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My Secret SpotThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Max Booth III | |
| Friday, 08 August 2008 | |
My Secret Spot
My Secret Spot was in the kitchen. The kitchen was about the length and width of an average hallway. It was quite small and very uncomfortable with more than one person present. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all the same decorative coffee and oil stained yellow tribal-like design tile and wallpaper. To me, it is impossible to describe. I never knew how to. It was something I could never exactly figure out. To be more specific on my Secret Spot it was between the stove and refrigerator. It was such a small space that only I could fit in. It was every claustrophobic’s worst nightmare. Red-eyed mice used to visit me in my Secret Spot. I wasn’t afraid, even at the young age of eight. They were my Secret Friends. Just my Secret Friends keeping me company in my Secret Spot. I loved them dearly. I even named them, although right now I can’t for the life of me remember their names. I think it had something to do with the Power Rangers, but I could be wrong. There was really no way to tell them apart, but my childhood mind thought that it could. Besides the Secret Ants, Mice, and Rolly Pollies there was another frequent visitor at my Secret Spot. Her name was Penny, and she was my dog. A small white mongrel. No one was sure what breeds she was, but there were obvious signs of the Chihuahua. She was a small one, she was. That was why we were both able to fit in my Secret Spot. I’d curl her on my lap and pet her fur. It sure was nice back between the stove and fridge. Even the cobwebs were a sign of safety. My Penny, well, what is there to say about her? She was magnificent. She loved ice cream. Every time she was in the car and we went past Dairy Queen she would go nuts and start barking up a storm. Most of the time she got her way and we ordered her one of those delicious doggie cups that she grew so fond of. But let me tell you something, ice cream is as strong as coffee for little dogs. Penny would bounce off the walls after her Dairy Queen treats. Those were her favorite. Another thing Penny liked to do was every morning when my Dad got ready for work she would try and sneak in the back of the car, so she could go with him to the mill. The closest she every got was to the next street. Boy, was my Dad pissed! I think he was just mad because she scared him, though. That always made me laugh. You know how the kids now days all want to be black? Well, Penny was like that, too. Every time one of us would give her a bath she would dash out of the bathroom and out of the house, leaping like a galloping horse off of the stoned three step constructed porch. Then she would run towards our next door neighbor’s flooded garden and roll around as if she was making a snow angel. The results were a white dog transformed into a completely black one. Yeah, she wanted to be gangster. Another thing, Penny was extremely fast for such an old dog. Faster than most track dogs. You couldn’t catch her if you tried. But sometimes no matter how fast you are, you’re not fast enough. My Mom told my older brother, Jeremy, to go check the mail on that miserable winter morning. Jeremy and I were playing around; hide and go seek to be more exact. He told me to go hide and then he’d find me when he got back. Knowing the perfect, un-findable spot to hide, I excitedly snuck in the kitchen and crawled into my Secret Spot. Trying to hold back laughter so nobody would hear me; I waited for Jeremy’s return. I must have sat bunched up in there for ten full minutes until I heard the cringing, ominous creaking of the front door being swung open. I was confused at what I was hearing. “Oh no, Mom! I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t stop her!” It sounded like my brother was about to cry. I squeezed my way out of my Secret Spot and made my way out to the living room. Placed on the coffee table was my dog. My Penny. Her eyes were open. Her eyes were staring. Staring off into an unknown world. No, her eyes were staring at me. Looking at me. Her spirit was alive, but her heart was not. Her mouth lay open and her long orange stained tongue hung out. The reason her tongue was orange was because about an hour earlier I had spilt a bag of Cheddar Cheese Popcorn on the carpet floor, and Penny was my vacuum cleaner. There was a deep gash spread across her cheek. I could see the blood inside, but none of it was leaking out. Her eyes were looking at me. Dirty snow and sleet were splashed all upon her lifeless body. A bone in her skinny left hind leg was poking out at the knee cap. It was whiter than the brightest set of teeth. Why was the bone so clean? It must have been some sort of sick joke. “Liar!” I yelled at my brother. “You’re a liar! This is fake! She isn’t dead! You’re a ******* liar!” I forgot that my Mom was standing right next to me, but she seemed to let this profanity slide. I didn’t even notice at the time that I had cursed in the first place. My brother was a liar and her eyes were looking at me. I continued calling him a liar until tears were practically drowning my face. “Liar! Liar--why is she looking at me!? Make her stop! Please make her stop! She isn’t really dead, you’re a liar!” Penny was looking at me. I couldn’t take anymore. I ran into the kitchen and slid into my Secret Spot like a baseball player sliding into home. I buried my face in my hands and cried for what seemed like an aching eternity. My Penny was dead. She wasn’t faking, she was dead. I found out later that when Jeremy opened the door to go to the mail box Penny had slipped out with him and dashed toward the icy street. The same street a snow plow truck working for the city just happened to be on at the time. The snow plow never stopped, never slowed down. About a month later when my parents knew that I was not going to get over this lost easily or anytime soon, they brought home another dog. A puppy. It was a cute little bulldog. His eyes were all alien colored, but I liked that. His face was scrunched up as if he was sucking on a lemon. I instantly fell in love with my new pup. I decided to call him Lucky. But he wasn’t Penny. Penny was my dog, this bulldog was not. So that was why I reached over and snapped Lucky’s neck. Now that I sit here and write this, I think about dear o’ Penny. She was my dog. She was the greatest. I still miss her. My Secret Spot is no longer there. There isn’t anyway I’d be able to fit in it now anyways. That was the place for an eight year old. That was a place for comfort, for safety. My Secret Spot has vanished. The stove, the refrigerator … all gone. The memories … still here. Copyright 2008 Max Booth III |
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