Crimes of the Sarahs

by Kristen Tracy

  I pull into the Kalamazoo 10 and begin sharking around the lot for a parking spot. I’m glad that we’re going to see a movie. I’m tired of talking and thinking. I’m not built for debate.

  “Drop me off,” Sarah A says.

  I pull up to the handicap ramp and let out all the other Sarahs. Then I continue to shark. I don’t know if Sarah B and Sarah C have noticed, but sometimes when we go see a movie, Sarah A doesn’t always watch the screen. Sometimes, I turn and look at her and she has her eyes closed and her face is perfectly relaxed. It almost looks like she’s sleeping, except I know she’s not.

  When I go to the movies, I like to watch the big screen and be pulled into a totally different place. A foreign perspective. A new world. I guess Sarah A goes someplace inside of herself. I’m just surprised that she’s willing to pay almost seven bucks for that experience. Couldn’t she just turn out the light in the bathroom and sit on the toilet?

  I walk alone past row after row of parked cars. Michigan drivers park crooked. Even I do. I walk inside and buy my ticket and join the other Sarahs. I squeak down in my chair right as the lights dim.

  “What’s this movie even about?” I ask.

  “Cars,” Sarah C says flatly.

  I sigh. I hope there isn’t a ton of honking.

  Chapter 14

  After the movie, I drive to Sarah C’s to retrieve the cat and rabbit. Sarah C bites her thumb and looks out the car window at the passing houses. She seems gloomy. I think she’s become attached to Digits. She has been his sole caretaker.

  “It’s not like they’re going to be put down,” Sarah A says as I turn down Westnedge.

  She’s right. Our shelter does an excellent job adopting out animals. And it’s a no-kill shelter too, even for really ugly animals. Luckily, both Digits and Frenchy are pretty attractive. Plus, Digits’s bonus toes will probably help him secure a home more quickly. It sounds crazy, but when you’re an abandoned animal, anything that makes you stand out from the crowd makes you remarkable. I’ve seen dogs with burned-off ears end up in very classy and loving homes.

  I flip my headlights off and let the car roll to a stop in front of the shelter. The full moon gives us plenty of light to do the deed. I look at the cages where we’ll be dumping our animal cargo. This is going to be harder than I thought. I’m not a psychic, but I can sense that this whole situation is about to become mired in drama. It could have been easy enough. It should have been easy enough. But when you throw a charcoal gray pit bull into the mix, it’s never easy. The big dog is hunched inside one of the larger cages, its snout pressed right up against the bars. Nobody gets out of the car. I’ve turned my engine off, but there’s still a rumbling sound. It’s the pit bull. He’s growling.

  “Some jerk dumped a pit bull,” I say.

  “It’s so loud,” Sarah B says.

  “It wants to eat us,” Sarah C adds. “And I have no desire to die before I kiss Benny Stowe.”

  “He couldn’t eat all of you,” Sarah A says. “You’re too tall.”

  “He could eat enough of me,” Sarah C says.

  I don’t think she’s wrong either. He’s snarling now, like he wants to drag us from the car and chew through our throats.

  “Wait till we get close to him,” I say.

  “We’ve just caught him off guard,” Sarah A says. “Give him a minute.”

  “What for? Let’s just put Digits and Frenchy in that other corner cage,” I say.

  “Actually, we should probably put Frenchy in his own cage,” Sarah C says. “Rabbits can’t vomit.”

  “So?” Sarah A says.

  “Digits is a shedder. If Frenchy sucks in all the fuzz and develops a furball he’ll die,” Sarah C says. “It’ll get blocked in his intestines.”

  Sarah A turns around and swats Sarah C hard on the leg.

  “I said no more rabbit crap. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Okay, let’s calm down. There’s plenty of spaces. We can stick Digits and Frenchy in separate cages,” I say.

  “That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Sarah A says.

  I look at her blankly. What else is there to be concerned about? We need to dump these animals and move on.

  “I want that dog,” Sarah A says.

  “What do you mean?” Sarah C says.

  “What do you mean what do I mean? I want him,” Sarah A says.

  “After he’s processed, if he passes his socialization tests, you can adopt him,” I say.

  But I think that’s a bad idea. Because if her parents don’t want to break the rules and risk getting fined for concealing a friendly yellow Lab like John Glenn in their condo, I seriously doubt they’d change their minds and take in a vicious beast.

  “I don’t want to adopt him. I want to sell him. I know somebody who’d buy him,” Sarah A says.

  “That’s crazy,” Sarah C says.

  Sarah A cracks open her door. “I want him,” she says.

  Sarah C tries to grab Sarah A’s arm, but Sarah A pulls away. She gets out of the car and slowly approaches the caged pit bull.

  “He’ll kill us. He looks like a total bite-off-your-face kind of dog,” Sarah C says.

  Sarah B and I both nod in agreement.

  The pit bull rests his rump down in the cage as Sarah A stands in front of it. I think the dog looks like he’s getting ready to strike.

  “Can killer dogs chew through cages?” Sarah B asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “What is she thinking?” Sarah C asks. “I’m holding a cat.”

  “I’ve got a rabbit,” Sarah B says.

  “It’s in a pillowcase,” Sarah C says.

  “Yeah, like that’s going to protect anyone,” Sarah B says.

  “At least Frenchy is hidden and can’t see what’s going on,” Sarah C says. “Digits is freaking out. His claws are firmly planted in my thigh. It’s going to leave a mark.”

  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Maybe I should honk the horn. But Sarah A is so determined. By challenging her earlier and refusing to put Frenchy in my trunk, I think I provoked her stubborn and reckless side. She’s acting like the taking of the pit bull is essential. I have no idea why she feels this way.

  “Go talk her out of it,” Sarah B says.

  I shake my head no.

  “Do you want that thing in your car?” Sarah C asks. “How else are we going to transport it?”

  Okay. I don’t want the pit bull in my car. Sarah C makes a very good point. I get out and slowly walk over to Sarah A and the cages.

  “See, he’s nice,” Sarah A says.

  The pit bull has forced a milky-colored front paw out of the cage and hooked it around a bar. Sarah A is petting it.

  “I don’t think you can really determine his temperament while he’s still in the cage,” I say.

  The pit bull takes his big, wet tongue and begins sweeping it across the cage’s front.

  “He’s trying to give kisses,” Sarah A says.

  At this point, I’m not sure if she’s lost touch with reality, or if she’s completely locked in high-level manipulation mode to the point where in addition to manipulating me, she’s also manipulating herself.

  “We’ve got a rabbit and a cat in the car. This dog is going to freak out,” I say. “Maybe we should just leave him.”

  Sarah A turns to face me and puts her hand on my shoulder. It feels heavier than it should. Maybe she’s doing that on purpose.

  “Listen, if we pulled up here and saw a hundred-dollar bill sitting in this cage, would you just leave it?”

  I look back at the pit bull. He’s still licking away.

  “It’s not the same thing,” I say. “I wouldn’t be afraid to put a hundred-dollar bill in my car.”

  “Is this what this is all about?” she asks. She pulls her hand off my shoulder and points her index finger at me. She needs to get a manicure. Her nails are looking a little chipped.

  “Yes,” I say. “I don’t want that dog in my c
ar.”

  “No, that’s not what you said. You said that you were afraid. Is that what’s going on? You’re letting fear stop you? You can’t ever let fear stop you. Fear is something weak people feel that keeps them locked in crappy jobs and living worthless lives. Fear is for losers.”

  Sarah C opens up her car door. “Fear is also part of human instinct. Historically speaking, it’s saved a lot of lives.”

  Sarah A looks furious. She walks over to my car and swings open Sarah C’s door.

  “If you’ve got something to say, then say it to my face.”

  “If this isn’t part of the guy phase, which really is where all of our heads should be, I think we should pass on the dog,” Sarah C says.

  “Sometimes I think the only reason you’re a Sarah is so you can get your hooks into Benny Stowe,” Sarah A says.

  “You’re just saying that because you’re mad,” Sarah C says.

  “No, I’m saying it because I think it’s true,” Sarah A says.

  “Come on. Stealing a pit bull is a bad idea. I mean, I’ve got a cat,” Sarah C says.

  Digits’ back is fully arched and he’s releasing an aggressive murmur, sort of like a controlled yowl.

  “Give me the freaking cat,” Sarah A says.

  She grabs Digits by the scruff of his neck and carries the dangling cat toward the cages. I don’t tell her to be more gentle. Considering her state of mind, I think she’s being reasonably gentle.

  By now the dog has sensed the presence of the cat. He’s mashing his face against the cage, barking and spewing slobber.

  Sarah C has gotten out of the car. I think her thigh is actually bleeding. The pit bull jerks around inside the cage, making an awful rattling noise. He’s barking too. And grunting. And banging against the metal walls with his head.

  “We better get out of here,” Sarah C says.

  “Not without the dog,” Sarah A says.

  Sarah B has not gotten out of the car. That means Frenchy is still inside too.

  “Bring the rabbit here,” Sarah A says.

  Sarah B climbs out of Sarah C’s already open door. The pit bull is still going crazy. When I look at him, all I see is an enraged pink mouth filled with jagged white teeth.

  “Just toss the rabbit in a cage,” Sarah A says.

  “Shouldn’t we take off his collar and stuff? I mean, won’t your mom figure out what we did if some shelter employee finds Frenchy in this cage in the morning and calls your home phone number?”

  Sarah A looks totally pissed. And not at any of us. She’s pissed at herself.

  “Of course, take all the tags off,” Sarah A says. “And do the same thing for Digits.”

  “I already did,” Sarah C says.

  “You should have done it already too,” Sarah A shouts.

  “Wait. It’s not like I’ve been living with Frenchy in my bedroom. He was barely given to me,” Sarah B says. “And officially, I wasn’t even assigned the rabbit.”

  “Just take off the tags!” Sarah A yells.

  Suddenly, there’s no time to do anything. It’s the end of the world. After working himself into a frenzy, the pit bull has broken out of the cage.

  “Jesus,” Sarah B screams. “He’s out.”

  “Don’t run!” Sarah C warns. “You’ll trigger his chase instinct.”

  That’s easier said than done. Sarah A has no problem freezing, neither does Sarah C. But Sarah B takes off running, with the pillowcase swinging at her side.

  “Get rid of the rabbit!” Sarah C yells.

  But Sarah B has too big of a heart to just drop the pillowcase and let that dog maul Frenchy to death. She turns to me and flings the pillowcase through the air. It sails toward me like a football. The charging dog pivots and changes direction. I watch him kick up dirt as he turns. When I catch the pillowcase, I know that I need to act fast. I untie the knot and dump the rabbit onto the ground. Frenchy doesn’t waste a second. He leaps furiously into the trees behind the shelter, and the dog follows. Down the street, a porch light pops on.

  “We better get out of here,” Sarah C says.

  We all race to the car and slam our doors shut.

  “Nice throw,” I say to Sarah B.

  “Actually, you should never throw a rabbit. They have very delicate spines,” Sarah C says.

  “Shut up,” Sarah A says.

  I start the car and speed off.

  “There’s no reason to be ticked off,” Sarah C says. “Things went well.”

  “We just lost a hundred bucks,” Sarah A says. “And the freaking rabbit totally got away.”

  “At least it’ll probably live,” Sarah B says.

  “There’s no way we could’ve transported a pit bull,” Sarah C says.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “That’s just media hype. Pit bulls aren’t that bad,” Sarah A says. “More people are killed by hippo attacks each year.”

  “Where did you hear that statistic?” Sarah C asks.

  Sarah A doesn’t respond. I’m sweating. I roll my window down. I can hear the dog barking a couple of blocks away. It sounds like he’s still chasing Frenchy.

  “You let a stinky rabbit ride in your car and a mangy cat, what difference is a pit bull?” Sarah A asks. “He wasn’t even full grown.”

  Nobody answers her.

  “Do you think Frenchy can outrun that dog?” Sarah B asks.

  “I do,” Sarah C says. “He’s still wearing his tags. I bet somebody finds him and turns him in to the pound within the next day or two.”

  “What about the dog?” Sarah B asks.

  “I doubt it will stay at large for long,” Sarah C says.

  “And Digits is in the cage, right?” Sarah B asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “He’s locked up safe.”

  “You guys are so soft. Life’s cruel. Terrible things happens every day. Kids get cancer. People jump off bridges. Space shuttles blow up,” Sarah A says.

  “I know you’re trying to build a convincing analogy, but space shuttles do not blow up every day,” Sarah C says.

  “You know what I mean,” Sarah A says. “Animals die. It just happens.”

  “Yeah, but I’d like to think that I’m not personally responsible for their deaths,” Sarah C says.

  “Me too,” I say.

  “It’s so sad to think that people jump off bridges every day,” Sarah B says.

  “You’re all soft,” Sarah A says. “We could’ve gotten big bucks for that dog. I sold a Pomeranian to a guy last month who was looking for a pit bull.”

  “Why would somebody want a Pomeranian and a pit bull?” Sarah C asks. “That’s like buying a chicken and an alligator.”

  “I guess if you love dogs, you love all dogs,” Sarah A says.

  As I drive toward Sarah B’s house, I can’t help but think of my blind neighbor’s missing Pomeranian, Pom-Pom. Would Sarah A have done that?

  I drop off the other Sarahs and drive Sarah A and myself home.

  “What a night,” I say.

  Sarah A doesn’t answer me. I park the car.

  “I’m really sick of living with you,” she says.

  I pull my key out of the ignition. This is horrible news.

  How does she expect me to respond?

  “You think you’re so perfect. You think you’re so smart.”

  “I do not,” I say. When Sarah A is ticked off, she must really suck at mind reading, because I’m not even close to feeling that way.

  “You pee your pants. You’re not that perfect.”

  I sit motionless. I wish Sarah A was better at coping with disappointment.

  “Turn your lights off.”

  I do, but I’m sort of haughty about it. I flick the switch really quickly and cluck my tongue.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Sarah A asks. “I’m the one who should be upset.”

  “I thought this living arrangement would be fun,” I say. “I thought it would be like we were sisters.”

  Sarah A sighs. I’m so di
sappointed that things are turning out like this. The night feels like a disaster. And my relationship with Sarah A doesn’t feel much better.

  “Will you still call Roman tonight?” I ask.

  “No. Not when I’m feeling like this,” Sarah A says.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “I’m frustrated. You didn’t support me tonight. Not with the rabbit or the pit bull. In fact, you completely undermined me.”

  “I didn’t want the rabbit to die and stealing the pit bull wasn’t the best idea,” I say.

  “I’m not stupid. I know. But at the shelter nobody even considered it with me. I was all alone. I was arguing against all three of you.”

  She slaps the dashboard in frustration and firmly pushes her body back into the seat.

  “But we didn’t agree with you,” I say.

  I can see tears slipping down Sarah A’s cheeks. I bite the inside of my cheek. Sarah A never cries. Sarah A is always in control. I’m surprised to see her this devastated over a dog.

  “I know you didn’t agree with me,” Sarah A says.

  “Isn’t that part of being sisters?” I ask.

  “No. Sisterhood is about love and support. It’s about trying to understand each other. Nobody even tried to understand me tonight. You all rallied around one another like I didn’t even matter.”

  “Do you need a Kleenex?” I ask.

  “Do you have a Kleenex?” she asks.

  “Inside the house.”

  She wipes beneath her eyes using the back of her hand.

  “I felt abandoned,” she says. “I felt all alone.”

  This is sort of weird and dramatic to hear, because the whole dog incident lasted less than ten minutes. Yet, Sarah A makes it sound like her whole worth was tied up in that one moment. This isn’t just about the dog. There are bigger issues here. But I’m not sure how to talk to Sarah A. I feel like anything I say will be the wrong thing.

  “I’ll never abandon you,” I say. “I just won’t.”

  “God, Sarah, you make this sound all romantic and sexual and stuff.”

  “No, I don’t mean it that way. I mean it like friends.”