The Day After, Draft 1

I turned the key and pushed the door open with a lean using my shoulder. I was tired. Reliable and familiar sounds: the clanging of the bell against the glass door. The animals heard my movements and the cacophony began. Someone’s here…someone’s here for us at last.

The stench of urine and slightly sweet smell of birds carried me from door onto stretch of tile floor into the back storage room where I placed my sandwich in the fridge and took out zucchini to dice. The iguanas must eat. Why must they eat such troublesome food?

The light of the shop looked different to me; a fluorescent bulb had burned out casting an atypical shadow over the looming 300 gallon saltwater tank that was an impressive display behind the cash register counter. With the bulb out it radiated an eerie glow.
“How do you clean that thing? It’s so huge!” customers would exclaim, pointing, their eyes tracing it from top to bottom, side to side, keeping the slow rhythm with the lazy swim of the graceful Disney-faced Puffer, small Clownfish, and deadly Lion Fish who lived there.

“I don’t clean it Ma’am. We have guys here who do that.”

Something stuck in my throat; it felt dry, as did the roof of my mouth. I realized my hand was still inside the iguana tank and one of them was making his way up my wrist. I flung him off forcefully and his small, wiry body hit the glass. That was mean. I didn’t feel gentle today. I just needed to get the job done, last the day, and go home.

It was odd to open the shop alone but to feel crowded while doing it. One time while taking store inventory, along with a product count, we had to count all the animals in the shop, including fish, which was interesting because they were in constant motion. We came up with the number of about 210 in our twelve separate aquariums, and this morning they were all rising to the tops of their imitation habitats beckoning like baby birds for me to sprinkle their morning feast down for them. I stared at them blankly. Today I could not feel compassionate toward them, or toward anything in the store. They began to blur and morph into shapelessness and I fell hypnotized by the hum of the aquarium filters, their motors running for the fishes survival.

A scroungy bark complained that I had not yet made my way to his corner, and I realized that I needed to feed and clean the puppy pen. The growls, chirps and scratching sounds of the animals played their normal orchestra, but I was far away. This headache must go away. I cannot get through this day with this headache.

I opened the cage where the terrier who wasn’t selling greeted me with over-enthusiasm, such enthusiasm that he knocked over his water bowl, making a wet mess of my white tee-shirt. At almost three months now, he was beginning to outgrow the cage. I pitied him and would often let him run around the store as I cleaned to allow him a break from the confinement and to stretch his legs. He and I had become friends. I set him down where he took off immediately toward the kittens’ cage. This interrupted the kittens’ calm vigil. They hissed and terrier gnashed his teeth. Havoc ensued: screeching, squawking, the whipping of wings, kittens growled and terrier did the only thing he knew to do in response to all of the frenzy. He peed on the floor.

“No!” I scolded. He took off in a sprint as if a reaction from me was a playful invitation. “Damn you, I said no!" He let out a yelp of hurt from my squeeze. I jerked him up by the scruff and glared into his eyes. My glare turned into shame. I will not cry. I have to open this shop in thirty minutes. I will not lose control.

Still facing me were the tasks of cleaning birdcages, finishing dog cages, changing kitty litter pans, feeding the fish, scooping deads. The dead fish must be disposed of, every day. First thing. Never open the store to customers without having scooped the dead.

I felt sick. The space around me began to shrink and look dreamlike. I made my way to where there was a small sink and a counter reserved for bagging fish for customers. It was cleared so that room had been made available for leisure.

Upon it sat two empty Coke cans, the tabs pulled off, and a pile of empty boiled peanut shells. I hugged my shoulders. Fell to my knees. The sobs came, like choking.