Wake Up!
I left Florida. Goodbye, Larry, Dave and Ed! I never called my boss; I just never went back to work at the window company.
I wish I could say that, after leaving Larry’s house, I thanked my dad profusely for rescuing me from my self-imposed hell. I’d like to say that I hopped into that U-Haul, asked my dad about his trip, recognized him for the hero that he’d always been, and helped him navigate our long trip back to Pittsburgh. But that’s not what happened.
I got into the truck, plopped the hamster cage onto the floor beside my feet, and promptly fell asleep.
Previously I’d been awake for at least a day and a half, so I needed some rest. I slept until we stopped somewhere in Georgia.
The U-Haul needed gas and my dad needed lunch, so he parked the truck behind a restaurant. I moaned about not wanting to wake up, but I needed a restroom anyway. So I opened my door to get out of the truck, accidentally kicking the hamster cage.
Oh right, the rats.
I was glad that the hamsters required less attention than they had on the motorcycle, but it was still hot. I picked up the hamster cage and put it on my lap, and encouraged them to awake.
“C’mon, guys,” I said. “Wake up; let’s get some water!”
Chippy, who always sniffed the air with his eyes closed, did not sniff the air. And Dozer, who always rustled about under his bedding, did not rustle about.
“C’mon, guys!” I implored. “Wake up!”
I opened the cage door and touched Chippy, who remained motionless. Doubting my own eyes, I poked at Dozer, too. Neither one of them moved.
Or breathed.
My dad was standing outside the truck when he heard me wail; he raced to my side.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think they’re dead!” I sobbed. “They’re both dead! I don’t know what happened! They can’t both be dead!”
My dad looked in the cage, saw their little lifeless bodies, and confirmed that they were, indeed, both dead.
My sobbing came in huge heaves, my throat screaming in agony as I cried. My dad took the cage from me and placed it on the ground so he could hold me as I howled in anguish.
I hadn’t thought about the heat on the floor of the U-Haul. After all the care I’d taken when they rode on the motorcycle, I took no care at all to comfort them or save them from the elements during this trip. I thought they’d be fine with me watching.
But I’d slept through their suffering, their intense need for help. I’d slept through their deaths.
I knew instinctively that I’d killed them because I’d been selfish and stupid and reckless. I knew that I’d killed them. And that fact made their deaths absolutely unbearable.
My dad – who had still gotten no respect for his heroic part in this adventure – let me cry until the wailing turned into quiet sobs. He repeated “I’m sorry” and patted my back and did everything right.
“We have to bury them,” I said. We found a metal rod near the dumpsters that worked well enough for digging. And my dad silently dug.
I placed their tiny lifeless bodies in the tiny lifeless hole, tears pouring down my cheeks. My dad covered their bodies with dirt while I tossed their cage and all of their supplies in the dumpster, knowing I would never get hamsters again.
I couldn’t even take care of myself.