Found Life

by Linor Goralik

  I can’t read clocks, but it probably hadn’t taken that long to take care of the beastie, because I had to lie there for a long while before it became morning. I couldn’t fall asleep—I kept straining my ears, listening for the beastie. I was afraid that it would die when I fell asleep, and I went under the bed a few times and took it out and then put it back, but it kept sleeping. Also, I was afraid that Mom would hear it moaning, but then it stopped. It would just whimper once in a while in its sleep. A couple of times I got out of bed, left the room, closed the door, and tried to see if you could hear the beastie’s whimpering from the hall. Sometimes it seemed like the answer was yes, sometimes like it was no, and I really ran myself ragged. The fatigue and nervousness made me think I’d never fall asleep. But close to morning I did in fact fall asleep.

  When Mom came to wake me, I remembered about the beastie right away and got really scared that Mom would hear him. I jumped out of bed and started to hug Mom and tell her how much I loved her. I spoke really loudly on purpose and hugged Mom really thoroughly, I almost knocked her over, because I’m more than a foot taller and really strong. I said that I want to go to the kitchen and help her make breakfast. Then I sat with her until she had to go to work. I talked really loudly the whole time, Mom even checked my pulse. Because of my loud talking I couldn’t even hear how the beastie was doing up there.

  As soon as Mom left, I ran to my room to check. Pulling on the edge of the t-shirt, I got the beastie out from under the bed. It was asleep. Now, for the first time, I saw it in the light. It looked really pitiful, but a little better than last night. I looked closer and touched its little wounds; thin scabs had formed over them. Then I went to the bathroom and looked at the stitches on my forehead: they had scabbed over the same way. I touched my forehead: it was clearly healing, so I decided that the beastie’s little wounds were also healing. Before she left, Mom had put iodine on my forehead, because you had to do it in the morning and at night, so I put more iodine on the beastie’s little wounds and pushed it back under the bed.

  I felt like I had worried myself sick. I was dead on my feet. While Mom was at work I would usually watch TV or listen to records, or make stuff out of clay, or draw. During the day, I would eat the sandwiches Mom had left for me, and when she came back, I would eat dinner with her. Now I didn’t have the energy even to watch TV, so I just collapsed onto the bed. But I didn’t have time to fall asleep for real because I heard the beastie moaning pitifully. I got horribly scared that it was dying again, threw myself on the floor, and took it out from under the bed.

  The beastie was breathing evenly in its sleep, it definitely wasn’t dying, but drool had gathered in the corners of its mouth, which sometimes happens to Alik, and I realized that it was hungry again. I had to give it my sandwiches. At first I wanted to give it just one, but the beastie ate it without waking up and started to whimper again so piteously that I had to give it the second one too. Then it was quiet, I wiped its face again and put it under the bed. I got to sleep a little, but then Mom called to check that I was doing OK. I said yes, and she asked why my voice was like that, and I said that I’m just watching a sad show on TV, and she asked: “Which one?” But I couldn’t think of anything. I said that I had to go to the bathroom and hung up the phone. My head really hurt, I lay down again, but in my sleep I kept thinking that tonight Mom was going to clean the house and might find the beastie, and was super nervous.

  When Mom came home, my head hurt even worse. Mom gave me a pill and said that I might have a concussion after all, and that I should go lie down. I went and lay down, but first I went under the bed and made sure that the beastie was sleeping soundly. But then Mom started to vacuum in the next room and I got scared that the noise would make it start whimpering, and instead began to moan myself and pretend like my head hurt horribly, much more than it really did.

  I was really ashamed, because Mom got very worried and even wanted to call Dr. Racine, who is my regular doctor, but I said quickly that my head was already better, only that she shouldn’t vacuum. Lying to Mom is two red cards. I realized just how much I’d have to endure from the beastie and got really scared. Before my cat got hit by a car and died, I took red cards for both his bad behavior and mine. I would end up with a lot of red cards, but I loved the cat and had just trained him badly, so everything was fair. But this was totally different: I didn’t love the beastie, I just felt sorry for it, and I was getting cards not for its bad behavior, but for my own.

  Because of the beastie, I had become bad: lied to Mom and didn’t do physical therapy or help clean up. Besides, I hadn’t eaten anything today except breakfast because I gave my sandwiches to the beastie, and I couldn’t eat dinner because my head hurt so much. So on top of everything I was really hungry. And I was constantly freaking out, that was the worst thing. I was already starting to lose my mind.

  When Mom was putting me to bed, she asked if my head hurt, and I lied that it didn’t. Mom wanted to give me a piece of candy, but I said I can’t because of the cards. As soon as Mom left, I got under the bed and took the beastie out. I decided that I would have to wake it up and send it packing.

  The beastie still looked pretty bad. Its wounds were clearly healing slower than my forehead, and it still seemed really underfed. As soon as I got the beastie out from under the bed, it started to whimper. Spit glistened in the corners of its mouth. I already knew that it was asking for food but thought it might wake up even faster if it stayed hungry. I started to shake the beastie, but it just whined, because I was probably hurting it, even though I was trying not to. Then I started to blow in its ears. It twitched its ears quickly but didn’t wake up, just whimpered piteously because I was keeping it from sleeping.

  I could have yelled at the beastie or started clapping loudly (I clap really loudly when I feel happy because I’m really strong and I have really big hands) or banging on the table. But actually I couldn’t do any of that because it would wake up Mom. I couldn’t do anything, and that was making me unbearably angry. I stuffed the beastie back under the bed and lay down. I was so hungry I was practically nauseous. I barely managed to fall asleep and kept dreaming that the beastie under the bed had expired from hunger. I kept waking up and trying to stand up and go to the kitchen to bring it some milk and bread, but I was so tired I couldn’t wake up all the way.

  That morning I couldn’t get Mom to leave my room; I finally said I had to go to the bathroom. I wanted to stop myself and not finish my omelet so that, when Mom left, I could take the rest out of the garbage and give it to the beastie, but I couldn’t stop myself and ate the whole thing. That’s why, after Mom left, I had to feed it my sandwiches with the good cheese Uncle Vitya had brought for my birthday. After that there was none of it left in the fridge.

  I went under the bed and got out the beastie. I shook it a little, hoping it would wake up, but it didn’t. It just started moaning pathetically from pain. So I fed the beastie the cheese piece by piece, wiped its face, and put it back under the bed. I felt like it was having trouble swallowing, just like Alik when he forgets to drink with his food. I brought a glass of water from the kitchen, took out the beastie and poured a little water into its mouth. That clearly pleased it, so bit by bit I poured the whole glass into its mouth, though I spilled a lot of it on myself. I put the beastie back under the bed. The constant trips under the bed made my back really hurt. I just felt horrible in general. I wanted to lie down on the sofa and think about what to do, but I couldn’t think, because I fell asleep. I was really tired.

  I woke up so suddenly, it was like someone had started screaming at me. I sat up on the sofa, all sweaty. I was afraid that while I had been sleeping Mom had come home and found the beastie, or that it had woken up, made its way out the window, and gotten hit by a car like my cat. I made myself listen closely and heard horrible sounds coming from my room. I dashed over there. The beastie’s whole face was covered in drool, it was wheezing and jerking around; I saw its big yellow fangs, because it wa
s opening its mouth really wide. I started to shake it, but it wheezed even louder. I was really scared.

  Mom and I watch a show about doctors, and I knew that when someone wheezes and jerks around like that, they’re going to die if the doctors don’t come running quickly. I even started to run around the room, yelling: “Doctors! Doctors!” and clapping my hands (I clap my hands when I get really agitated, I can’t help myself). But then I made myself breathe in and out three times. I sat down on the floor next to the beastie, my hands were shaking, I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly I saw a little piece of the good cheese right next to the beastie’s face. It was somehow wet. Then I understood that I had dropped a piece of cheese when I was feeding it to the beastie. The beastie had eaten this piece in its sleep and choked on it. Part of the cheese had come back up, but part of it hadn’t. Then I stuck my fingers into the beastie’s mouth, took out the piece of cheese and wiped my fingers on the t-shirt. The beastie wheezed a little more, then started to breathe normally again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I lay down on the floor and started to cry. I knew that Mom would throw the beastie out, and now I wanted to throw it out myself, I couldn’t take it anymore. If I hadn’t been a good person, I would have thrown the beastie out right away.

  The next day I had physical therapy at our clinic. I was so nervous because of the beastie that I didn’t want to go. I imagined it waking up, climbing out from under the bed, and the neighbors hearing it—or the opposite, it dying in its sleep. I really wanted to play sick and stay home. I actually felt sick, I was so tired that everything hurt. Also, my eyes hurt because I had slept badly, and so did my stomach. But then Mom would definitely stay home from work and call Dr. Racine, and then I would have to give myself five or even six red cards, and on the weekend I definitely wouldn’t get to go to the movies or the skating rink. Although, to be honest, by this point I didn’t even want to think about the movies or the rink. All I wanted was to make the beastie disappear. I was hoping that Alik would be at therapy and I’d be able to tell him that I loved him, but Alik was still not allowed to move around much. Marina, who is in charge of physical therapy at our clinic, gave me a very serious look and asked if everything was OK. I said that everything is OK, because if I had told her about the beastie, she would have told Mom everything. I could barely do the therapy, but Marina, who always makes everyone try hard, didn’t make me try today. I must have looked really bad.

  After therapy Marina asked me again if everything was OK, and I said everything was great, I was just in a bad mood. Marina always drove me home in her car because Mom, who gave me a ride there, had to go to work. I changed into dry clothes in the locker room and ran to find Marina because I had to get home as soon as possible. Vera the Dummy was walking toward me in the hall. I wanted to pass her, but she stood in my way on purpose and started to grab me by the pants between my legs and laugh. I politely told her that I had urgent business and had to go. But Vera the Dummy started to climb on me, meaning get up on her tiptoes and rub up against me from above. She was laughing really loudly. There was no one but us in the hall. Generally I like when Vera the Dummy rubs up against me and does the things she does. She and I are friends, although not as good as me and Alik.

  But now I was thinking only of the beastie. I could feel myself getting angry, and now I was really scared that that thing would happen to me, and then everything would be really bad. I pushed Vera the Dummy away and did what Marina taught me to do: take three slow, deep breaths. I felt better, even though Vera the Dummy kept on trying to climb on me, and I kept having to almost shove her away. All of a sudden Vera the Dummy calmed down and said: “I’ve missed you.” I repeated politely that I have to go and it’s very urgent. Then Vera the Dummy started smoking right in the clinic hallway.

  This was absolutely not allowed, and whoever did it got horribly yelled at and could be expelled from physical therapy. I got scared that I would be caught with Vera the Dummy, that they would scold and expel me, and ran away from her fast. Vera the Dummy yelled that she loved me and also she yelled at me to turn around, but I didn’t turn around because I knew what she wanted to show me, and now was not the time.

  In the car I kept jiggling my knee, I was in such a hurry to get home. That’s very bad, because I’m taught not to jiggle my knee or clap my hands when I get worried. But I couldn’t take it anymore and clapped a couple of times anyway. When I clap, Marina usually gets annoyed with me, but today she didn’t say anything. She just asked me if I had been doing my exercises these past few days, and I lied that I had, because otherwise I would have had to explain why not. That was one more red card.

  When I thought of all the red cards that I had gotten because of the beastie, I couldn’t take it anymore, I jiggled my knee and started to cry. Then Marina stopped the car and tried to comfort me. She said I looked really tired. She asked if I was OK, and I said I just really needed to get home. Then Marina asked if everything was OK, and I said I just really needed to get home. Then Marina asked if anyone was hurting me, and I said I just really needed to get home. Marina said that no one was mad at me about the thing with Alik, and Alik wasn’t mad either. She, Marina, had called Alik’s grandma and asked for permission to take me to visit Alik now, if I wanted to, but I said I just really needed to get home. I was starting to get angry again, really angry, it was like my eyes were filling up with milk. I tried to keep it together and breathed slowly, but everything was shaking, and I got scared. Marina must have gotten scared too. She asked if I was OK and if I needed to get out of the car, and I said politely that I just really needed to get home. Then Marina drove me home.

  I ran to my room, dropped to the floor and got out the beastie. It was whimpering quite a bit, and when I got it out, tears were pouring from its eyes even though it never woke up. My heart ached with pity for it. As I was feeding the beastie my sandwiches, pouring milk into its mouth and wiping its face afterward, I broke down and started to cry with fatigue and bewilderment. The beastie’s little wounds, which I constantly put iodine on, had almost healed, but the beastie was still really weak. I was crying because I truly didn’t know what to do. If I had put the beastie out in the street right now, while it was sleeping, it would definitely die. And I wasn’t at all sure that it wouldn’t die even if I managed to wake it up and it could find its own food. But I didn’t have a choice. I heard the show about the king starting on the living room TV, and I realized that Mom would come home really soon. I couldn’t wait any longer, and I started trying to wake the beastie up for real.

  I didn’t want to shake it again so as not to hurt it. So I started to stamp my feet and shout in its ears. The beastie whimpered and wriggled its paws, but it didn’t wake up. I galloped and jumped and clapped my hands, but it still wouldn’t wake up. I stopped to rest and heard the show about the king ending. That meant Mom could come home any minute. My knee started jiggling all by itself. I started screaming even louder, now I had forgotten about the neighbors, I just wanted this creature to wake up, but it kept sleeping. The milk started to rise in my eyes, I stopped and tried to breathe, but it didn’t really help.

  On TV the news had already come on. I grabbed a big book about dinosaurs and started to pound on the table with it, I bellowed all the worst words I knew at the creature, but it still wouldn’t wake up. I chucked the dinosaur book at the wall and grabbed the dumbbells I use to do my exercises. I started screaming and pounding on the wall with the dumbbells. The neighbors started to bang and scream in response, but I couldn’t pay attention to them. I just hated that sleeping creature, my chest was bursting with hatred. I hated it for making me a bad person, and because this attempt to wake it up would cost me so many red cards.

  I pounded the wall with the dumbbells like crazy, but it wouldn’t wake up, it just whimpered and howled in its sleep. I threw the dumbbells on the table and started to kick the creature. I didn’t care anymore if I hurt it or not, now all I could think about was Mom coming home. I just couldn’t be a good person anymo
re. Also, I was thinking about the red cards and the movie Bedtime Stories, which I wouldn’t get to see now because of those cards, and about how shameful it was to lie to Mom, and about Alik, whom I hadn’t seen for a whole week because of this sleeping creature, and about Vera the Dummy, and how rudely I had shoved her away.

  I kept kicking and kicking the creature, it was howling at top volume now, but it still wouldn’t wake up. I felt that if it didn’t wake up right now, the thing would happen to me. That thought made me hate the creature even more. I kicked and kicked it, it was screaming in a voice that was somehow almost human, but it still wouldn’t wake up. Then I grabbed a red pen from the desk, the one I used to give myself grades for exercises, and poked the creature in the side. It didn’t wake up. I started to poke more, I poked and poked and poked, I screamed and poked, and screamed and poked again, until the pen leaked red ink onto my palm. I was sitting next to the beastie on the floor, screaming and poking, screaming and poking. I wasn’t thinking about anything anymore, I just wanted the creature to wake up, and I would have shoved it through the window into the yard, but then I heard Mom’s voice. I hadn’t noticed her opening the door or coming into the house.

  I only had a second before Mom ran to my room from the hallway, and during that second I managed to shove the beastie under the bed. I had to keep screaming, otherwise Mom would have heard the beastie crying. I screamed to Mom that my favorite red pen had leaked, and I showed her my red palm. Mom told me that we would buy a new red pen, and I saw that she felt much better. My screams had probably really scared her, she thought that the thing was happening to me, or that I had gotten sick. Mom hugged me with all her strength and told me she loved me.