One Little Pill

Read my latest post about growing up with SNES on girlhack.com

Unevenly laid bricks covered the ground, but we spread out our sleeping bags anyway. The sun hung low on the horizon and darkness crept slowly across the sky. Uncomfortable, I rested on my back, staring into the canopy of several overhanging pine trees. Shadows moved.

“What are those?!” my friend whispered frantically, pointing at the shapes. We turned flashlights hesitantly on the forms and gasped.

Fruit bats filled the trees and stared down at us inquisitively. They covered every branch. There were at least two hundred of them.

“Our camp-out is over,” I whispered back fiercely, “Crawl slowly toward the door, but do not stand up and startle them.” She did. I followed. We slipped inside quickly, shutting the screen door behind us and watching outside. 

“Now our sleeping bags will get covered in guano!” she protested, hand poised near the door knob, but I slapped it away. 

“Too bad.”

Larger creatures appeared from behind the garage. We stopped bickering and watched. Two large wolves and a panda paced around the backyard. Two large wolves. And a panda.

“Let’s adopt a pet,” my mother and father stated at the same time before I could protest against the confusing scene. They pushed us aside in their haste and opened the door.

One of the wolves forced his way inside the door frame, his hulking size nearly pushing the hinges loose. Someone reached out and grabbed him around the scruff of his neck, but he shook his head free and padded his way through the hall. He stopped and pivoted back toward us, growling.

I cursed.

“You always wanted a dog,” someone cooed, walking toward the wolf with a smile on their face.

“That is not a domesticated dog! That is a wolf! We need to call animal control and move somewhere safe,” I hissed back, angrily.

The wolf narrowed its eyes and displayed his teeth, the fur bristling along his back. I did not blame him. I could not believe this was happening.

His eyes morphed into a comical drawing, roughly drawn and black scribbles for eyebrows. Then, he charged. The wolf chased us into a stairwell, where he ran behind us, canines clipping near our necks and flailing limbs. He was too fast. We were too clumsy.

Wolf attacks are nearly nonexistent, but this is not an average situation, I thought. I like wolves, too. This sucks.

“No, Ma!” I yelled.

“Rachel, I am not your mother. Wake up!” my boyfriend said, shaking me slightly.

“No, wolves are not pets!” I continued, raising my voice in desperation.

“Rachel, wake up,” he persisted, laughing.

I sat up in bed and looked around.

“I heard you thrashing around in here. You fell asleep,” he explained.

Once the disorientation passed, I vowed, “I am never taking Benadryl again.”