I wake up at about 5 am, I am thirsty again. I reluctantly crawl out of bed and shuffle downstairs to the kitchen. I can’t see anything; it is as dark like a cave. As I take a step towards the refrigerator, I feel something squishy yet fury underneath my feet. “What’s the big idea?!” a mysterious creature squeaks. In pure shock, I jump up and run to the nearest chair and climb on top, clinging like a newborn to its mother. “Who’s there?” I stammer out of fear. I discover a flashlight after rummaging through the vast piles of junk on the kitchen table and illuminate the area were the noise is coming from. I can’t believe what the light reveals. Sitting there, in the tiny spotlight, is a mouse, a talking mouse. “Why would you just step on me? That wasn’t very nice!” I stood on the chair, my fear replaced by pure disbelief.
The disbelief turns to exuberance as I conjure up in my mind the ways that I can use this diminutive little creature to build up a fortune in my bank. The only trouble is, I first need to gain its trust and keep it for myself. “My sincerest apologies, my little friend. I surely hope that I did not crush any of your delicate bones under my clumsy foot. You must be famished…can I offer you some cheese?” The mouse, its beady black eyes narrowing at supposed kindness, fervently shakes its little head from side to side and states, “No thank you, I actually am lactose intolerant. I was hoping to find some soy milk in this kitchen or perhaps some tofu to nibble on, so if you have something like that, I’d be glad to snack on it.” Some thoughts scramble through my mind like eggs at breakfast, and I turn an eagle eye to the mouse, saying, “Well here, hop into my hand and I’ll take you to inspect the refrigerator.”
I frantically run to the refrigerator and swing to door open quickly not to lose the mouse’s attention. When I open the fridge, an explosion of light bathes me and the mouse. As we stare into the fridge, the mouse, very surprised, says, “My! You have quite a selection!”
The excitement of this evening brings images of the past to my mind. I picture pretending to be a cowboy riding through the desert with my friends in the hot sand box in the front yard. Boy was that sun bright. That was when I used to live in Spain. My parents had to work outside of the United States for a year, so I got to experience all that Spain had to offer. I remember these moments, almost as if a television is playing right in front of me. I remember the cooking class; the smell of delicious cakes and pies filling the air. I made a pineapple dessert, whose aroma overpowers that of all other desserts in the room. The memories almost taunt me, brining up a much simpler and happier time.
I snap back out of my trance and discover the mouse is no longer there. I look and look all over the room, but to no avail. “Where did he go?!” I ask myself angrily. Finally, I spot the mouse in the corner of the room and sprit over as fast as a cheetah. “There you are, I thought I lost you!” I exclaim in delight. The mouse simply looks up, squeaks, and runs back inside of the wall. “I can’t understand, why can’t he talk! I just heard him!” As I was lamenting, I hear conversation outside of my door.
“That’s just Jeff, he thinks he is back at his home with a talking mouse.” The newly hired nurse shakes his head and says, “What should I do when he yells like that?” he asks the doctor. “Nothing.” He solemnly responds, “He normally figures it out sooner or later.”
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