Spinning

Chapter 32: The Departed

I haven't slept properly in months. What's strange is that this is the first night I've gone to bed sober in.... about ten goddamn weeks. It should be the best goddamn night of sleep I've had since that night. But I couldn't stop thinking about the bizarre interaction I had with Eddie. At least the awkwardness of our first post-breakup run-in is out of the way. Maybe, maybe, in the very distant future, I could see myself going to Pearl Jam concerts and not having to duck behind speakers to avoid seeing him. Maybe.

No, that did not keep me up all night. It didn't help, but I had more pressing matters. There is a goddamn mouse in my goddamn house. Dr. Seuss probably had a similar fucking issue. Is that where his rhyming inspiration came from? I don't fucking know, but there is a fucking four legged rodent in my apartment. Piss off, Mickey Mouse. Through the usual street noise, I was convinced I could hear four legs scurrying across my floor, up my bedpost, onto my mattress...

"Matt? MATT?" Silence. Fuck. Where could he be? It's nearly 2pm, even Matt usually stirs by this time. I knock on Jess's door.

"Jess?" More silence. A silence I usually crave, but now I need their goddamn noise to help exterminate the carrier of disease that is trekking through our hallway.

I need happy music to get me through this mouse-hunting journey. Well, no I don't. I never need happy music, in what the normal person would define as "happy". Not "Happy" by Pharrell or "Walking on Sunshine" or anything by the goddamn awful Jack Johnson. No, my happy music is music that makes me happy, or as close to happy as I'll ever get, but ranges from P-Funk to progressive metal. And I need as much goddamn happiness as I can get to combat the gloom of mouse hunting with a broken heart. I queue my happy songs from my computer. First on the list is "Sober" by Tool. Is this some ironic commentary on a new life of sobriety?

The steps of mouse hunting; a memoir by Jordan Thornley. Step one: hair must be out of my face. I throw my hair in a high ponytail, but frown with the strands that fall around my face. I dig through my drawers until I find a bandana I bought circa 1999. I throw it around my head. I look like a less fashionable Lizzie McGuire. "My Iron Lung" by Radiohead starts to play.

Step two: PPE as we say in the 'biz. To the lay folk, that's Personal Protective Equipment. I slap on two purple nitrile gloves and safety goggles I stole from work. Not bad, but I'm still feeling exposed. I put on an old apron and one of those facemasks you wear with the flu. Why the fuck does Matt have one of these? "One Hundred Years" by The Cure sounds from my room.

Step three: weapon of choice. Fuck. I wish we had mousetraps. What can I do? What household item will double as a goddamn mouse blaster commando? Robert Smith's voice calls out to my murine victim: "Waiting for the death blow! Waiting for the death blow..." I mill about for a bit before settling on an empty sack of potatoes that will double as a net, and a rolling pin to strike it unconscious. What the fuck am I doing? I'm not a hunter. I'm not meant to kill. "Spiders" by System of a Down is the ceremonial opening song for the mouse games.

I use the rolling pin to create loud sounds and ruffle up small spaces, hoping the mouse makes itself known. Aren't they nocturnal? Will this wake them up? I mix some shouts in with the rolling pin banging.

My bedroom seems clear. I work my way down the hallway, into the bathroom. Still no sign. I pound and yell through the front closet and the living room carpet. The disturbance melds nicely with Iron Maiden's "The Mercenary". I am a goddamn mercenary. A mouse mercenary. I scream a battle cry.

"Jordan?"

Fuck. I scream again, this time in surprise as my heart palpitates madly. I jump twelve feet in the air, plastered in the space between my hallway and the kitchen, looking like a cat that was snuck up on. I'm suddenly aware that I have the rolling pin raised in the air in self-defense. I lower it sheepishly and peer at my disturber.