"About the Mouse"
Read Chapter One in my new novel, Pearly Everlasting, and I bet you'll be hooked!
He has a live mouse, sitting on the floor between his grey alligator boots, secure in a Have a Heart trap. That’s the first thing he tells her when they start driving.
“I’ve got a rat here,” he lies. He jerks his thumb toward the truck’s floor.
“A rat?”
He laughs. Wheezy, like the air is coming through tiny reeds. Whistles.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you have a rat?”
“Where?”
“In there. In the cage.”
“Oh, you mean Minnie? She’s no rat. She’s a mouse.” He picks up the trap and shoves it her way. The cage rattles. The mouse retreats.
She has a fleeting glimpse of the beady eyes. She recoils. “Why do you have a mouse?”
“Why the hell not?” He replaces it on the floor. The cage jangles.
“I mean everybody needs a mouse now and then. Or would you rather a snake?” He laughs harder. Whistling. Coughing. Wet and phlegmy.
His skin reminds her of vanilla pudding.
Black glasses wrap his fat face. The sun is low. The sun floods through the window. It hits his lenses. It glances. Bright points of light dance her way. He steers with three pudgy fingers.
She starts singing. But low. With none of the throaty bellow she loves.
“I saw the light in your window tonight. I sawww two shadows, hol-ding each other tight…” In her mind, she could be Wynona Judd.
He turns. “Holy shit,” he says. “Where’d you get it?”
She stops. “Where’d I get what?”
“That sweet voice.”
She looks away. “If you say so.”
“No, I mean it. I’m sittin’ here thinking, I got myself a singing star in my wagon.” He leans. Leers. His front teeth are yellow. Chipped. With gaps between them. “You some kind of a star?”
“Right. A big star.” She is looking out the window. Inside, though, she knows his words are exactly what she wants to hear.
“Sing some more. Sing louder.”
“No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because I got no reason to.”
“Sure you do. You can sing for me.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly why I’m not.”
They remain in silence. She’s noticing that he’s slowing down. Cars are passing on the left.
“So where you goin’? I mean, besides Nashville that is.”
“Massachusetts. Near there.”
“Near where?”
“You can let me off right before the border. There’s a gas station. I’ll call from there.”
He has a flask. In a brown paper bag twisted at the neck. He tips it. Swigs. Offers her the bottle.
“No thanks.”
“Scared?”
She shakes her head. That makes him laugh. Wheeze. Cough. Spit. He gathers a mouthful and lets it go out the window.
“You got a name?”
“Penny.”
“Penny? Like a quarter, Penny?” He slaps his thigh. Wild laughter fills the truck.
She bites her lip, leans her head against the window.
Later she will recall that he had skinny black glasses. Too skinny for his fat face. A face as wide as his ass.
And blue jeans. He wore blue jeans. Stiff. Blue. Jeans. Cuffs.
She should have known. She should have known. Anybody with cuffs.
And his plaid shirt. The top button. Buttoned. That too. She should have known. Anybody with the top button. Buttoned. Sad, very very sad.
His hair? What color was his hair?
Greyish. Sort of. Or…brown. Maybe some black too. I don’t know. It was short.
So you’re not sure.
Uh uh. No. I’m not. But it was cut. Flat. You know. Crewed.
She is sure of that. Flat.
He is signaling. Turns. Makes a right, then a left onto a dirt road. The truck flies and she feels every bump low in her pelvis, on the shelf where the baby sits. A cloud of dirt rises up above the windows. He veers across the road. Pulls over. Leaves the car running. All around them, a thick pine forest.
He slides his seat back and pulls off his boots. His socks. Stained yellow and grey. Wet cotton.
Sour cheese. Rotten eggs.
His pasty white legs have blue veins. Long black hairs grow above his ankles. He dangles the boots.
She opens the window. “Jesus,” she mutters. She leans out. Pine.
“Close that damn window.”
“Put on your damn boots.”
“No.”
She starts to open the door. He hits the lock button on his side.
“Open it asshole. Now.”
She pulls up the lock on her door. Starts to get out.
He slams his arm across her breasts. She gasps. Claws at his arm. Cries out. “Pissing fat pig. You better let me out of here.”
He takes another swig from the flask, throws it aside, dousing her.
His crew drops. He dives. His face buries into her shirt. She slaps his neck. He rips her shirt. Buttons pop.
“CLAH,” she screams. “GET OFFA ME YOU PIG. LET ME OUT.” She smells his breath. Whiskey. Whiskey is everywhere. Everywhere.
I love you I love you I love you. He whispers.
“GET OFF ME YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT.”
She slaps his ear. Yanks his crew. He pins her arm.
Reaching over with his free arm, he unlatches the glove compartment.
She digs her nails into the back of his wrist. Three rows of blood.
He swats her. He is seething, breathing on her face. He smells of booze. Cigarettes. Onions.
The glove compartment drops open. She sees blue metal. She pants. Pees.
Oh Jesus pulleeeese just let me out just let me out just let me…
His head is bearing down on the shelf that is the baby. She can feel the baby pressing. Pressing.
IloveyouIloveyou I love you.
Nooooooooo!!
She squeezes against the door. The handle clicks. The door starts to open. She rolls. Is almost outside the door when he grabs her thighs. He holds her leg. She pulls back. He claws her bare arms with both hands. Scratches tracks, as if he’s climbing a tree.
She screams. Knees him in the jaw. His head flies back. His glasses drop to his chin. She pummels his face with her foot. Smashes his glasses. Strikes anywhere there’s flesh.
He bundles one arm tightly under her legs. Reaches for the gun.
She reaches under his leg. Picks up the mouse cage.
Holds it right up to his face. The grey and white mouse scurries into the corner. The red tail whips around. The mouse pees on her hand.
“Put the fuckin’ mouse down.” He wheezes. Whistles. Groans.
“Put the fuckin’ gun down.”
They lie there, wrapped, scratched, bleeding. There is only the sound of panting. Wheezing. Whistling.
And she can hear her heart beating in her ears. She counts.
Her fingers trembling, she starts to open the mouse cage. She fumbles. Tips it over. The metal door flies open.
His hand swipes at the cage. Misses. His vanilla pudding face comes toward her, one bruise over his eye turning the color of a plum.
Then I saw his eyes. He had these shit-brown eyes.
She shakes it again. The mouse dangles out of the cage by a single red claw, drops onto the floor.
He screeches. Drops his mouth onto her face. Sinks his teeth into her cheek. Clamps down. Draws a ring of blood.
She bellows. Slams down on his balls so hard that his teeth release. He bolts backward. Loosens his grip on her. Drops the gun.
She pulls herself free. Rolls out the door. Scrambles to her feet. Runs up the snowy dirt road. Losing a sneaker. And then grabbing it again.
Gunning. He is gunning after her in the truck. Screaming at the top of his lungs. His head out the window. Coming after her. Swerving. She dives into the snowy woods. He swerves more. She turns.
His wild face behind glass. The truck out of control.
She turns.
The truck slams into a tree.
She turns.
Screeching tires. Shattering glass.
She sees the truck balanced on two wheels. Sees the truck tip into a ditch.
Sees the truck flipping.
She backs away.
As she does, she thinks she sees the black glasses fly out the window.
She backs into the woods, her hands cradling her belly, her baby, her cheeks, bleeding. crying, yelling. Wondering.
About the baby. If maybe it’s hurt.
About the mouse.
If it lived.
If it will run.
To order Pearly Everlasting, go to https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0787DD3HN