Finally catching his breath, Peter kneeled atop his mother’s left breast as she continued on in a sound sleep, careful not to ruffle her freshly ironed bright blue blouse. 

                The woman had obviously been so wiped out from work she hadn’t even bothered to change into comfier clothes before hitting the sheets, in addition to the fact that the instant he and Erica had walked back in the door from the bus ride home, his mom had swept him up to her bedroom for a full debriefing of the day’s events.

                Staring at his mother’s blissfully sleeping face, and then down at the hills of her comparatively tremendous chest, he puzzled idly at why she had chosen such an odd arrangement for sleeping, and yet somehow he already knew the answer.

                At Peter’s birth, since his body hadn’t exceeded much more than an inch in length, breastfeeding had been out of the question for the various logistical reasons, namely that the baby Peter couldn’t have managed fitting Suzanne’s colossal nipple into his miniscule mouth, let alone having the strength to suck the milk out.  Ever resourceful, though, Suzanne had taken to using a pump to collect her newborn son’s nourishment from her breasts and pouring it into a dropper.  From there, holding the little baby Peter in her palm, she would gingerly pinch the rubber dropper and allow small beads of milk to dribble into his mouth, which he hungrily gobbled up.

                Peter had seen proof of this in family photos, and while it was admittedly a little odd to see, with his infant body so small the camera barely picked it up in the massive cupped palm of the new young mother, it was an omnipresent reminder to him of his mother’s dedication to being a parent, no matter the issues that had to be dealt with.

                Nevertheless, Peter had always had the feeling his mother missed the bonding time with him that she had enjoyed with his infant sisters, both of whom were born at a completely normal size and had no need for accommodation.  So, on occasion, he found his mother hugging him a little closer than was probably necessary toward her breasts.  It wasn’t a conscious decision, or at least he didn’t think so; rather, his mother’s need to be close to him, coupled with her constant worry that he would someday accidentally end up mulched on the bottom of someone’s sneaker, guided her.

                With a shrug, Peter slid down the fabric slope into the smooth valley between his mother’s breasts and strolled casually along the button line of her blouse and down to her stomach, near her beltline, where it would be easiest to slide back to the bedspread. 

                He walked slowly, careful not to disturb her sleep, instead focusing on the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest that he could feel even down her abdomen, the heat from her body radiating through the clothes and making his feet tingle a little with comforting maternal warmth. 

                Crouching down and clutching the small folds of fabric in the vast blouse adorning the field of his mother’s torso, Peter slid easily down her hip, onto the cushy floor of the sheet, and headed for the edge of the bed.

                More than anything, after such a fitful experience in his restless nap, Peter just wanted to get away and have some isolation.  His entire day had been one of immense contact and attention-garnering chauvinism, whether or not he wanted it.  While Peter had always enjoyed the company of other people, and while he had certainly mentally prepared himself for whatever misadventures might befall him at public high school, this was far more than he was prepared for.  From being chauffeured to all his classes in the palm of his sister’s hand, to having every other student in the room gawking at their runty peer like he was the illegitimate offspring of a circus freak and a science project, Peter needed to be able to feel invisible to the world.  Although as his mother often reminded him for his own safety, being invisible to others in his position was a dangerous idea.

                Peter sighed and clambered down onto the winding wooden staircase Suzanne had had carved specially into various tables, desks, and beds around the house for the small boy’s easy access.  They were beginning to show a little wear, but since he was the only one who ever had to use them, they held up well, and each step offered a soft creak, reminding Peter of the familiar and known.  This house had been mostly what he had resided in for his entire life, and now, to know that almost half his waking life wouldn’t be spent in it, he was filled with some newfound apprehension.

                The trek across the soft white carpet of his mother’s master bedroom was peaceful yet deafening in its oddly cold silence for Peter. 

                The door ajar, he ducked through the crack into the empty hallway, he leaned against the olive green walls, staring down at his feet and exhaling with effort.  He closed his eyes, just trying to keep things in focus.

                His moment of reflection was interrupted by tremors in the carpet below him, becoming stronger and stronger.  Peter could feel the atmosphere around him changing and the vibrations of the carpet tickling the muscles in his legs and feet.  Without even opening his eyes, he could sense the motion of things around him, air brushing gently against his cheeks.  His head still hanging, Peter inhaled, feeling a thick, salty aroma of bodily musk filling his nostrils. 

                Knowing precisely what this was, and opening his eyes again, Peter found himself staring down at a colossal right foot just a few steps away from his body, clad in a hot pink sock and decorated in white spots.  Bulbous toes larger than Peter’s head wriggled playfully against the fuzzy fabric, and slowly, Peter’s vision shifted up the slope of the foot, past the tight jean leg, and along the bright purple blouse to his younger sister Jessica’s gorgeous smiling face as she gazed down upon him, a goofy grin on her lips.

                “Hey, Jessie,” Peter croaked, clearing his throat after having not spoken for a while aloud.  He wrinkled his nose, sensing the tainted scent emanating from the gigantic thirteen-year-old’s socks hanging in the air.  He couldn’t help but notice as his sister ground her toes together inside the footwear that barely noticeable but nonetheless present dark patches of sweat had formed in the toe crevices of the pink socks.

                Jessica giggled and covered her mouth politely, clearly sensing her brother’s discomfort as he stood before her toes.  Her golden locks covered her eyes partially as she gazed down at him, tilting her head with slight amusement.

                “Sorry, Peter.  Do my socks kind of smell?  I wore my Converse today and I finally just took ‘em off,” she admitted somewhat apologetically, nevertheless grinning a little as she watched Peter’s face fight off a disgusted expression as the pungent aroma continued to fill his every breath.

                “Uhh… yeah, just a… little,” Peter wheezed out, finally unable to stop himself and coughing a few times into his arm.

                Snickering, Jessica leaned over quickly, laying her cupped hand palm-up before her brother, curling her fingers in slightly.  “Wanna hop in?  Get away from the big stinky tootsies?”

                “Yes, please,” Peter groaned facetiously, quickly stepping onto the soft skin of his teenage sister’s fingers and plopping easily into a seated position, filling her palm, as she raised him back up, grinning playfully.

                “How was real person high school?  Well… I mean…” Jessica blurted excitedly before realizing her breach of etiquette and retracting, her eyes shifting uncomfortably with embarrassment.  “You know… what I mean…”

                “I know what you meant, yeah,” Peter nodded with a smile, knowing his sister meant well.  He was just glad to be up in the clean air above, rather than so close to the carpet.  His mother made a habit of vacuuming the floors that Peter most frequently walked upon to limit his exposure to the elements, but inevitably, Peter found himself trudging through crumbs, stray hairs, and specks of paper that ended up flecked over the soft terrain of the halls.

                And, of course, there was the issue of being constantly in closer than comfortable proximity to the feet of his mother and two sisters.  Suzanne had made it a house rule for herself and her daughters that shoes were never, under any circumstances, to be worn around the house.  This was to ensure that, if one of them accidentally began to step on Peter without seeing him, they would immediately feel him shifting beneath them and be able to stop before the unthinkable happened. 

                For Peter, this also meant there was never a shoe to buffer him with space from their feet, and despite a high quality of hygiene in general in the Clark household, at the end of a long day of work or school, Peter consistently found himself surrounded in a muggy odor of sweaty skin and salty cotton generated by six tired feet stamping around the house cautiously, usually oblivious to the strain this would put on Peter’s nose. 

                This was why Peter primarily tried to stick to countertops and tables when he could help it.  He didn’t really have the heart to complain to his mother or sisters about the smell, because if he was being honest with himself, it was only ever absent for a few hours after they took a shower, and complaining didn’t seem like the thing to do when they all already sacrificed so much to accommodate him.

                “I’ve gotta do some homework before Mom wakes up to make dinner and stuff.  Wanna come?” Jessica asked brightly, obviously wanting to get off the previous subject she had accidentally uttered.

                “Sure.  But… you’ve got homework?  You’re only in middle school.  How do you have homework the first day?”

                “Oh, it’s just filling in a sheet about something-something… I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening,” Jessica shrugged slyly, pressing a finger against her pursed lips as if to shush her brother.  “Don’t tell Mom,” she whispered.

                “Come on, Jessie, you’ve gotta pay attention to everything, even if it seems little.  It’s more important than you know,” Peter warned firmly, trying not to sound bossy.  Despite being small enough for Jessica to pluck off the ground with two fingers, he knew it was his duty as a “big” brother to make sure she stayed on the straight and narrow path as often as possible.

                “That makes sense,” Jessica smirked.  “Just like you, right?”  Slowly, with practiced skill, the teen kept her hand holding her brother perfectly level as she strode swiftly toward her room.

                “Yeah,” Peter chuckled.  “Just like me.”