A List of Cages(6)
My career as a pet store associate lasted less than a day. I got to work early, stoked and ready to play with dogs—I never got to have one, since my mom’s allergic to every type of fur—but I soon found out my job was to clean up shit. The liquidy shit of anxious animals. I did my job, then removed a couple of the sadder puppies and rolled around on the floor with them to cheer them up.
I got yelled at by the manager—an old man who looked a lot like Santa Claus, only his beard smelled like cat pee. He ordered me to clean up more shit, this time from a pissed-off cockatiel that clawed and cursed me.
All in all, my day was going okay till a guy came in and asked me for a mouse—a nice plump one. I thought that was weird, then he added, “It’s for my boa constrictor.” I’d only been working there for, like, five hours at that point, but I already felt responsible for the collection of smelly, caged animals in my care, and these were the smallest of all. Santa told me they were in the glass case in the storeroom, and sent me off with the awful task of deciding which one was going to die.
When I opened the lid, a hundred mice with huge round eyes stared up at me. I stuck in my hand, grabbed a little white one. Cute and trusting with tiny ears. I held him for maybe a minute before I stuck him back in the case and watched him burrow under all the others.
What happened next was like a time warp where you’d swear you didn’t do it—or at least you didn’t plan to do it. But I guess sometimes, without thinking, you find yourself tilting over glass cases full of mice. One interesting fact: scared mice are fast.
When I heard the screeches, I bolted back out front to find the boa constrictor guy ducking a squawking cockatiel, freaked-out ladies hopping onto countertops, Santa soothing the ladies, little kids chasing the mice, and Santa’s teenage helpers chasing the kids. Somewhere amidst all this chaos, I blurted out that I just couldn’t give a living creature to that guy.
Later, as the manager was firing me, he laid a wrinkled hand on my shoulder and said, “Son, you don’t have the stomach for the pet shop business.” He was right. I did not have the stomach for mouse execution.
I didn’t have the stomach for freshman intimidation either. I could see that it was a necessary evil, but I left that to Charlie. One harsh sentence from him that day and they sat down and shut the fuck up.
Charlie’s still looking pissed, worse even than his normal pissed, so I have to ask, “You all right?”
“My mom’s having a baby,” he answers.
“ANOTHER ONE?” Jesse says.
For some reason Charlie’s mom waited seven years after he was born to have a second child, then produced a kid every twelve minutes after that. I remember our first-grade teacher telling the class during circle time that something wonderful had happened to Charlie that morning. He’d become a big brother. He responded by flinging himself into the center of the circle and screeching, My life is ruined!
“What’s this one going to be called?” Camila asks with a little smirk.
“Shiv.”
“Shiv?” I say. “Isn’t that what they call knives in prison?” It’s a good thing I’m sitting too far away to get punched.
“And,” Charlie adds, “I failed my Chemistry test. I don’t know why I let my counselor talk me into taking AP. I’ve gotta get her to switch me into Regular! Adam—”
“I’ll talk to her.” If I don’t agree immediately, I’ll have to hear him say that maybe his parents would have time if they didn’t have nine million other kids—the bitter complaint he’s been using since Brother Number One. I know I could refuse, tell him that he’s totally capable of pleading his case himself, but knowing Charlie, he’d end up doing something crazy and get another in-school suspension.
By this point, Emerald’s eaten the majority of my chicken. I’m debating whether to take my container back or to keep watching her chew.
“So are you guys coming or not?” Jesse’s asking, and I realize I have no idea what everyone’s talking about.
“Maybe,” Matt says. “Could be cool—”
“No,” Camila interrupts him as if that’s the end of the discussion for both of them. It probably is. She’s older by two minutes and has used this to rule over him ever since I can remember.
“It’s too far,” Charlie whines. “Like at least an hour drive.”
“Yeah, it really is far.” Of course Allison agrees with him. “We don’t even know if they’re good.”
“They are good,” Jesse insists. They must be talking about some obscure band he wants us to go see, because he has a prejudice against anything anyone might have actually heard of.
By now the entire table (Charlie, Allison, Camila, Joe, Natalie, Kate, Bianca, Michael, Josh, Maddie, Sean—basically everyone) is grumbling that they don’t want to go. The concert’s outdoors and not till the end of October. It’ll be cold. It’s too far. Jesse and Matt both look disappointed but seem to be settling into acceptance.
“I’m in,” I tell them, already getting excited, because the mini road trip will be fun. “Yeah, it’ll be awesome. Adventure! And we’ll bring blankets.”
Jesse grins and shoves one of his earbuds in my ear, painfully hard. “You will not be disappointed, man. Listen.”