Arlen Needs a Home

The boy who didn't stay

Jun 17, 2026

Arlen Needs a Home

The boy from first grade lived in the local orphanage. His visit has stayed with me since 1958, part of a medley of instructions. I was learning that family could be undone as easily as it was made

Saturday morning before Easter, Dad helps a little boy, who holds a brown paper bag, out of our Buick. Mom and I have stepped outside to greet them. Dad introduces Arlen to Mom and me. He is from the big stone orphanage next to our elementary school. We’re all smiling and saying hi, and I see Arlen’s two front teeth are missing, like mine. He’s so little, probably six like me, and his voice is small and southern. He talks like other kids in my class, the ones I’ve met of over fifty boys and girls in first grade.

I got my long ringlets cut off in New York after kindergarten, because Mom said it would be hot down here. Dad is in the Air Force, and left for Tokyo after we moved to Victoria. He stayed there for ten months, while I stayed here with Mom to go to school.
When I turned six, Dad told me I was adopted as a baby. He said that he and Mom wanted a baby, so they brought me home to their apartment in South Carolina. Dad said my big baby doll should be named Michael, the name he said he would have given a baby he wanted to keep, the boy in the crib next to me in the infant home. I wondered if Dad meant he wanted the boy instead of me. Dad is back now until we move again. Maybe Arlen will stay with us.

That afternoon, Arlen and I take turns riding the new blue bicycle Dad got me. When we get hungry, Mom calls us in for baloney sandwiches and glasses of milk. Later that evening, she cooks supper. We say grace and eat like we’re family. I’m happy, and Mom, Dad, and Arlen look happy too.
At bath time, Mom helps me. Then Dad helps Arlen run his water to take his bath. Arlen brushes his teeth with the toothbrush from his paper bag. He also has P.J.’s and a small square blanket in his bag, but Mom says he can wear the pajamas with the cowboys she has for him. He climbs into the pull-out couch she made up for him with sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. We say goodnight, and I get into my bed and wish. I’ll never be lonely if Arlen lives with us.

Dad takes pictures of Arlen, me, and Mom in our Easter clothes, standing beside our brick duplex. Big baskets with green synthetic grass hold foil-wrapped chocolate bunnies, and dressed-up cloth bunnies: a girl for me and a boy for Arlen. We hold our baskets up for the picture. His plaid shirttail keeps coming out of his trousers. Maybe, if I wish hard enough. I know Mom would take good care of Arlen. She could buy him clothes for church, school, and play. We could be like brother and sister.

After Mass, we eat bacon and eggs, then our chocolate bunnies. We hide and hunt plastic eggs filled with jelly beans. I love Arlen and hope he’ll live with us. We might have wished it together.

Dad and Arlen get back into the Buick early Monday morning. Mom says he must return to “the home,”and tells me to say goodbye. My hot tears fall, and I’m disappointed that Arlen isn’t staying. “Arlen’s sad. It’s not right to send him back,” I say. My parents don’t explain.
What if I have to go to the orphanage? Why didn’t Arlen work out? Will I see him again? What if it doesn’t work out for me, either? Why did Arlen get put in there? Could I be returned? My “real” mother is dead. Everyone disappears.

END.

Thank you so much for reading!