Squirrels

The squirrels must’ve busted their way in after the first snowfall. I can’t say I blame them. They probably wouldn’t have survived otherwise—it was the Arctic tundra out there, or at least it got close. They must’ve reproduced, too. By Christmas it sounded like we had a whole colony living in the rafters. Their scratchy skitters would travel across the walls like fluid, as if they weren’t confined to the laws of up and down.

I should probably mention I’m not positive they were squirrels. We never actually saw them. But we heard their footsteps, their clawing, their gibbers, which sounded like squirrels. Not rats or bats. No. Certainly not. Rats aren’t chaotic. Bats don’t skitter; they flap flap flap. Had to be squirrels. Yes.

Ma couldn’t give a damn. She was addicted to Diet Coke and sports betting.

This one day I said to her, Ma, we gotta do something about these squirrels.

And she said, They’re not hurting anyone.

I suppose they weren’t. But I also figured they were ripping the house’s innards apart day by day. She was watching SportsCenter, inhaling a Diet Coke. So, I said, Ma, I think you’re addicted to Diet Coke.

You can’t get addicted to Diet Coke, Mikey. She meant that.

Right then and there my little sister, Sandra, screamed at the top of her lungs. She was in her room, and I pushed the door open, ready to crack heads going, What what what?

Sandra said, There was a squirrel in here.

I had had it with these fuckers. The blood was violent in my wrists. Where is it?

I seen it, she said, I seen it run into the closet.

I tossed her befouled clothes behind me like a dog digging for grubs. Nothing. Just crumbs and make-up stains on empty carpet. I didn’t deny the validity of Sandra’s testimony, though. She was well past the age of making up imaginary things for the sake of attention. She wouldn’t do that. Not under these circumstances.

Now Ma was screaming at the top of her lungs. I ran down there, ready to crack heads going, What what what?

Pittsburgh won. I had three hundred on that game. Fuck. She went to whip the Diet Coke at the TV but stopped herself with a defeated sigh. I was on a roll, Mikey.

You always say that, I said.

I always am, she said.

The skittering squirrels came across the ceiling. We looked up at the sound. It was as if they were boxing with each other—these violent little creatures. But they were too bashful to show themselves to the man of the house. I’d stomp their heads in if I got ahold of them. Yes. They asked for it. They did.

I had cleaned all the Diet Coke empties from the night before, and I noticed Ma had two next to her already. I picked one up, saying, Ma, how many have you had?

This is my first one. It’s my coffee. You wouldn’t say anything if it were coffee.

I suppose she was right. I wouldn’t have.

I went to the pantry to get my breakfast. All that remained in the bag of bread was the butts. Ma, there’s no more bread, I hollered.

She came in there, pointed at the bag and said, There’s bread right there.

That’s just the butts.

So?

I hate the butts.

She left me there standing and said, Children in Africa would be grateful for the butts.

Then send the butts to them, I said. But she wasn’t listening. I burned the butts and covered them in old jam and ate charcoal mouthfuls. Ma went back to drinking Diet Coke and watching SportsCenter, saying, Fuck fuck fuck, under her breath. Her predictions were wrong. She was anxiously filling out her sheet for the bookie, erasing things, then writing them again, and again.

The squirrels started acting up. They tore across the ceiling, sending a shattering echo throughout the house. Ma stopped her writing and looked up, as if some archangel had shown itself to her. Her mouth opened; then she said, Squirrels, if the Sabres will win by two, make noise. There was nothing.

Squirrels, she said, if the Sabres win by three, make noise, right now. Nothing.

Squirrels, if the Sabres lose by five, make noise. They sent a skittering scatter across the ceiling and Ma erased her sheet viciously. Such was their prophecy. She filled it in and said, Mikey, bring this to the bookie. And pick up two liters on the way. Diet Coke.

The bookie was this Italian named Frankie the Cupcake. I don’t know why they called him that. He had an apartment up on Utica. I stuffed my boots on, left the worn laces hanging, and stepped out into the snow. The street was slush and litter. A warty man in a Bills jacket was shoveling his driveway. Mrs. Carrozza smoked a Camel and drank a Manhattan in her nurse scrubs.

Cupcake’s apartment complex had one of those key codes, but someone busted the door open so you didn’t need it. I made sure I still had Ma’s sheet in my pocket before I went up there. He came to the door with a lazy stomp, his round belly poking out into the hallway with his head. Yes? he said.

I got my ma’s sheet.

He took it and examined it. That’s a bold bet, he said.

The squirrels predicted it.

What now?

The squirrels. That’s what my ma thinks, at least.

What squirrels?

The ones in our walls.

You breakin’ my fuckin balls or something?

No.

He looked at me a moment, then went, You got the money?

Yeah.

Give it here. He took it and closed the door.

I went to the 7-Eleven down the street and squeaked my boots across the wet and salty floor. The aisles were filled with snacks and knick-knacks, but there were no two liters. Do you guys have two liters? I said to the cashier.

No, he said.

Back outside, I had a plastic bag careening at my knees. It was filled with four one-liter bottles of Diet Coke and a long Slim Jim for myself. I stopped in front of some humongous evergreen tree and ate the Slim Jim; I stared up at the tree, and its lush spire slightly swayed. My socks were wet by the time I got back home.

Where is it? she said.

I gave her the bag, and she ripped a Diet Coke open, poured herself a glass with ice, said, Ah. You got the change? she said. I gave her the leftover bills and coins.

This is a big game, Mikey, she said, walking around anxiously. This is a big game.

For dinner, Sandra and I ate tuna fish and mayonnaise out of bowls because there was no bread. I hated tuna fish without bread. It had the texture of cat vomit.

That night I watched the game with Ma. The Blue Jackets were out-skating the Sabres this way and that way. It was hardly a contest. One to zip. Two to zip. Three to zip. Four. Ma had the blanket pulled over her head, saying, I can’t watch. I can’t watch.

And there it was. The fifth goal followed by the buzzer that won her the jackpot. Thirty-five hundred dollars, all because the squirrels said so. Ma screamed like a car alarm and threw her hands up in the air. She came over to me and squeezed me. I could feel her heartbeat. I knew it, Mikey, she said. I knew it would all work out in the end.

In the middle of the night she woke me. I wasn’t dreaming, but I was asleep. She whispered, Mikey.

What?

Are you asleep?

Yes.

I drank too much Diet Coke. I can’t sleep. I just wanted to let you know that I love you, she said. You know that I love you. Right, Mikey?

Yes, Ma.

Okay.

I let the tussle of squirrels bring me back to sleep. My opinion of them hadn’t changed. No. Maybe just a little.

The next morning, I was back at Cupcake’s picking up Ma’s dough. I’ll be damned, he said, handing me the chunk of twenties. Them squirrels were right.

Back home Ma was sucking a Diet Coke and looking at the ceiling. Her eyes and hair made her look demented.

Ma, what is it? I said.

Huh? she said.

Did you sleep?

No. The squirrels are lying. They say one thing; then they say another. She stepped onto the couch to get closer to them. Squirrels, if the Sabres will win tomorrow, make a noise. Nothing. Well, five minutes ago you said they would. They’re being inconsistent, Mikey.

Ma, they’re squirrels.

No. We’ve done something to offend them.

Sandra screamed again. I ran up there, ready to crack heads.

The squirrel is back. I seen it run under my bed. I seen it, Mikey.

I was strong enough to pull the whole bed from the wall, so I did. I said, show yourself, you little bastard. But it wouldn’t. There were just old socks and forgotten sheets of homework. It must’ve gotten away, I said.

But I seen it, said Sandra.

I know.

Ma was hollering.

I went down there, and she was scribbling at her sheet. Ma, give it a rest, I said. We need more bread.

Okay, squirrels, she said, if the Sabres win by two, don’t make any noise. There was silence, and she jotted the prophecy down on her sheet. Bring this to Frankie.

Can I get bread?

What do you need bread for?

To eat.

Fine. Get Diet Coke, too.

The snow was blowing out there, harder than it usually did. I dropped off the sheet, handed over the dough, and bought the bread. Ma was anxious, saying, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done that. She stood up on the couch. Squirrels, you didn’t lie to me, did you? They shot across the walls, making the chain of the cuckoo clock jingle with their skitters. Is that a yes or a no? she said.

Sandra and I ate tuna fish and mayonnaise sandwiches for dinner. I liked tuna fish in a sandwich. Sandra said she didn’t want to eat the crust, and I told her that was fine. It was totally fine.

When the Sabres game came on, Ma was hiding under the sheets again. She stuck an arm out and flailed it around on the coffee table, grasping for her Diet Coke. She grabbed a scented candle by mistake and almost set the blanket aflame. Damn, she said. Mikey, hand me my Diet Coke.

No, I said, I think you’ve had enough.

She threw the blanket off and glared at me; her face was like a hill witch. You little shit, she said. You’re no son of mine. She took the Diet Coke and drank. I’m sorry, she said. Mikey, I didn’t mean it.

I went upstairs to see Sandra, and she looked suspicious.

What? I said.

Nothing, Sandra said.

What are you hiding behind your back?

Nothing. I went over to look. Nothing, she said, shifting herself.

I glimpsed a can. You’ve been drinking Diet Coke? I said.

Ma said I could.

My little sister. My sweet little sister. I had it. The blood was in my wrists. Give it to me, I said. She did.

Ma was screaming downstairs. I went down there ready to scream, too. She took a broom and stabbed the TV until it sparked. The fucking Sabres won. She went to the wall, stabbing at it, hollering, You lying fucks. You lying, lying fucks.

Blood in my wrists. I had had it with these squirrels. They were tearing my family apart. I was the man of the house. Yes, I was.

Mikey, help me break this wall down, Ma said.

I cracked my knuckles and punched through.