We had been on lock down for about four weeks when things started—changing. Maybe changing isn’t a good word for it, but that’s what we’re going to use.

I was trying to sleep, when the madness began. For whatever reason that night, I could not remember how old I was. I tossed the numbers back and forth for a while, even tried to do some math; but at two o’clock in the morning, math’s not my thing. It’s not my thing at any time of the day to be honest.

After laying there for a while, tossing my numbers, I decided I was thirty-three. I let it go and went to sleep. The next day at work, I was still dumbfounded that that was what had kept me up. I was laughing about it with the other technicians when the pharmacist cut in.

“When were you born,” she asked.

“1985,” I told her.

Three seconds. That’s all it took for her to do the correct math.

“You’re not thirty-three,” she exclaimed, “You’re thirty-four!”

Where did that year go then? I don’t remember it. I did the math in my head then, SHE WAS RIGHT. So, somewhere I’ve lost a year. Okie-dokie then. I moved on with my day, still in utter confusion on where that year went to.

A few nights later, I was working on an article around midnight, one of the photos I selected to go with an article, was a photo a friend had taken of me just two days prior. I was about to hit upload when I noticed something was off.

Looking at myself in the photo, it was something only I, or a close friend could tell. It wasn’t a huge difference, but I could tell. My backside was—larger. Or maybe, it was the angle of the photo? Probably the angle. The more I looked at the photo though, I wasn’t convinced. So, I hopped up and weighed myself. To my surprise, I had gained six pounds. Um.
I still uploaded the photo with the article. What can you do?

When I got to work the next day, I was a year older and six pounds heavier. I was still okay with everything though. When the pharmacist asked me to call a doctor’s office for a patient, I took the back line. It rang four times and the following conversation happened.

“Thank you for calling Dr. Smith’s office, this is Tina, how can I help you?”

“Well, Tina, I have no idea,” I told her, “I can’t remember why I called you.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t pull it out of my brain. The pharmacist, (the same one that broke the news to me about my age) shouted from the front of the store.

“You’re calling for a PA!”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “I need a PA.”

The nurse wasn’t amused in any fashion. Neither was I, honestly. I’m a year older, a little heavier, and my minds going.

​It’s cool—it’s cool. 

I found myself with one of my best friends in a diner, far away from home. I had just met one of her family members she had talked about for some time now, she was so excited for me to meet him. He was a sweet man. We had just ordered our food and brought the pager to the table. When it buzzed, our food would be ready. But I couldn’t wait for the food, I needed something, it had been a long drive. So, I got up and got myself a drink.

I really wanted sweet tea, but in that area, sweet tea wasn’t a thing. Not sure why, it was a bit ridiculous if you asked me. So, I settled for a glass of water. I sat there, sipping on this water, while the other two tossed fond memories back and forth.

Somehow, one of the memories triggered another memory of his time in the army, or special forces. I forget which. The restaurant was full, people passed by without glancing at us. He watched as they passed. It was when he leaned over the table towards us and started whispering, that he caught my attention.

Apparently back in the day, he worked on some top secret something around the town. I can’t remember all of it, but someone built something toxic. He kept using words like, ‘off the record’ and ‘top secret’. Or phrases like, ‘no one knows this’ or ‘I’m not supposed to talk about it’. I distinctly remember thinking, “Then you probably shouldn’t tell us,” for both of our sakes. As he continued talking, I glanced out the windows to see who exactly was watching. I was convinced then, that there were snipers trained on us. At any second, we could all be taken out and it would be covered up. Just for the sake of this secret.

He continued with his story and the more I thought about it, the more unsettling it all became. I was beginning to sweat. I wasn’t even really sure what he was talking about, but my throat suddenly became parched. I sipped on my water to ease the nervousness. I think it would have helped if his next words hadn’t been, “Well, then it leaked into the ground and got into the water system. People died.”

I choked on the water.

He leaned in even closer to finish the story. I had decided it was too late for me anyway, what with just being poisoned and all. I leaned in, if I was going, I needed to know why. He was hushed as he whispered, “But that wasn’t all—”

About that time, our pager that was laying in the middle of table went off. It vibrated so hard, it danced across the table. The sound of the vibration was ten times louder than any pager I had ever heard. All three of us shot three inches out of chair, I almost fell out of mine. It was all I could do to keep from screaming in the crowded restaurant.

I never thought I’d go out like that. I just knew the bullets had started flying.

​We sat there for a moment in stunned silence before the other two started laughing. I grabbed the pager and headed for the counter, that was one story they could finish without me. 

I was around six or seven years old when I volunteered to help my parents clean out one of our buildings below our house. The block building had been built way before my time, the tin roof still held up against the rain, and the blocks were still in good shape. The window had been knocked out at some point and I don’t believe there was ever a door.

With that being said, anything and I mean ANYTHING could be in the shed. Bees, animals, murderers. I was curious though. I could see century old items in there, but I was too small to climb in myself.

When my parents finally made a clearing for me, I crept into the opening and peered inside. To the left, there was a pile of broken junk, to the right, an old dresser. I could look up and see there was a hole that led to a small attic, I wondered what was up there. My dad held me up so I could take a quick glance. There was nothing there but dust. Odd, I had really pegged this place for a hideout of some unknown terror.

It seemed to be that all my worries were in vain there was absolutely nothing in the building, least of all a murderer or something that could hurt us. It was turning out to be a slow day. My mom asked me to step outside so she could take the dresser drawers out. The building was so small, there wasn’t enough room for all three of us to stand there and take things a part.

I was standing outside, looking at the little wildflowers that grew in the grass when an explosion tore out of the door. That explosion was my parents. They were screaming and tossing things as they bolted from the front door, splitting into different directions. Say no more. Depending on how you looked at it, I was a smart kid. I didn’t bother to ask questions. It was knees to chest in any other direction.  Now that I think about it, that was dumb. I was the weakest link in that chain, and I shot off in a third direction; I would have been the first to go.

I was FAR from the building when I finally glanced behind me to see what had us. Nothing. I stopped running and stood there for a moment, judging the trees to see if some suspicious something was lurking around, hiding, waiting to pop out at any second. Nope, still nothing. My parents walked back into my line of sight and I watched as they pointed at something inside the building.

Whatever it was, it was still inside. As my parents moved closer to the door, I remember thinking, oh, that’s not a good idea.

I took a couple of steps closer and peered at the door. To my surprise, this round, wobbly ball of white and grey fur, scampered out the door and looked at us. It was an opossum. It took us all in and then wobbled as fast as it could into the near by woods.

THAT was what we were running from? The way they tore out of there, I was sure it was either a python or a serial killer.

“It hissed at me,” my mom told my dad.

​Well, mother, imagine if you had been asleep and someone jerked your bedroom door open unannounced. I’m sure you would have hissed too. 

It was Easter Sunday, the play had just started, the lights were dimmed, and Cat had just settled in close to me to watch the play. Cat was around five or six at the time and wanted to come along with me to the Easter play, which made me happy to see she was interested in the story.

The play started out with the virgin-born birth of Jesus. Mary came riding in on a real donkey, and the inner child in me jumped for joy; I wanted to go pet it, but it was hardly the time. The play continued into Christ’s life, how he was baptized, about his apostles, the miracles he had done, and so on. I glanced down at Cat a few times to see her enthralled with the whole story.

Then Palm Sunday came, and Jesus rode in on yet another real donkey. Then came the betrayal and arrest of Jesus. The next time Jesus entered in, they had a life-sized cross, which he carried, and real whips that made an awful sound. I jumped at the sound. True, it startled me, but it also made me wince at the pain Christ must have felt. What he went through for us, to save us. I could only imagine what Cat was thinking.

Then Christ was crucified. The next scene was how they found the empty tomb, how Jesus wasn’t there. He had risen, just like he said he would. All in all, an excellent play.
 
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My dog Belle had just helped herself to an entire bag of Reese’s cups, the family size pack, when I walked into the room. Foil and all, she swallowed the contents of the entire bag. She pulled her head out of my bag, licking her lips with the guiltiest look I had even seen. When I realized what she had just done, I panicked. Chocolate isn’t good for dogs and I’m sure the foil on each individual piece wouldn’t have good results either.

Before we move on with the story, I’ll go ahead and answer your questions. Yes, I had an entire ‘family’ size bag of Reese’s cups in my bag. Yes, I had planned to eat them all myself. No, I don’t feel bad about it. So, don’t judge me.

I called the vet and they told me to watch her for a few hours. They told me she would have bad diarrhea and vomit but should be fine. Which she did. Party at my house! A few hours passed by and then she had an accident in the floor. She had wet herself before she could make it outside. That was okay, given the circumstances, I understood. But when she did it a second time within the same hour, I got concerned. I just knew there was a piece of foil lodged somewhere, messing something up inside her.

We rushed her to the vet where I explained everything to the receptionist. We followed one of the vet techs into a room where I told her the same story. Family size bag of chocolate, all gone; with the foil. She nodded along as she wrote down my description. I told her I was worried about her because she had wet herself twice. She looked up at me then.

“You said she got the chocolate out of your purse?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anything else in there she could have eaten?”

My heart sunk to my stomach. Was there? Did I leave my allergy pills in the bag too? I thought about it for a second before I answered.

“No,” I told her, “My allergy pills were on the counter, so I know she didn’t get that. There was nothing else in there but the chocolate.”

“Are you sure,” she asked again.

I nodded.

“There was nothing else she could have gotten out of your purse,” she prodded again.

“No.” I told her.

 I had put the bottle of allergy pills on the counter that morning, for sure there was nothing else she could have eaten. I had my wallet, keys, and water in there. They were still there when I checked.

She looked at me sternly then, “So your dog didn’t eat marijuana?”

Um— what?

“I’m sorry?”

“Marijuana, you sure she didn’t get it out your purse,” she said flatly.

“I’m positive she didn’t eat Marijuana out of my purse,” I spit, “Cause I didn’t have Marijuana in my purse. It’s kind of illegal.”

What kind of interrogation was this? Did she get Marijuana out of someone’s purse?

“I just have to ask,” she told me, “It’s more common then you think. A lot of dogs eat their owners Marijuana and when they do, they can’t hold their bladder, so they wet themselves.”

Stunned wasn’t if the word for it.

“Well,” I said calmly, “we don’t do that.”

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll have the doctor come in to look at her.”

She left me standing there with my mouth gaping open. I looked down at Belle who was sitting there by my husband.

“Do you see what you’ve caused?” I asked her, pointing at the door. “I’ve been accused of illegal drugs because of your poor choices and lack of self-control!”

She wagged her tail happily while my husband giggled.

​Oh, it’s all a joke until someone goes to jail!