“Mom, what are we going to do with Ratata?”
“What do you mean?” it was the middle of the night and I was getting ready for bed.
“He’s dead, the rat is dead,” said Megan’s friend – I don’t remember his name. He was a cute young guy with dark hair who apparently had a camera. He told Megan he was going to take photos of her. That’s what Megan told me. It wasn’t until later that I found out Megan’s new boyfriend didn’t know about this other guy.
“Mom!” Megan shouted. “Can you please see if Ratatata is okay? Maybe he isn’t dead…maybe he’s all right.”
I didn’t want to look, I dreaded looking. Poor Ratata, the rat whom my daughter Megan had adopted a couple of years ago when the rat’s owners couldn’t keep him anymore. Oh no, not another pet I’d said – we already had a dog and a cat. This reminded me of when Jeremy was young and he had this sort of “Dr. Doolittle” complex. At one point, we had two dogs, a cat, a rabbit and two rats.
But what were we to do? The rat needed a home – he was gray and white, and his hair had been dyed purple – why would anyone do that to a rat? He was already a full-grown rat, quite large – probably the same size as our dog Sydney was as a puppy. I of course had to purchase a decent cage for him to live in along with all the assorted thing one needs, bedding for the cage, rat food, a water bottle. I just couldn’t see keeping the poor thing in a small cooler which is where he lived when Megan brought him home.
Ratatata joined our family when we lived at the Avalon Apartments in Mountain View – I remember the rat hanging out with Megan on the computer desk and how the dogs really didn’t seem to be bothered by Ratatata at Jeremy’s 25th birthday party – Floyd-the-Dog was still around then too…
At first, I was afraid to touch Ratatata, thought perhaps he’d bite me – but it didn’t take long to find out that he was a friendly rat and loved to be petted and held – he was a little afraid of our dog Sydney because she’d go up to him and be all protective, as if he was a puppy, and one time he bit Sydney on the nose. And, it was my understanding that he didn’t like other rats. But he was the only one…he slowly just became a part of the family.
Whenever Megan would spend the night at friends’ houses, she’d text me, “Don’t forget to feed Ratatata!” He was always happy to see me, and he loved it when I gave him strawberries or sunflower seeds.
Ratatata went with us to the funky apartment in Mountain View and then to the house we now live at in San Jose.
So when Megan and I peered into the cage and saw that Ratatata was lying very still on his side, we knew – Ratatata had passed away.
Megan put her hand on her mouth when it finally hit her – she had laughed when her friend had said he thought Ratatata was dead because she didn’t believe him.
Suddenly I felt sad too – for Ratatata, for my daughter, for all the loss and changes in our lives…we both held each other and cried while Megan’s guy friend looked on.
“We need to figure out what to do with him – we should bury him,” Megan’s friend said softly.
“Yes, of course.”
Megan went to find a bag or a box for Ratata while I ran over to the computer because I had to do it – I had to find pictures of him, memories of our beautiful Ratatata who was so friendly – he would lick you on the hand. Megan loved him more than her hamster Medusa because Medusa bit her and didn’t like her, but Ratatata was always there for her. Our dog Sydney could tell something was up and she followed Megan while she looked for something for Ratatata.
Tears rolled down my cheeks and I was surprised because I didn’t realize I would be so sad about losing a rat. As I searched for photos, I remembered my beloved guinea pigs that I had as a kid and how attached I was to them – and how my favorite character in one of the first books I was able to read in its entirety, “Charlotte’s Web,” happened to be Templeton the Rat. He was a fat rat, always grumpy and looking for food – and he’d steal food from the other animals. I always secretly loved Templeton and thought he changed the most because he saved the day for Charlotte in the end and carried the sack with all of Charlotte’s babies in his mouth – and it wasn’t just about the food binge either.
Poor Ratatata, he was our friend – and now he was gone. Why did this have to happen? People come and go, we’ve moved way too many times – and now Ratatata has left us – that was after Megan’s boyfriend broke up with her the day before her 18th birthday. I finally found the photos of Megan with her wonderful pet rat mixed in with Jeremy’s birthday photos from 2009 – what an adorable fat rat he was – Ratatata. And today was also my mother’s birthday – she would have been 78 years old had she lived.
Megan cried softly as we stood outside at 1:00 a.m. and dug a small hole for Ratatata – and carefully placed his body into the hole. Good-bye Ratatata! Good-bye. We will miss you.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Laughing Till You Cry - Elizabeth Weld Nolan
I love to do that. I yearn to do that. I know it can’t be contrived or sought after. It comes slowly or suddenly, sitting in the kitchen with my friends from second grade, at my expense. I am the one who has nursed a misconception for the three days of our visit. I confess to them my misunderstanding which has led me to look fondly askance at my friend, amazed at the new aspect of her caused by my wrong thinking, and how I have enjoyed my forbearance of her peculiar new characteristic which didn’t, in fact, exist.
I won’t attempt to tell you the details because that would only lead you to shake your head and say with a kind and tolerant smile, ``I guess you had to be there.’’
My friends said, beginning to chuckle, ``You mean you’ve been thinking that all these days? Did you hear that? She’s been thinking…’’ The amusement gathers and coalesces into communal amusement and rises into whooping and howling and holding of bellies that goes up and down into waves.
There is nothing so cleansing and delicious as that laugh so deep in the belly as to threaten the breath and causing one to gasp and gulp and catch the eye of the others who laugh again and sink in the chair, giving in to the rising hilarity that tips over into howls and communal helplessness as the others in the room who are not in on the joke ask crossly, ``What’s so funny?’’ and as we try to explain, the hopelessness of explaining becomes itself funny, causing a recurrence of laughing and also crossness on the part of the outsider who asks again, ``What’s so funny?’’
At last, the heaves and gulps grow fewer and farther between, and we mop the tears and lean back in the chairs to savor the vast emptiness in the gut that feels as if we have been having orgasms or sobbing in grief, that cleaned-out satiety that fulfills and calms and subsides except for a few, small left-over hiccups. The only thing that starts it up again briefly is the now-plaintive face of the outsiders who say, quietly, once more, ``What was so funny?’’
I won’t attempt to tell you the details because that would only lead you to shake your head and say with a kind and tolerant smile, ``I guess you had to be there.’’
My friends said, beginning to chuckle, ``You mean you’ve been thinking that all these days? Did you hear that? She’s been thinking…’’ The amusement gathers and coalesces into communal amusement and rises into whooping and howling and holding of bellies that goes up and down into waves.
There is nothing so cleansing and delicious as that laugh so deep in the belly as to threaten the breath and causing one to gasp and gulp and catch the eye of the others who laugh again and sink in the chair, giving in to the rising hilarity that tips over into howls and communal helplessness as the others in the room who are not in on the joke ask crossly, ``What’s so funny?’’ and as we try to explain, the hopelessness of explaining becomes itself funny, causing a recurrence of laughing and also crossness on the part of the outsider who asks again, ``What’s so funny?’’
At last, the heaves and gulps grow fewer and farther between, and we mop the tears and lean back in the chairs to savor the vast emptiness in the gut that feels as if we have been having orgasms or sobbing in grief, that cleaned-out satiety that fulfills and calms and subsides except for a few, small left-over hiccups. The only thing that starts it up again briefly is the now-plaintive face of the outsiders who say, quietly, once more, ``What was so funny?’’
Making Do - Kent Wright
Fortunately for offspring who lack from the beginning the big blue eyes, the magic smile, the star personality, the things that make them “special” to everyone, there are mothers. These mothers of lesser lights believe rabidly, deep in their hearts (yes, I know there are exceptions and that generalizations are a slippery slope) their infants possess a magic that is special too. That magic shines for them with a candlepower equal to landing lights guiding jet liners onto runways.
Some mothers take more than a passive role in laying the groundwork for their unborn. How they attempt to smooth the sheets of fate on their unborn infant’s bed of life varies wildly of course. Norma’s grandmother warned about the consequences to an expectant mother of being startled by a homely animal. If a cat surprised a pregnant mom with an unexpected leap from behind a chair, the baby girl grew whiskers on her upper lip. An awkward one tumbles into the pigpen and her little darling grows a nose that….well, you get the picture.
Norma was far too modern for that sort of nonsense. She paved the way for her only son with the same dedication to order that she lavished on her home where everything was in its place (always) and spotlessly clean. Her grass was perfect, her birdbath sparkled, and her kitchen was a benchmark. She planned for Tony to be perfect too. That would not be easy for him to pull off as his years spun out believe me, but that part of the story comes later. Who wants to drag suicide into things when the little chap is just mastering toilet training?
Norma was not content to keep the recognition of Tony’s uniqueness a private, warm glow in her breast. She wanted to make others, especially mothers, feel it as well. While Tony was still curled in the dark of her womb Norma, a very vocal member of a local evangelical congregation, went to the altar one Sunday in her sixth month, lumbered to her knees and beseeched God loudly for a special son (how she knew it was a boy is anyone’s guess, but she did), a son that would be called to the ministry. Forgive me, I know I promised not to jump ahead, but I can’t resist. Tony would be special all right but it turned out that Norma and God had different ideas. Tony turned out to be gay. We can come back to that if anyone wants more details during the Q & A.
As I said, Norma loved to show other mothers how things were “done”. Tony was always immaculate for example. Never, and I do mean never, did he run about with snot dried on his cheek or grass stains on his knees. Even his toilet training was carried out with special, elevated language. Other children, when the urge struck, ran to their mommies and announced urgently (sometimes too late) “po po mama” or “do do ma”. Not Tony. He was hardly walking when he would rush up to Norma tug at the strings of her crisp apron, look up with his adorable big brown eyes and chirp “Mama, Mama make do”.
Some mothers take more than a passive role in laying the groundwork for their unborn. How they attempt to smooth the sheets of fate on their unborn infant’s bed of life varies wildly of course. Norma’s grandmother warned about the consequences to an expectant mother of being startled by a homely animal. If a cat surprised a pregnant mom with an unexpected leap from behind a chair, the baby girl grew whiskers on her upper lip. An awkward one tumbles into the pigpen and her little darling grows a nose that….well, you get the picture.
Norma was far too modern for that sort of nonsense. She paved the way for her only son with the same dedication to order that she lavished on her home where everything was in its place (always) and spotlessly clean. Her grass was perfect, her birdbath sparkled, and her kitchen was a benchmark. She planned for Tony to be perfect too. That would not be easy for him to pull off as his years spun out believe me, but that part of the story comes later. Who wants to drag suicide into things when the little chap is just mastering toilet training?
Norma was not content to keep the recognition of Tony’s uniqueness a private, warm glow in her breast. She wanted to make others, especially mothers, feel it as well. While Tony was still curled in the dark of her womb Norma, a very vocal member of a local evangelical congregation, went to the altar one Sunday in her sixth month, lumbered to her knees and beseeched God loudly for a special son (how she knew it was a boy is anyone’s guess, but she did), a son that would be called to the ministry. Forgive me, I know I promised not to jump ahead, but I can’t resist. Tony would be special all right but it turned out that Norma and God had different ideas. Tony turned out to be gay. We can come back to that if anyone wants more details during the Q & A.
As I said, Norma loved to show other mothers how things were “done”. Tony was always immaculate for example. Never, and I do mean never, did he run about with snot dried on his cheek or grass stains on his knees. Even his toilet training was carried out with special, elevated language. Other children, when the urge struck, ran to their mommies and announced urgently (sometimes too late) “po po mama” or “do do ma”. Not Tony. He was hardly walking when he would rush up to Norma tug at the strings of her crisp apron, look up with his adorable big brown eyes and chirp “Mama, Mama make do”.
Making Do - Anna Teeples
Staring at the blocks and blocks of sugar cubes scattered on the dining room table, Jenna wondered if she would be feeling the grit of broken cubes under her foot for weeks to come. Why did Reese have to pick sugar cubes to construct her Mission project? One more mission and she was done. Dominic had done his required fourth grade California Mission building two years ago in only 5 weeks, Reese was on week 8 and the six foot round wooden dining room table had not been seen for most of that time, buried under green and tan construction paper, sheets of white foam board and various forms for Elmer’s glue that now collected as puddles on the old table top. I wonder if I’ll be able to get it clean before Thanksgiving?
The Merlot warmed the back of her throat as she stood in the kitchen alternating her view from three war zone areas screaming her name. What do other women do after the kids go to bed whose husbands are real men and stick around? She still can feel the pain in her center of her chest when she thought back to Roger politely telling her that he had a new life he wanted to follow, Destiny? Soul mate? My ass. That’s what he thought about us 15 years ago. The next sip of wine brought her back to the crisis all calling her name.
To her left was the darken laundry room; Jenna closed her eyes and saw clearly the three piles of clothes that the kids had collected from their rooms today. Dominic needs his uniform clean for tomorrow’s game. To her right, she heard the hum of the computer whispering her name in a seductive gesture. The online bank statements and bills stood behind the taunting whisper always crushing her into a helpless blubber and filling her with her ever present companions Ms. Uncertainty and Mistress Doubt. Dead ahead were the ten bags of groceries and supplies from the Costco run in between practice and take-out. At least the kids got the frozen and refrig things away already. If I start now I might get it all done before midnight. I’ll set the alarm for five and finish my presentation in the morning. I can do this. Jenna, I know you can do all this! I can do this one more day. I can make this work.
Reese filled her glass of wine and started towards the laundry room.
The Merlot warmed the back of her throat as she stood in the kitchen alternating her view from three war zone areas screaming her name. What do other women do after the kids go to bed whose husbands are real men and stick around? She still can feel the pain in her center of her chest when she thought back to Roger politely telling her that he had a new life he wanted to follow, Destiny? Soul mate? My ass. That’s what he thought about us 15 years ago. The next sip of wine brought her back to the crisis all calling her name.
To her left was the darken laundry room; Jenna closed her eyes and saw clearly the three piles of clothes that the kids had collected from their rooms today. Dominic needs his uniform clean for tomorrow’s game. To her right, she heard the hum of the computer whispering her name in a seductive gesture. The online bank statements and bills stood behind the taunting whisper always crushing her into a helpless blubber and filling her with her ever present companions Ms. Uncertainty and Mistress Doubt. Dead ahead were the ten bags of groceries and supplies from the Costco run in between practice and take-out. At least the kids got the frozen and refrig things away already. If I start now I might get it all done before midnight. I’ll set the alarm for five and finish my presentation in the morning. I can do this. Jenna, I know you can do all this! I can do this one more day. I can make this work.
Reese filled her glass of wine and started towards the laundry room.
Closeted - Jennifer Baljko
She gnaws at my spirit. She chews up my good thoughts, spits on my motivation, beats down my stamina. The critical, cynical me, the dark me I don’t like. The me I can’t keep closeted, shoved to the perimeter of my existence. She stomps through my head, shattering delicate splinters of inspiration.
Victimized far too long by her upper hand, I cower when she shows up. I spin the same self-degrading story, feeding her appetite. I’m not worthy. I’m not enough. I’m not talented. It’s everyone else’s fault. It’s out of my control. She’s out of my control.
My heart is the tough one, the one that pushes back, sends her to the corner, and gives her a time-out. The bully meets her match. Kindness, love, trust, compassion – my heart’s tools, my soul’s resources. Watching the dark me recoil, I regain strength and jump back into the moment. I trudge through the day, holding space for the me I like to wobble onwards.
Victimized far too long by her upper hand, I cower when she shows up. I spin the same self-degrading story, feeding her appetite. I’m not worthy. I’m not enough. I’m not talented. It’s everyone else’s fault. It’s out of my control. She’s out of my control.
My heart is the tough one, the one that pushes back, sends her to the corner, and gives her a time-out. The bully meets her match. Kindness, love, trust, compassion – my heart’s tools, my soul’s resources. Watching the dark me recoil, I regain strength and jump back into the moment. I trudge through the day, holding space for the me I like to wobble onwards.
Closeted - E. D. James
Alexis Moiseyev leaned on the starboard rail with a cigarette in his right hand. Olivia was not totally surprised that he was the one waiting for her. He was on her list of candidates that she had developed as she lay in the early morning darkness. His thin body carried a nervous energy that radiated even as he stood still. It was this nervous energy that had made Olivia put him on her list. He always seemed to have a separate agenda in the team meetings. It was subtle. His questions and his thoughts were just slightly off, but it was enough that Olivia had suspected that he was working on something he wasn’t completely sharing. His gaze was focused on the rolling forested hills on the Russian side of the Amur.
Alexis looked over at her as she stood next him. “Those hills look virginal, but they can tell many tales.”
Olivia pulled her hair back so that the breeze wouldn’t push it into her face as she turned to him, “I’m listening.”
“How much do you know about the gulag?”
“I’ve read Solzhenitsyn.”
“It is difficult to understand until you open the closets and start to count the members of your family or your friends families who disappeared into those hills,” he said gesturing with his cigarette.
“I have nothing to compare it to in my life.”
“Only the Jews have any understanding in America. But for us it is different, because it was part of family. We did it to ourselves.”
“I’ve never understood why Stalin was allowed to get away with it.”
“He saved us from the Nazis, but in the end they may have been the better bargain.”
“The notes in the materials you gave me have something to do with Arkhara?”
“I believe they have everything to do with the evil we are investigating.”
“Why haven’t you brought this up in our group meetings?”
“The others will think that I am crazy.”
“Why am I different?”
“You seek truth, not victory.”
“And what truth was in the papers you slid under my door at three in the morning.”
“There was a lab involved in nuclear research at the gulag camp at Arkahara.”
Olivia turned her head and locked eyes with Alexis. “And how do you know this?”
“I believe my father worked in that lab.”
Alexis looked over at her as she stood next him. “Those hills look virginal, but they can tell many tales.”
Olivia pulled her hair back so that the breeze wouldn’t push it into her face as she turned to him, “I’m listening.”
“How much do you know about the gulag?”
“I’ve read Solzhenitsyn.”
“It is difficult to understand until you open the closets and start to count the members of your family or your friends families who disappeared into those hills,” he said gesturing with his cigarette.
“I have nothing to compare it to in my life.”
“Only the Jews have any understanding in America. But for us it is different, because it was part of family. We did it to ourselves.”
“I’ve never understood why Stalin was allowed to get away with it.”
“He saved us from the Nazis, but in the end they may have been the better bargain.”
“The notes in the materials you gave me have something to do with Arkhara?”
“I believe they have everything to do with the evil we are investigating.”
“Why haven’t you brought this up in our group meetings?”
“The others will think that I am crazy.”
“Why am I different?”
“You seek truth, not victory.”
“And what truth was in the papers you slid under my door at three in the morning.”
“There was a lab involved in nuclear research at the gulag camp at Arkahara.”
Olivia turned her head and locked eyes with Alexis. “And how do you know this?”
“I believe my father worked in that lab.”
A Big Mistake - Judy Albietz
I’m no hero, Lily thought. She knew she needed to quit crying and pull herself together. She’d tried to stop. But every time she’d looked out at the strange landscape of this alien future world, the tears would start all over again. Slowly she was realizing that it was true—she really was very very far from her home. Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft growly voice of Sam, the not-normal sweet telepathic dog who saved her life. “Lily, I am so sorry that you are so sad. I will keep you safe. I will try to find a way to get you back home.”
Lily wanted to bury her head in the thick fur of this enormous hairy dog. She wanted to believe that Sam would take care of everything. He would have to, since there wasn’t anyone else around to help. Only the two of them stuck on a rocky ledge. She lifted her head and stared at the steep granite cliff behind them. Yes, that’s the trouble right there. There’s no way I’m gonna climb up the face of those rocks. I’m definitely not a rock climber, never will be. I have no survival skills. She started to cry again. Sam wouldn’t be able to carry me, either, unless for some reason he could fly. That thought made her laugh out loud in between her gulping sobs. Sam gave her a questioning look, cocking his head to the side.
I didn’t sign up for this, she thought, now angry. Yes, that’s the problem, they picked the wrong girl. Sam said this all has to do with a broken time machine. Like I’m going to know how to fix something like that.
Lily wanted to bury her head in the thick fur of this enormous hairy dog. She wanted to believe that Sam would take care of everything. He would have to, since there wasn’t anyone else around to help. Only the two of them stuck on a rocky ledge. She lifted her head and stared at the steep granite cliff behind them. Yes, that’s the trouble right there. There’s no way I’m gonna climb up the face of those rocks. I’m definitely not a rock climber, never will be. I have no survival skills. She started to cry again. Sam wouldn’t be able to carry me, either, unless for some reason he could fly. That thought made her laugh out loud in between her gulping sobs. Sam gave her a questioning look, cocking his head to the side.
I didn’t sign up for this, she thought, now angry. Yes, that’s the problem, they picked the wrong girl. Sam said this all has to do with a broken time machine. Like I’m going to know how to fix something like that.
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