toy.
“AHHHHH!”
I dropped the bottle of water. It went bouncing to the floor as I let loose a blood-curdling scream that I’m sure resounded throughout the neighborhood. The dead mouse lay at my feet, a tiny stream of blood steadily leaching from its nose and onto the floor.
I began hopping back and forth from one foot to the other as if I were standing on hot coals. Amanda screeched and raced from the room.
“Calm down. Calm down. Calm down,” I repeated to myself over and over. It’s just a dead field mouse. No need for alarm. Cats kill mice. That’s what they do. It was a present. Amanda was giving Mommy a present. As much as I appreciated the sentiment, I didn’t want another one.
I needed to get the dead mouse out of the house. Amanda wasn’t going to be any help with that. She was nowhere to be found. I needed to find something to pick it up.
*
Five minutes later I was still standing there. I was having a crisis of confidence that I’d ever be able to find the proper utensil to pick up the mouse carcass. I figured I could use a ten ton crane, but I didn’t have one handy.
It was odd, me not feeling confident enough to remove the mouse. In the past, I’d removed all sorts of dead rodents and birds from our garden without a second thought. But this mouse was in the house, lying dead on the beige-and-brown tile kitchen floor, and somehow, being here in the house made it seem more formidable.
I needed to find some body to pick up the dead mouse and get it out of the house.
When Mrs. Dawson opened the door, I noticed she’d changed her hair color. Mrs. Dawson was a natural redhead, like Matt. But not anymore. Her hair was now jet black. Her style had changed, too. It was a cute pixie cut that opened up her face, yet somehow didn’t seem right on her.
“Oh, my stars.” A smile of genuine joy appeared on Mrs. Dawson’s lips when she saw me standing there, which sent tiny needles of guilt threading through my entire body. I’d only been to the Dawson’s a handful of times since Matt’s death. My reason was that living right next door to me had to be a constant reminder for them. Matt and I had been best buddies since kindergarten, so to avoid any added pain for them, I stayed away.
“Hi, Mrs. Dawson.” I was still hanging onto my alarm over the dead mouse, but I knew I needed to be cordial, make a little small talk before barreling ahead with my reason for being there.
She opened the door wide, waiting for me to enter. “Megan. What a surprise. You seem more grown up each time I lay eyes on you.”
“Yeah, I’m getting there.” I didn’t move. My reason for not coming by was actually a flimsy excuse I’d created to make myself feel better. My own guilt over Matt’s death was the real reason I’d stayed away for so long .
“You have a birthday coming up, don’t you?”
I was getting a sinking feeling about coming over there. Matt always spent my birthdays with me. No matter what we did, Matt was always included. “Yeah,” I said weakly. “Sweet sixteen, June twenty-second.” This year would be my first without Matt.
“All grown up,” she said. She was still smiling, but something had changed. It was as if a shade had been drawn behind her eyes, shutting out the light coming from within.
Enough small talk.
“I was wondering, is Mr. Dawson home from work yet?” I asked, abruptly shifting the subject.
“No, not yet. Why?”
I told her about Amanda catching the mouse and dropping it at my feet, and that I was too squeamish to pick it up.
“You don’t need Mr. Dawson for that. I can do it.”
I started to offer a protest. Another woman removing the little rodent from my kitchen would make me feel even more of a wimp than I was already feeling. In addition, her eagerness to help was added guilt for me not visiting. I never stop by, and now I was only there because I needed help removing a dead mouse. What a horrible neighbor I was.
Before I could say “never mind,”
“AHHHHH!”
I dropped the bottle of water. It went bouncing to the floor as I let loose a blood-curdling scream that I’m sure resounded throughout the neighborhood. The dead mouse lay at my feet, a tiny stream of blood steadily leaching from its nose and onto the floor.
I began hopping back and forth from one foot to the other as if I were standing on hot coals. Amanda screeched and raced from the room.
“Calm down. Calm down. Calm down,” I repeated to myself over and over. It’s just a dead field mouse. No need for alarm. Cats kill mice. That’s what they do. It was a present. Amanda was giving Mommy a present. As much as I appreciated the sentiment, I didn’t want another one.
I needed to get the dead mouse out of the house. Amanda wasn’t going to be any help with that. She was nowhere to be found. I needed to find something to pick it up.
*
Five minutes later I was still standing there. I was having a crisis of confidence that I’d ever be able to find the proper utensil to pick up the mouse carcass. I figured I could use a ten ton crane, but I didn’t have one handy.
It was odd, me not feeling confident enough to remove the mouse. In the past, I’d removed all sorts of dead rodents and birds from our garden without a second thought. But this mouse was in the house, lying dead on the beige-and-brown tile kitchen floor, and somehow, being here in the house made it seem more formidable.
I needed to find some body to pick up the dead mouse and get it out of the house.
When Mrs. Dawson opened the door, I noticed she’d changed her hair color. Mrs. Dawson was a natural redhead, like Matt. But not anymore. Her hair was now jet black. Her style had changed, too. It was a cute pixie cut that opened up her face, yet somehow didn’t seem right on her.
“Oh, my stars.” A smile of genuine joy appeared on Mrs. Dawson’s lips when she saw me standing there, which sent tiny needles of guilt threading through my entire body. I’d only been to the Dawson’s a handful of times since Matt’s death. My reason was that living right next door to me had to be a constant reminder for them. Matt and I had been best buddies since kindergarten, so to avoid any added pain for them, I stayed away.
“Hi, Mrs. Dawson.” I was still hanging onto my alarm over the dead mouse, but I knew I needed to be cordial, make a little small talk before barreling ahead with my reason for being there.
She opened the door wide, waiting for me to enter. “Megan. What a surprise. You seem more grown up each time I lay eyes on you.”
“Yeah, I’m getting there.” I didn’t move. My reason for not coming by was actually a flimsy excuse I’d created to make myself feel better. My own guilt over Matt’s death was the real reason I’d stayed away for so long .
“You have a birthday coming up, don’t you?”
I was getting a sinking feeling about coming over there. Matt always spent my birthdays with me. No matter what we did, Matt was always included. “Yeah,” I said weakly. “Sweet sixteen, June twenty-second.” This year would be my first without Matt.
“All grown up,” she said. She was still smiling, but something had changed. It was as if a shade had been drawn behind her eyes, shutting out the light coming from within.
Enough small talk.
“I was wondering, is Mr. Dawson home from work yet?” I asked, abruptly shifting the subject.
“No, not yet. Why?”
I told her about Amanda catching the mouse and dropping it at my feet, and that I was too squeamish to pick it up.
“You don’t need Mr. Dawson for that. I can do it.”
I started to offer a protest. Another woman removing the little rodent from my kitchen would make me feel even more of a wimp than I was already feeling. In addition, her eagerness to help was added guilt for me not visiting. I never stop by, and now I was only there because I needed help removing a dead mouse. What a horrible neighbor I was.
Before I could say “never mind,”
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