wise, my friend,” she said. “You are wise beyond vour years.” And she hugged the T-shirt to her chest, smiling.