I twisted around to face her. “But, Mom! I can’t leave her here. She’ll die.”
“I guess you’ll have to find her a babysitter, then.” A slight smile played across her lips. Was she making me some kind of offer?
I hesitated. “Well . . . you gotta be awfully careful with her, you know. She’s so little, and…”
“Stop your worrying. I’ve raised three babies; I guess I can babysit a fourth.”
“You mean you really would? You’d feed her and everything?” I couldn’t contain my delight.
Mom laughed. “I don’t think I have any choice, do I? Now you get after that homework; and when you’re done, we’ll see what we can do with the little critter.”
***
I worked on homework at the kitchen table until almost nine o’clock. By then, the mouse had set up a persistent squeaking inside my pocket. Mom unglued herself from the TV, warmed a cupful of milk in the microwave, and brought it over to the table.
“Before you feed her, you should check the temperature of the milk on your wrist, like this,” she said. “This feels just about right.”
Following her example, I dipped a finger in the milk and sprinkled my wrist. I couldn’t even feel the drops. “I didn’t think about heating it,” I said.
“It’s a good idea. It’ll keep her from getting chilled and make it easier to digest too.”
I dipped a bottle cap into the milk and tried once more to feed the mouse, with the usual results. Mom watched, her face thoughtful.
“I have an idea,” she said. She disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom, returning a moment later with a cotton swab. “Here. Dip this in the milk and let her suck it.”
After one or two false starts, the mouse began sucking vigorously on the swab. Mom helped me add drops of milk one by one.
“This works pretty good,” I said after a while. “Where’d you learn all this?”
“Oh, it’s just mothers’ instinct. But I think she’s had enough for now. If you overfeed her, she’ll get sick.” Mom stood up and stretched. “Wipe her all over, especially on the bottom. I’ll get a bed ready for her.”
I watched as Mom laid an old dishrag in the bottom of a shoebox and built a nest of torn tissues in the corner. Then she set the box on my dresser, bending the gooseneck lamp down close to the nest.
“That should do it,” she said. “She’ll move away from the light if it gets too hot. Now you better hurry and get to bed, because you’ve got about four hours, if that, before she’s gonna want to eat again.”
I wanted to thank Mom for helping, but I knew she’d just brush it off. So I whispered goodnight to little Genevieve, who was already asleep, and then put on my pajamas and crawled into bed. Briefly my thoughts shifted to the mall trip I had wanted so badly. It still stung that I couldn’t go, but the arrival of the tiny mouse helped. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad day after all.
12
I awoke before dawn to the sound of the mouse rustling around in her box. I glanced at the clock and groaned. She can’t need anything yet. Hardly three hours had passed since her last feeding, a nocturnal affair during which I’d managed to spill a half cup of hot milk down the front of my pajamas. Pulling a pillow over my head, I tried to go back to sleep, but the rustling noises increased. Soon a pitiful squeaking began.
“All right, all right,” I muttered as I dragged my weary body out of bed. I could feel the muscles tightening in the back of my neck, bringing on a headache. But I could not hold back a smile when I reached into the box and Genevieve climbed right into my hand.
“You’re getting strong,” I murmured. Her eyes, which had been sealed yesterday, were now little shining slits. I warmed some milk and carried it back to my bedroom, glad that Walter wasn’t around. I knew what he would say if he found out I was raising a mouse.
I fed the mouse, then watched in amusement as she sat up on wobbly hind legs and tried to wash her face. Next she set about burrowing up my pajama sleeve. I left her loose on the bed while I brushed out my hair in front of the mirror.
No tests today, I thought in satisfaction. But I wish I could remember what that special event is.
“How’s the critter this morning?” Mom asked me at breakfast.
“Kind of demanding. Already she thinks I’m her mama.”
“Is she eating okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. She woke me up because she was hungry.” I spread raspberry jam on my toast and took a bite. “So . . . are you still gonna feed her for me while I’m gone?”
“I said I would.”
“I figure she’ll want to eat again around ten.”
“All right.” Mom sounded resigned.
Later, Mom dropped me off at school with the usual farewell: “Bye, have a good day.” I nodded and hurried inside, making a wide circuit around where Lois stood gossiping with her friends.
At my locker I met Janet. “Isn’t there something going on today?” I asked, as I pulled off my coat and stuffed it through the narrow opening.
“Sure, it’s Good Citizens’ Day. You and I get to skip English class. How could you forget something as important as that?” She swatted me playfully.
“I don’t know.” I laughed at how foolish it sounded.
Good Citizens’ Day was a creation of the Northford school system. Every year, on the first Thursday in November, we were given a special forty-five-minute presentation in place of one of our regular class periods. Once a lady from the Red Cross did a slide show and handed out pamphlets on volunteer opportunities; another time, Janet’s grandfather spoke about his experiences as a soldier in the Korean War. As I gathered my books and headed toward my first class, I wondered what they had come up with this year.
“Hey, Tess.” Lois caught up with me, her face flushed with excitement. “You’ll never guess what happened last night.”
“To you? I’m not even gonna try.”
“Well, me and Andrea…” She paused to catch her breath. “Me and Andrea were watching a movie last night when this police car turns into our driveway. He had his lights on and everything. So my mom grabs her slippers and runs to the door and guess what?”
“Your roof was on fire.”
“No!” She was giggling almost too hard to talk. “He said somebody had dialed 911. Mom told him that was silly, but afterwards she went down the basement and guess what? That crazy cat of ours had knocked the phone onto the couch and was standing there, kneading the pillows and rubbing on it. Apparently she hit the buttons and called them.”
“Seriously?” Although Lois had a history of grand exaggeration, still I laughed at the image of a befuddled dispatcher trying to decipher the sounds of purring and kneading.
“I’m telling you. There isn’t anything she can’t do.”
“Guess not.”
It was one of the few laughs I had that day.
Right after lunch, I joined the throng of students headed down to the auditorium for the presentation. Not far ahead of me walked Janet and Heather.
“Let’s sit up front,” I heard Heather say to Janet as they entered through the double doors. “Nobody ever does, for some weird reason.” With that, she grabbed Janet’s hands and began prancing up the aisle, towing Janet along behind like a trailer.
“Oh, stop!” Janet screeched, and both of them broke into gales of laughter.
Loneliness swelled in my throat as I watched them. Janet and I used to get along like that, back before Heather showed up. Back before Janet caught me smoking that one day, I quickly amended. She tries to be friendly and act like it never happened, but things aren’t the same.
Lois spotted me and gestured frantically for me to join her and Sandy. I pretended not to notice. That constant chatter of hers could drive a squirrel crazy. I kept walking and slipped into an empty s
eat toward the front, several rows behind Janet and Heather.
Moments later, a touch on my shoulder made me look up. There stood Heather, smiling as always. “Want company?” she asked. Behind her, Janet had already sat down.
“Um, sure,” I fumbled. “But you guys were sitting up there.”
Heather slipped into the seat next to mine. “Yes, but we’d like to sit here with you, if you don’t mind.”
I shrugged. “Cool.” They were strange, I thought. Why should they want to sit with me? I could smell a touch of perfume on Heather – not overpowering, just pleasant.
I shifted in my seat. All I ever smelled like was smoke. What must Heather think of me? Had Janet told her I smoked? Did she guess how often I sneaked out after lunch to have a cigarette? My face grew hot as the shameful thoughts continued. I chewed my lip, wondering if there was a tactful way to get up and move to another part of the room. But just then the principal walked out on stage.
He cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he said. “As you know, today is our Good Citizens’ Day. Our goal in setting aside this day is to provide some practical and enjoyable instruction in how to be a good citizen in your community and beyond. We ask that you be respectful and give your full attention to our speaker, who has taken time out of her busy schedule to be here with us today. Also, don’t forget to take notes. Your teachers may test you on some of these things.
“This year’s presentation will be on community law and order, and I’m delighted to have Officer Pat Bridgers from our local police department here with us to speak on this subject.”
No! Was this a joke? But there was Pat, ascending the steps and shaking hands with the principal as if they were old friends. I could feel a slow flush spreading across my face. Would Pat recognize me? I was certain she would.
Pat faced the crowded auditorium with a smile. “Hello,” she said. “My name’s Pat, and I’m happy to be here with you today. I love doing things like this; it’s a lot of fun, and I learn things too. You guys can ask some pretty formidable questions, and sometimes I can’t answer them.” She laughed a little.
“As a police officer, I get to work with young people who have made some wrong choices and gotten in trouble with the law. I always try to help them as much as I can. My work can be challenging, but it’s never boring.
“Today I’d like to talk about our laws – that is, why they’re necessary and why you should feel good about yourself when you obey them. Contrary to what some people believe, it is not a mark of courage or bravery to break the law. True courage manifests itself in more positive, constructive ways.”
I wasn’t listening. What I really wanted to do was get up and leave; but sitting this close to the front, I couldn’t do so without attracting attention. I hunched lower in my seat and fixed my gaze on my clenched hands. Maybe if I tried, I could forget about Pat.
My thoughts drifted to my pet mouse. I pictured her the way she’d looked that morning, a silver spray of whiskers framing her face as her tiny pink tongue reached to lap a drop of milk. I could see her exploring my bed on wobbly legs, her ears standing erect when I spoke softly but flattening when I laughed. Was Mom really taking care of her for me? I imagined Genevieve with a checkered bib around her neck, sucking a miniature baby bottle, and almost laughed aloud.
Next to me, Heather was scratching notes on a folded piece of paper. Had someone said we should take notes? I glanced up just as a ripple of laughter spread through the auditorium.
“There’s one more reason why we need laws,” Pat was saying. “People who are committing crimes need to be punished, and if possible, rehabilitated to become productive members of society. Laws are needed to establish proper penalties for these people, while at the same time ensuring that they are not unjustly punished.”
Yeah, right. My mind flashed back to the night I’d been arrested. I could still feel the cold metal of the handcuffs, still recall the shame and the fear. I didn’t deserve it. All I was doing was getting something to eat so I wouldn’t starve.
“There’s one crime that’s quite prevalent around here, which I’d like to cite as an example of what I’ve been saying,” Pat continued. “That is the production and sale of methamphetamine.”
I cringed. Does she have to talk about that? I could feel my blush deepening. I sat rigid in my seat, sweating, my fists clenched so tightly my fingernails bit into my palms. I took a deep breath, then another, trying to force my thoughts onto something else. But Pat’s words came through in spite of my best efforts.
“Methamphetamine is an illegal drug made by mixing and ‘cooking’ certain volatile chemicals with cold medicines. The process is extremely dangerous, both to the person doing it and to anyone nearby. Sometimes the chemicals explode, causing uncontrollable fires and serious burns. Even when this doesn’t happen, they still emit a host of poisonous vapors which damage one’s internal organs and cause serious respiratory problems.
“The manufacture of methamphetamine does significant damage to the environment. Each pound of meth that is produced creates an additional five to seven pounds of toxic waste, which is simply dumped down the drain or thrown into a ditch somewhere. This contaminates the soil and nearby water supplies. As you might guess, cleaning up a mess like that is no small task. It costs thousands of dollars.
“Methamphetamine is an instantly addictive substance that devastates the lives of those who use it. It corrodes their face, rots their teeth, and destroys nerve endings as well as every major organ in their body. In the end, it kills them.
“And that’s just one side of the story. Many meth addicts are parents, so their bad choices affect their children as well. Some face permanent developmental and personality problems due to exposure to toxic chemicals. A large number end up in foster care when their parents get arrested, which they usually do, for crimes that range from possession to theft to murder.”
Pat paused. “This stuff is bad, any way you look at it. Are you with me?”
I didn’t dare raise my head. I was so nervous I was shaking. I had to clench my teeth to stop them from chattering. Luckily, my friends were too absorbed in what Pat was saying to notice.
“Making and selling methamphetamine, or possessing any amount of it, is against the law,” Pat continued. “As you can see, it’s not because the lawmakers are trying to keep us from having fun. It’s because of the terrible damage it does to people’s lives. This is a good example of a law that was made to protect people. It’s too bad so many choose to ignore it.
“A person who willfully breaks the law pays a penalty, whether he gets caught or not. He pays the penalty in damage to his conscience, as he attempts to silence and destroy that little voice inside that warns him he’s doing wrong. He pays the penalty as the wrong he’s done begins to destroy him. And of course, he pays the penalty when he is finally caught and punished. It isn’t funny. It really isn’t worth ruining your reputation and letting your life go down the drain for a thrill or a dare.”
As Pat finished speaking, the auditorium broke out in polite applause.
“Thank you,” Pat said. “We’ve got about five minutes left. Does anyone have a question?”
“What happens if somebody gets caught making meth?” asked a boy behind me.
“He’s in an awful lot of trouble. Depending on the amount involved, he could be facing as much as twenty-five years in prison, maybe more, and heavy fines on top of that.”
What? My breath caught in a gasp. This had to be some kind of nightmare.
Heather must have seen the distress on my face, for she leaned over and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Mind your own business,” I hissed back. Heather stared at me in confusion, then turned away. I held my breath and dug my fingernails into my palms even harder, desperately trying to distract myself.
When Pat had fi
nished answering questions, the principal made a few remarks and dismissed us. The room buzzed with laughter and talking as everyone rose at once.
In the aisle, Janet stepped to my side. “Tess, what’s the matter? Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m fine.”
“Then come on, I’ll introduce you to Pat. You’ll like her.”
It was then I realized that Pat hadn’t left yet. She was standing in the hallway outside the auditorium, shaking hands and talking with the students as they came out.
I pulled away from Janet. “Listen, I just remembered something I gotta do. I’ll catch up with you in a couple minutes.” I started working my way through the crowd toward a side door.
“But Tess…” Bewildered, Janet hurried after me. “Tessa, wait!” Finally catching up with me at the door, she grabbed my arm and turned me halfway around. “Tess, what in the world is going on with you? You’re so different; it’s like I don’t even know you.”
I couldn’t look at her. I just shook my head and pushed open the door.
“Tessa, please. Say something. Don’t just walk away from me!”
The distress in her voice broke my heart. I wanted to stop and apologize, but I couldn’t. Not with shame written all over my face and tears welling in my eyes. The tears came faster than I could wipe them away. By now Janet probably suspected the worst. Even if I did try to smooth things over, it wouldn’t do any good.
It wasn’t until I turned the corner that I dared look back. Janet was nowhere to be seen, but someone else appeared to be trailing me. A girl whose name I didn’t know. I walked faster.
13
Reaching the nearest set of restrooms, I pushed the door marked “Ladies” and stepped inside. The stranger followed.
“Tess, isn’t it?” she asked, with a slight accent. “I’m Lorraine.”
Tessa (From Fear to Faith) Page 7
