​I was still in my first week of fostering little Corduroy, a four-week-old grey mouse, when the unthinkable happened. Corduroy had come from a small litter of little grey mice just like him, but the rest were girls and obviously they couldn’t stay together. We didn’t need anymore babies. So, Corduroy was batching it up at my house until he got adopted. He had his little wheel, little bowls, little mouse house, and fresh white bedding. Everything about it was so cute.

He was my very first mouse and I had a lot to learn. I remember it clearly, that night before I went to bed, I slipped a small strawberry into his cage as a surprise. They’re nocturnal, so they play all night and sleep all day. For the most part. I felt good that he’d love his surprise.

When I got up the next morning, I went to Corduroy’s cage just to peek in on him. Did you know mice are even cuter when they are asleep?

Unfortunately, I wasn’t greeted by a cute little sleeping grey mouse. Instead, I was greeted by blood. Blood. There were blood stains all throughout his cage. That white fresh bedding I had mentioned before was stained from one end of the cage to the other. My heart jumped into my throat.

What could have happened? Nothing could get into his cage, I made sure of that. So, did he have some type of episode during the night? Did he get sick? How could such a little mouse, have this much blood?

I ripped the top off the cage and threw it. I pulled his mouse house up, but he wasn’t there. I began to gently sift through the bedding until I found him curled up. I’ll be honest, when I pulled him out of the bedding, I thought for sure he would be dead. How could he not be? But as soon as I cupped my hand around him, he began moving. I pulled him up quickly to look him over. He seemed quite startled.

Get in line.

From what I could see, there was no blood on his coat. Just a startled little mouse. I flipped him over to look at his belly. Nothing. Just little feet flailing about. Sorry, Corduroy. There wasn’t a drop of blood on him, he seemed fine.

My next thought was, did he throw up blood? Do mice throw up? I didn’t know! I was going to have to call someone. Then the thought occurred to me, what if something else was in his cage and it died. Even though I knew nothing could have gotten in, I searched away. I gently filtered through the bedding again until I came across something I could only describe as a small, bloody, organ of some sort.

WHAT WAS HAPPENING?

I was beyond freaked out at this point as I held this ‘organ’ in my other hand. There was nothing else in the cage! What did Corduroy do, eat whatever it was and leave an organ as a warning?

It wasn’t until I got a faint whiff of strawberry, that I realized what had happened. What I was holding in my other hand was not a small organ, but what was left of the inside of the strawberry I had left for him the previous night.

Apparently, little Corduroy enjoyed is SO MUCH that he felt the need to spread the juice all over his cage. And leave some for later. I dropped the left-over strawberry back into the cage with a loud exhale.

For a brief moment, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I should stop writing thrillers.

I turned to Corduroy, who had grown still in my other hand. There he sat, clinging to my thumb, judging me and my life choices up until that point.

I couldn’t blame him though. I’m not sure what I would have done if someone had jerked my front door open, rushed in, and jerked me out of my bed while I slept. Then to add insult to injury, flip me over and yell, “Are you okay?”

​Maybe I will try another genre. 

T and I had agreed to meet after work to go shopping. T decided that she’d stop and get milkshakes for us and then meet me. I was waiting in the parking lot when T called me.

“I got the milkshakes,” she told me, “I’m on my way.”

I ended the call and began to play on my phone. She wasn’t even five minutes away from me, the milkshake place was just up the road. I don’t think it was a full minute before my phone rang again. T was calling me. When I answered, her voice was a little shaky.

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

“I’ve just been in an accident,” she told me, “I need you to come get me. My car is totaled.”

Wait. What!

“Are you okay,” I shouted, starting my car up.

“Yeah, I just need you to pick me up.”

She was just two minutes away from me up the road. When I pulled into the parking lot, I was able to take in the situation. Someone had t-boned the front of her car coming out of the very parking lot I was parked in. The front end of her car was smashed, just crumpled into itself. Both the passenger side door and the driver’s side door were open, both air bags had deployed, and smoke shot out of the car from the hood and the interior.

I panicked a little, how could T be okay when her car looked like that? Then I noticed T standing at the back of her car. She looked okay given the situation, no blood or bruising that I could see. She was waiting for cars to pass by so she could walk across to me. EMS had already arrived. She was fuming, I could see it. It was written all over her face. Then I noticed she was holding a milkshake in both hands.

“I saved the milkshakes,” she told me when she reached me.

“Are you okay,” I asked, avoiding the milkshake.

“Yeah. Here, I got your milkshake.”

Now normally, at this point most people would be worried that she had hit her head and had a concussion or was in shock. But this was normal T. She had wanted a milkshake all day, during work that was all she had talked about.

I took the milkshake from her, “What happened?”

She explained that the guy just didn’t see her and smashed right into her. She was really fine and so was he. God had His hand in that, judging from the look of both cars.

“I need a ride,” she told me.

Well, duh, was I gonna leave her there?

“That just makes me so made,” she went on.
 
I noticed an EMS worker approach us, he waited for her to finish.

“All I wanted was a milkshake,” she continued, “He better be glad these didn’t spill. What am I going to do with all the Halloween stuff in my trunk?”

It was October.

“He just didn’t see me,” she said, “Now we can’t go shopping. I’ve got to call our insurance. But we’ve got milkshakes.”
I watched the man’s face as she continued.

“I’m going to have to drive the truck tomorrow,” she said, “I’ve got clothes back there too! What am I going to do with all my stuff in the trunk? The cars going to be towed.”

“Are you alright,” the man asked.

“Oh yeah,” she told him, shaking her head assuredly, “I’m always like this.”

It was at that point, judging by the look on his face, I knew they were going to search her car for drugs.

“I think he’s asking if you have any broken bones or if you’re bleeding,” I told her, suppressing my want to face palm.

“Oh yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m just going to drink my milkshake.”

The man didn’t know whether to put her on a gurney or call for backup.

“She’s fine,” I assured him, “She really is like this. I’ll take her home.”

He wasn’t convinced but he turned and walked back to the car. I looked over at T to find her sucking as much of that milkshake as she could through her straw.

​Well, at least the news crew hadn’t arrived with cameras yet. 

​Once a year in elementary school, we had Career Day. That’s when all the adults from every profession you could think of, came to the school, set up a booth, and told you all about their job. Except for Zoologists, not sure why they never came; cause that’s what I wanted to do. Any who--

I honestly don’t remember much about it; I’ve slept since then. But I do remember the Army had some people come by to tell us about what they do. This group had a whole classroom to themselves. To this day, I have no idea why I walked into that classroom. I guess I decided that I needed to know what it was all about. I didn’t get all the details, but I got the main key point, which was, I am in no way, shape, or form, fit to be all I can be.

I’d like to make it clear that I have the highest respect for those in the Army, Marines, Navy, and Air Force. They’re the reason we have and keep our freedom. You Sir(s) and Madam(s), and even the pups and other animals that are within your organizations, are heroes.

But I’m also an honest person. So, believe me when I say, we’re both better off with me staying out of the service. There is nothing I can do for you, unless you need someone to lay in the fetal position and cry.

When I walked in, there was a group of men and women there talking amongst themselves. There was a man and woman who stood outside the group, I guess they were the leaders? I don’t know what you call them. And then, there was this elderly gentleman, all decorated with shiny pins and buttons on his uniform. His salt and pepper hair was combed back and he reminded me of someone’s grandfather.

When the class filled up with about twenty students, they started their spill. I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember them saying the Army wanted us. I had no idea what for. And that, these people were in something called Boot Camp. The next thing I knew, they had huddled us into a crowd and were now telling us to stand next to each other in rows. Our feet had to be a part, hands behind our back, don’t slouch (I didn’t even know what that meant), and keep your head up.

The older gentlemen looked us over real quick and then pointed to me.

“You,” he said, “You’re going to be the leader.

The woman that I mentioned earlier, who stood away from the crowd, came up to me. She bent down and began to give me instructions, almost as if, she didn’t have a lot of time.

“You’re going to say about face,” she told me.

Then she told me three other things that I needed to say, but by the time we got to the fourth one, I had already forgotten the first.

Uh—could you repeat that? But before I could ask, she stepped back away from me and assumed the position of feet apart, hands behind your back, and looking straight ahead. So, you’re just going to leave me hanging like that? Then the elderly gentlemen walked up to me.

“Are you the leader,” he asked.

I had no idea what was going on. I was still trying to figure out why all these people looked so unhappy and nervous.

“I guess,” I answered honestly.

Ladies and gentlemen, that was the wrong answer.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW,” he shouted, “YOU EITHER ARE OR YOU AREN’T!”

Well, I was five.

I was still trying to figure out other things, like—why we needed math in our lives and what the teachers’ lounge really looks like. Someone said it was a game room. Those were the questions I needed answered. But you didn’t see me yelling at people about it. Might I suggest decaf, sir?

I stood there, silently, still reeling back from being shouted at.

“SO, ARE YOU THE LEADER,” he shouted again.

“Yes,” I managed.

“WHAT?”

“YES!”

Why are we shouting?

“Alright, turn around and look at your platoon,” he told me.

My what?

I turned and looked at my classmates, who were just as shocked.

“You’re going to tell them what to do,” the man told me.

Okay, fine. What’s a platoon?

“Repeat after me,” he told me.

“ABOUT FACE.”

“About—face?”

“WHAT?”

“ABOUT FACE!”

You guys are all about people’s faces, aren’t you?

All those people that were huddled together in a group, were now fanned out in the group of students. They showed each one what ‘about face’ was and the students had to copy.

“Now,” the guy told me, “say, RIGHT FACE.”

“Right face?”

“WHAT?”

Sir, do you need a hearing aid?

“RIGHT FACE!”

Then we went onto left face, and a whole bunch of other things. We were there for only a couple of minutes, but I realized why all these people (who were apparently called soldiers) seemed so unhappy.

My kingdom for a Xanax. I didn’t even know what a Xanax was, they hadn’t created the DARE classes yet.

“Alright,” he told me, after everyone’s ears were ringing, “Tell them to drop and give you ten.”

Ten what?

When I said it, the other soldiers proceeded to show my classmates how to do ten push-ups. I looked over at the older gentlemen as he watched everyone struggle to do one push up.

You’re just drunk with the power, aren’t you, Sir? Should I go get a teacher?

After everyone was gasping for air and upright again, the guy took a step-in front of me and spoke to us all.

“Alright, soldiers, this was your first Boot Camp. We’ll resume again at 1300 hours.”

​Sir, we just started our times tables. But, if I happen to figure out what that means, I’ll make it a point not to avoid it at all costs.

​I had at least thirty minutes until my first class started, I always arrived this early to school and I took the opportunity to eat breakfast during this time. When I entered the doors, I was starving! I was usually starving but today was worse for some reason. My plan was to make a b-line to my first class, drop my book bag off, and then stuff my face in the cafeteria.
When I turned down the hallway, I noticed a friend of mine walking towards me with a group of people. I would say, around 12 people or so. I didn’t know most of them, but she waved me over.

“We’re going to the lunchroom, you wanna go?”

Say no more. I’m hungry. My book bag will be fine sitting in the classroom floor or cafeteria floor. It doesn’t matter.  

Looking back on it now, I guess I should have picked up on everyone’s body language. A chicken biscuit was the last thing on these people’s minds.

When we entered the cafeteria, the entire group stopped just short of the doors to the main kitchen area where you ordered your food.

What. Are. We. Doing.

I looked at my friend, who was now watching the ‘leader’ of our so-called little group. I followed the leader’s eyes across the table to a girl who was sitting there eating her breakfast. She was doing exactly what I wanted to do. She also had about the same size group with her, all eating. Why wasn’t I in that group?

“What—”

Before I could finish my question, our leader exploded into a fit of rage. Yelling, screaming, and cussing at the girl sitting at the table.

Oh dear.

All I picked up out of the sudden out lash was that the girl at the table had offender her honor at some point, maybe called her a name?

So, about the chicken biscuit.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t fight. Don’t ever expect me to back you up if something goes down. That would be a poor decision on your part.

I glanced around the cafeteria to see everyone was now staring at us. This was going well.

“I didn’t say anything about you.”

I turned back to the table when I heard the other girl speak. She said it calmly, in fact, she didn’t really seem THAT upset about being yelled at. Finally, someone with some sense around here. Let’s just deescalated this situation and go eat--

“BUT IF YOU WANNA FIGHT ME—”

The girl at the table went from zero to sixty in less than half a second. She stood up, throwing her hands in the air, motioning the other girl to come at her. The language that spewed forth out of her mouth was something I wasn’t prepared for.

Wait a minute now.

I took a step back, bumping into the people that had gathered behind me to watch the blood bath. I looked behind me to find a quick exit when I noticed the school resource officer walking into the cafeteria.

More good news.

Both girls were now screaming at each other, standing on either side of the table, leaning over to yell in each other’s faces. For whatever reason, my group took a step forward towards the table. That prompted everyone at the table to bounce up out of their seats in a threatening manner. Now everyone was cussing and yelling and being all defensive.

Can’t we all just get along—and eat our breakfast?

I took another step backward. This was not what I signed up for. When someone says, “Hey, we’re going to the cafeteria,” the last thing on my mind is to FIGHT. Am I the only one?

“Alright, break it up now!”

The school resource officer did not seem amused. I wasn’t either.

Don’t mind me, I’m just going to slip out the back of this crowd.

As if things weren’t out of hand anyway, a guy I had never seen before from our group, turned on the officer, butting his chest against his. He started screaming and cussing in his face. My heart stopped.

I don’t ask for much. All I wanted was my chicken biscuit but now, we’re all going to jail.

The officer pushed him back and warned him not to do it again. I slipped out the back of the crowd, right past everyone into the doorway of the main kitchen. The smell of food assaulted my nose, but in a good way. Not like the way everyone’s screams assaulted my ears.

There was no way I was sticking around for that, even if I had already eaten breakfast. No thank you. By the time I had made it through the line, the shouting had stopped, the crowds were gone, and the officer had taken a few people with him. My friend met me at the door.

“Where did you go,” she seemed surprised I had disappeared.

“What do you mean, where did I go? I went and got breakfast! I thought that’s what we were doing!”

“I thought you would have stayed,” she said entering the line to get her own breakfast.

How long have we been friends? At what point, did ANYTHING about me, say to you, I’d stay?

​I should have been home schooled.

The thing with T is, you never know what’s coming out of her mouth. Truly, you have no idea. SHE doesn’t even have any idea, until it’s to late.

It was around 4 or 5 in the afternoon; everyone had gone home, and T and I were closing together. I was in the middle of counting an order when one of our regular customers walked in. He needed some prescriptions refilled and T was happy to do it.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for T to strike up a conversation, which is normally your first red flag. I wasn’t following the conversation closely but somehow, they got on the topic of cream cheese.

I had one prescription left to count, I only needed 90 pills. I tried to block the conversation out in order to count it right the first time and not have to redo it; but as that conversation went on--

The patient stated how much he loved cream cheese, what food items he’d eat it on and so forth. T stated how much she loved cream cheese and what food items she ate cream cheese on. At one point, I realized we all really needed a life if this was the highlight of our conversation. Then things went south, quickly.

“I even eat it on crackers,” T told him.

“I think I’d eat it on anything,” the man responded.

“Yeah I know,” T said.

Without a second thought she said, “You know, I think I’d eat a turd if it had cream cheese on it.”

God help me.

The man paused. I lost count. I didn’t even know why I tried anymore. I really didn’t want to look up, but I knew I had to. When I slowly raised my head, the man was staring at T, kind of stumped. I glanced quickly at T, it hadn’t hit her yet what she had said. I looked back at the man just as he let out a long drawn, uh.

“I don’t think I’d do that,” he said after a moment.

He seemed somewhat confused at how the conversation ended up the where it did. Unfortunately, this wasn’t my trip down the rabbit hole.  

“You know,” T said after a few seconds, “I wouldn’t either. That’s a bad idea.”

Everyone kind of laughed awkwardly and after a moment he left. I looked over at her. My face. Oh, my face.

“I know,” T said, tossing her hands in the air, “I have no idea why I said that.”

I emptied the counting tray and began to count again.

​Never a dull, always an uncomfortable, moment with T.