Naked Mole Rat Saves the World

by Karen Rivers

  “I don’t know! Lots. None. Okay, fine: one. Before you came in, I was listening to a podcast about a guy in China who walks around every day pulling jumpers off railings.”

  “In China, not here?”

  “Yeah, China. That’s what I said.” Chandra nudged kit with her boot, which was as close as she came to affection. Max had fallen asleep, as though the conversation had just gone ahead and bored him halfway to the death that was inevitable. He farted, which woke him up. He startled and sniffed himself suspiciously. “Maybe we should just let him go out the door to find his own way in this cruel world. Wow, that stinks, Max.”

  Chandra reached into her backpack and took out a sandwich. She never ate anything normal and this sandwich was another one of her weird concoctions: banana and mayo on white bread. Kit tried the sandwich once. Eating it was exactly like what it would probably be like to eat a mouthful of the banana-scented hair paste that her mom used at the salon.

  Chandra sniffed the sandwich and then unwrapped it and gave half to Max. He ate it in a single gulp, wriggling with joy.

  “We could just let him go in the park,” Chandra said. Her shirt, which had a picture on it of a woman raising her fist, was freckled with crumbs. “Then he could be free, like animals were meant to be. There was a cow running through there the other day. An actual cow! Did you see it? I was definitely Team Cow.”

  Kit shook her head.

  “People can’t stand to see stuff out of context,” Chandra went on. “They were going crazy. The cow didn’t care. To the cow, it was just a field. But people were like, ‘Doesn’t that cow know that this is Brooklyn?’ But Max wouldn’t be out of context.”

  Kit thought about all the people running and riding bikes through the park.

  She thought about the way their feet flew.

  She thought about the way the bike wheels glinted in the sun.

  She had walked Max enough times to know that he could not see someone running or riding a bike without chasing them.

  “Max chases people at the park. He can’t help it.”

  “Then it’s his own fault that no one has adopted him, I guess.” Chandra scowled and crumpled up her lunch bag. “He’s his own worst enemy.”

  “He doesn’t mean to be.” Kit wrapped her arms around him. His chest was wider than hers, so her arms barely reached all the way around him. He closed one eye as though he was winking at her and sighed tolerantly.

  “He’s winking.”

  “Dogs don’t like being hugged.”

  “Yeah,” kit said, letting go, even though Max was leaning into the hug. “You’re right.”

  Agreeing with Chandra was the best way to get along with Chandra. “Hey, can I ask you something?” Kit took the letter out of her pocket again. Chandra looked at her, but then her attention jumped to someone who was about to come in the door. “Oh, brother. This should be good. Get down and hang on to Max, kit. Last thing we need is for him to knock this one over.”

  Kit ducked behind the counter with Max as the door made its usual sad battery-dying buzz sound. Chandra didn’t get up off the stool.

  Max didn’t budge, but kit wove her hand under his collar, just in case. Not that she could have held him back. He weighed at least a hundred pounds and she was sixty-two pounds, last time she checked. She put Jackson’s stupid purple-penned note in the garbage. Her dad was the Night Sky and she didn’t care that he technically wasn’t. Maybe he was really this man named John Alexander Findley who had died two years ago on April 14, a name and date that she didn’t even want to know in the first place and now couldn’t forget. Then she took the note out of the garbage and put it back into her pocket.

  “Yes, yes,” she heard a woman’s voice saying. “I know. I heard you.”

  “We don’t have all day here, ma’am, awfully busy, don’t you know,” Chandra cooed in an obviously fake British accent. The lady must have been oblivious to Chandra’s simmering anger (which kit knew often took the form of bad accents and sarcasm) because she was still talking on the phone. Kit couldn’t see her from where she was sitting, but she could hear her. She sounded like a mom. Not her mom, but someone’s mom.

  “I told you so,” the woman said. “I said that already. We can discuss this after you get your homework done. Please go do it.”

  “Hallo,” Chandra interrupted. “Hallo. Oh, I see you’re just having a chat on the telephone. I’ll just wait, shall I? Jolly good.”

  Kit ducked her head down so that her laugh didn’t escape. She focused on Chandra’s legs, which were as bristly as a scrubbing brush. She refused to shave them to please the patriarchy. When Chandra had heard who kit’s mom used to be, she had gasped out loud. “She’s my idol! That song. Wow.”

  “What is she doing?” Chandra muttered to kit. “Come on already. Hang up the phone! Then let’s play What’s in the Box?”

  “I’m here now, I said. I’ve got to go. I’m hanging up, they’re waiting for me,” the woman’s voice said. “I’m hanging up right now. I love you. Wait there. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Then, “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m just, I’m a bit, I’m, you know, flustered, I suppose. Animals make me . . . I don’t like . . . ”

  “Quite all right,” said British Chandra. “What have you got there then, guv’nor?”

  Kit snort-laughed.

  There was the sound of high heels clicking across the tile entrance and approaching the counter.

  Click-click-click.

  Kit wondered if the shoes had red soles, if they cost as much as a month’s rent, if they were as uncomfortable as she imagined. She wondered if the lady’s face winced every time she took a step. She wanted to pop her head up to look, but then it would seem weird that she’d hidden in the first place.

  When kit’s mom used to wear the red-soled shoes, which was only when she went somewhere fancy—so not lately at all, obviously—she looked like she was floating in them, just a tiny fraction of an inch above the ground. But when kit tried, she couldn’t even take two steps in them. They hurt every bone in her feet and ankles and even her legs. They were like torture devices.

  Now red-soled shoes made her think of her mom’s photo above the fireplace, where she was smiling and there was something wide open about her happiness. Thinking about it made kit want to cry because mostly when her mom smiled now, it never illuminated her whole face like that. Her smiles were small and taut, her mouth curling up only slightly at the corners.

  Kit heard the gentle thud of something landing on the counter. “What is it?” Chandra repeated, impatiently.

  The woman took a deep breath. Kit could hear her whistle-y inhale. “My son found this poor thing in the park. Half-dead, I think. Or in shock. In the sandbox. Some kids had buried it.” Her voice was shaking.

  Jackson, kit thought, which she knew was bananas but she also knew she was right. She knew that woman’s voice. That was Jackson’s mom. And Jackson would love rescuing some weird animal, just so that people would think he was a hero. He liked to think of himself as one, anyway. Old Jackson would never hurt an animal, but with New Jackson, who knew?

  “People can be so awful,” Jackson’s mom said, and kit agreed silently.

  “That’s the truth,” Chandra said, in her normal voice.

  “I promised my son that I’d take it to the shelter. I guess you’ll probably kill it or just let it die or even feed it to the snakes, but don’t tell me that because I don’t want to lie to him. Please. I really don’t. I can’t. I won’t ever lie. He deserves better than that. He’s been through a lot, with my husband, well, he . . . left. Last year. You think you know someone.” She was talking really fast. She sounded as though she was going to cry.

  Max tensed up. He didn’t like it when people were upset. He growled, low and deep.

  “Max,” kit whispered. “Good boy. It’s okay.”

 
“Sad story,” Chandra interrupted. Kit could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “But we don’t do rodents, lady.”

  Rodents.

  The word “rodent” made kit’s throat start to close up. Chandra stepped back, nearly standing on kit’s hand, and kit heard the door opening and closing, moaning sadly.

  “Just take it,” the lady said, firmly. “Please. Thank you.”

  “Mom, can we get a dog while we’re here?” another voice said.

  Jackson. Kit’s heart stopped cold in her chest and then started again with a stutter-y beat.

  “Please. Let’s just look at them,” Jackson said.

  Max twisted out of kit’s grip and jumped up on the counter, wagging his stubby tail.

  “Oh my gosh,” said Jackson. “Hey, buddy, where did you come from? Look Mom, this dog likes me. He wants to come with us, don’t you, dude?”

  “NO,” kit shouted, without even thinking about what she was doing. “No.”

  Chandra kicked kit and glared at her. “You are welcome to fill out an application. Max is a lovely, good dog. He’d make someone a great pet.” She picked up an application form.

  Kit clenched her fists. She wanted Max to be saved. But by Jackson?

  “Who is behind the counter? Who said no?”

  “No, honey,” said Jackson’s mom. “I don’t know who said it, but I’m saying it. We’re leaving. We’ll talk about a dog. Maybe. We’ll ask your dad. But you know how he feels about dogs. You know how I feel about dogs.”

  “He’s not my dad. He’s my stepdad. And you said I could get another dog after Dad gave Archibald to the farmer.”

  “Honey, Archie is dead. I’m not going to pretend that he’s living on a farm, I’m sorry. That’s a lie.”

  There was a long silence. Then, “Jeez, Mom. That’s harsh. There was probably a better way to tell me that.”

  Kit swallowed. She blinked. Did she hear that right? Poor Jackson, she thought.

  Jackson’s mom’s phone started ringing. “Jackson, we have to . . . I need to get this call.”

  “But Mom, that dog chose me, look at him! He even looks like Archie!”

  “Archie was a beagle,” Jackson’s mom said. “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “It’s not how he looks, exactly, it’s his expression.”

  “Goodbye,” said Chandra. “Thank you for the . . . ” She tapped the box. “Thing. Did I mention we don’t do rodents?”

  “You’ve got, like, an obligation to save it, right? Like if someone leaves their baby in a box at the fire hall?” Jackson asked.

  “Oh yeah, kid, it’s just like that.” Chandra snort-laughed. “Same thing.”

  “I hope you’re not lying to me.”

  “Definitely not, my man,” said Chandra. “Saving is our game.”

  “JACKSON!”

  “I’m COMING!”

  Kit heard the clicking of the heels and the squeak of Jackson’s sneakers and the sad door sound and then there was silence, except for the sound of Max panting slightly, her own breathing, and the skittering sound of the animal in the box.

  “I’m not even going to ask,” said Chandra. “But if they apply for Max, they might save his life, you know.”

  “I know,” said kit.

  “So? What’s your problem with that kid?”

  Kit thought about how to answer. “He used to be my best friend,” was what almost came out, but she stopped it. “He’s in my class,” is what she said instead, which wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.

  Chandra swore out loud, a word kit’s mom would have killed her for saying. Then she said, “Get up, kit. You’ve got to see this. This is the ugliest, weirdest thing that I’ve ever seen. This thing makes Max look like he should be competing in beauty pageants.”

  “What is it?” Kit suddenly had a sinking, strange, shivery feeling. She hopped up and down—which was awkward in skates—because her legs were asleep, but that wasn’t really the problem.

  Kit peered over the edge of the box, which was a new-looking Adidas shoe box with a price tag on the end that said $399.99.

  That is a crazy amount of money to spend on shoes, she thought.

  Chandra tipped the box toward kit. Inside, there was a very wrinkled up . . . something.

  It was definitely a rodent.

  A very specific type of rodent.

  It was a naked mole rat.

  Just like kit had known it would be, without realizing that she’d known, that it was what it had to be. It was like an audible click that she felt in her mind when what she saw caught up to what she’d guessed.

  “Oh boy,” she said.

  kit

  Kit started to cough.

  “Are you choking?”

  Kit shook her head, no, but she was. She coughed and gasped.

  “Get a drink of water or something! Don’t die on my watch.”

  Kit couldn’t take her eyes off the naked mole rat. When she finally caught her breath, she tried to say “Naked mole rat!” but it came out all scratchy and wrong.

  “Holy cow,” said Chandra, poking it with a pen.

  Kit wanted to cover it up with something: a tiny hat, scarf, and coat. Definitely pants. “Don’t,” she said, and took the pen out of Chandra’s hand.

  The feeling of the thing that happened surged through her, but this time with more force, like lightning coming from the ground up through her skates and out her skull.

  “I’m . . . ”

  “What are you doing? This thing is fantastically hideous. I think I love it.” Chandra picked up the box and the animal inside started scrabbling around, like it was trying to get a grip on the cardboard.

  “Do you ever think—” kit was suddenly feeling strangely out of breath, like she’d been running and the feelings in her heart and brain were getting worse— “That everything is kind of connected?”

  “I guess. I mean, we’re all definitely part of one big food chain. You don’t even want to know where humans are on that.”

  “The . . . top?”

  Chandra looked at kit, then she laughed. “You’re right, I guess.”

  She reached into the shoebox and lifted out the animal. It was motionless in her hand, as if panic had depleted it of every last bit of its energy. Or maybe it was dead. “Who is the ugliest baby?” Chandra crooned. “Hey kit, this thing could be our mascot.”

  “It’s a naked mole rat,” kit said, louder. She was really dizzy.

  “You’re right!” said Chandra. “It is a naked mole rat. That’s so cool, I can’t even. I’ve never seen one for real.”

  “I saw them at the Bronx Zoo.” Seeing the animals for the first time was when kit realized that it was a pretty insulting thing for her mom to say when she called kit “my little naked mole rat.” She’d never liked it, but seeing one for real drove it home. Pictures couldn’t capture their true weirdness. She must have made a face because the guide had said, “Don’t be grossed out! These little dudes are superheroes!”

  “They can go without air for eighteen minutes,” kit said to Chandra now. Her whole body felt like it was asleep, pins and needles prickled everywhere. She shook her arms out. “They live in families, like bees. There’s a queen. They never get cancer. They live for way longer than other animals because they don’t get sick. They can run just as fast backward as they can run forward. They don’t feel pain.” She thought about the last part. “Which must be nice.”

  “All life is suffering,” said Chandra.

  “What?”

  “It’s Buddhist.” Chandra lifted the animal higher and inspected it on all sides. “If these are super rare, maybe we can sell it for cash as an artisanal pet for hipsters.”

  Kit was definitely not feeling well. The room was spinning.

  “On the other hand, the whole thing wi
th hipsters is hair-related. Like beards and handlebar mustaches.”

  “Give it to me,” kit said.

  “No! You’re not even an official volunteer!” Chandra put the naked mole rat on her shoulder.

  “It is me,” kit whispered, which she knew was true, even though it couldn’t be.

  “You can’t have it. I’m sure your mom has naked-mole-rat-o-phobia. There’s no way.”

  “I can have it. I am it.” Kit’s voice was so faint, she wondered if Chandra even heard her.

  “We’ll put it in a cage for now and figure it out in the morning.” Chandra looked at the clock. “We’re closing in ten minutes and I have a movie to go to the second we close. And it’s the opening night and I won’t let you and this rat make me miss it.”

  “It will die in the cage! They get cold. They can’t regulate their body temperature.” Kit tried to shout but her voice came out in a stretched groan, like the sad dead-battery sound the door made when it opened.

  She was cold. She couldn’t regulate her body temperature.

  She needed to go. She had to get out of there. It needed to get out of there.

  “You are like an encyclopedia of naked mole rat facts. That’s pretty weird, kiddo.”

  Kit shivered violently.

  “Your mom would kill you if I let you take it. And I’m, like, sorry your mom is a nutbar, but I’m not giving you this rat. If it’s diseased and you get the disease, your mom will sue the shelter and then it will have to close down.”

  “She would n-n-never!”

  “You don’t know that! You should wash your hands, by the way.”

  “I didn’t touch it!”

  “I have to go. I’m locking up.”

  “NO,” kit whisper-shouted with all her strength. “It will die!”

  Faster than she had ever done anything, kit reached over and grabbed the naked mole rat right out of Chandra’s hand. It felt like someone else was doing it.

  Someone who was kit but also who was not kit.

  Someone a lot braver and bigger than kit.