3/6/2022 0 Comments Meow at the CrosswalkMeow at the Crosswalk
Hannah Anderson Why did it have to be today? Of all days, TODAY? She grabs her cup of coffee, trying to keep the fuel from sloshing over the edge of the mug as she rushes out the door. It was her last day of work as an in-class tutor. Freaking failure, why did you say that? “Meow.” She places her mug on the roof of her car and digs through her bag for her keys. Her brow is furrowed and her lips pursed. She tries to control her breathing, but it still comes out in forced puffs. Her teeth are starting to hurt. Did I grab my wallet? My phone? WHERE are my KEYS? She pulls the keys from her bag, unlocks the door, throws her bag on the passenger seat, grabs her coffee, leans in, and places the dripping mug in the cupholder. It takes her 28 minutes to get to work, and she is running behind schedule. Pleeease, don’t let me be late? She pleads with her higher power. She pulls up her map, her Spotify playlist and plugs the auxiliary cord into her phone. Hopefully, the music will be loud enough. Ugh, I forgot to do the dishes last night...Molls can barely move. You suck! She pulls her left hand up to her head, opening and closing her fingers in frantic movements until she hears the lyrics of a song. The rest of her drive to work is spent focusing on each song, trying to sing along. When she pulls up to the student crossing in front of her school, she sees the gray mass of what must be a cat. It’s in the middle of the road, maybe five feet from the crosswalk. “Meow.” She parks and hurries into work. She sighs. Her shoulders rise and fall with the exhale. She wasn’t late. Thank God! Inside the classroom, she waits for the teacher to turn on the movie and shut the lights off. Are you hoping for brownie points or something? Kiss up! “Meow.” She shakes her head, one of the students looks at her. A door opens behind her. She freezes. Her arms shoot up, hands at shoulder height. She doesn’t move. The student asks if she is alright. Someone passes by and briefly pats her shoulder. She gasps. The teacher looks at her and asks if she is alright. She shakes her hands and her head. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she lowers her arms and answers. “Yeah, I’m fine... just overstimulated.” After the movie starts and the lights are dim, she approaches the teacher for permission to move the cat in the crosswalk. She can. She leaves through the side door. Her hands are in fists as she walks along the sidewalk. It’s just roadkill. She watches her black-clad feet take each step. It’s just a cat. She doesn’t look up. Nothing to worry about. She doesn’t look toward the scene. It’s fine. She doesn’t look until she gets to the corner. Coward. She waits for the street to be empty before approaching the gray pile. Entering the crosswalk, she moves quickly, but when she is standing over the feline, she pauses. “Meow.” The head is twisted round, over the back. Its eyes are round as a stuffed animal’s, mouth open in a silent eternal hiss. She gulps. Her hands unclasp. “Meow.” The ants are following along the blood on its back. Where do I grab it? She inhales deep. She reaches down, grabs its chest, and lifts. There are cars at the crosswalk, stopped, waiting, watching. She crosses to the other side. Not breathing, arms outstretched, searching the grass and sidewalk for an appropriate place to leave the carcass. There, by the wall. The weeds will give it some cover. She tosses the mass. You should have put it somewhere else...They’ll still see it. She looks down at her hands. There’s blood. She’ll enter the classroom with blood on her hands. I won’t be able to open the door. I’ll need to knock. She clasps her hands. Where’s its dignity, coward? “Meow.” She enters the crosswalk for the last time.
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AuthorThese are just short pieces I wrote during my time in a Short Story class. During Fall 2021, I was exposed to several different approaches to writing. Within the above pieces, I started experimenting more with flash fiction. I stopped aiming to write a "traditional" story and decided to let the words spill upon the page how they so chose. There is still so much to learn, fine tune, and develop, but here is start of my experimentation. |