The weeks after the holidays were slow at the pet store, and Marty spent a lot of time in his room while it rained and poured outside. The swollen creek rushed so loudly outside his window that he had to turn up his stereo to drown it out. The cabin lost its electricity often because of the storms, leaving him to draw cartoons by candlelight, or amuse himself with made-up games. Mike was seldom around, working long shifts to pay for a new transmission for the Stanger, and Marty needed a hobby. Aquarium Beautiful was experiencing a boom of snake and reptile sales, and the adventurous owners bought lots of rats, which were cheap and appropriate snake food. He decided to breed some rats at home to make extra money.
It was ridiculously easy to breed rats, because pound for pound, they are the fastest procreators of all the mammals. Females produce between 10 and 14 babies at a time. Their milk is one of the most nutritious substances known; capable of doubling a “pinkie’s” weight in a single day. Six weeks later, those pinkies could have babies of their own. Rats are very good at multiplication. Marty worked out his own math, and predicted he could make almost as much money as schlepping buckets of water or cleaning out cages. Well, actually, he was still cleaning out those cages… just at home. The thing was, he got kind of attached to the little critters. Rats are very intelligent, and given the proper care, will keep themselves very clean. Their naturally friendly response to handling made them tame easily, and you could even call them affectionate at times. Like the young man in that book, Willard, Marty was becoming obsessed with rats. Their playfulness and problem-solving abilities fascinated him.
One mother rat in particular made an impression on him. Her gray hair was unusually soft and silken, and she raised clean, intelligent babies that were too adorable to be sold as food for snakes. He named her Molly because she was so lively and fun. He talked Pat into letting him promote his gentle stock for sale as pets, pointing out that a live rat must be caged and fed, whereas a snake snack was just a one-time sale. Molly’s progeny turned out to be popular pets, and they were so incredibly tame that they would actually snuggle with young kids when held! Parents couldn’t resist an inexpensive companion animal that kissed the earlobes of their child… even if it was a rat. Pat was very pleased, and gave him several more cages.
When Marty came home from work or school, Molly would come running to greet him, using the ramps he’d set up in his room from the shelves to the dresser, and along the windowsill to his bed. His other pets were disgruntled and displaced. Lobo had to be kept out of the room now, because his wolfish instincts compelled him to eat their new roommate. Krishna, too, was beside herself with hunting lust. She was already an accomplished outdoor cat since Lobo and Keno came along, so she’d probably had many encounters with wild rats. The local creek rats were vile, loathsome creatures that were nothing like the docile, well-groomed rodents that inhabited Marty’s room. When the cat came in the house to get her food, she’d stare intently at the crack beneath his door, as if she could hear the tasty morsels squeaking, and their soft feet scrabbling in the pine shavings. He had to be very careful not to let her sneak in when he opened the door. Poor Molly, there was danger all around, and the only safe place was under the back of Marty’s collar.
Mike had his own name for her, of course, and called her “Rattamus,” which made no sense at all, and that was entirely the point. He worried about possibly stepping on something when he got up, and made a habit to check his shoes before putting them on. To thank him, Molly chewed a hole in his sweater. Rats are similar to humans, in that they feel like they own everything in their vicinity.
Marty got the idea of bringing Molly to school with him so he wouldn’t have to worry about her welfare back home, and needed some way to keep her from getting squashed in his backpack… but not a box that she could chew through in a few seconds. He had no cages or wooden crates that would fit inside, but then he found an ancient sample box in the shed, which was twice as big as the battered briefcase he’d been taking to school regularly for his books and drawings. He cleverly equipped the case with miniature food and water dispensers, and practiced carrying Molly around inside to see how she would react. She loved it! She seemed to understand it was a means of transportation to new and interesting places to explore, and she waited patiently until Marty let her out, when she’d run up the loose sleeve of his sweater, hide behind his long hair, and lick the nape of his neck gratefully.
The first day after winter break, Marty brought that clunky old sample case to school, and realized he stood out like a country bumpkin. It doesn’t take long for high school kids to notice somebody that looks different. Some were staring open-mouthed at his baggage, and inspecting him as if they were noticing for the first time that he had long hair and wore strange clothes. “I wish I had a guitar case, or something less awkward,” Marty muttered to himself between classes, as the sample box banged on his leg while running the gauntlet of curiosity to hide in the refuge of the art room. Molly was a little shaken up when he let her out, but she recovered quickly and wanted to explore. Alicia was there early, and she fell in love with Molly immediately. The furry charmer stayed behind her luxurious coiffure the entire class, licking the back of her neck. Marty couldn’t believe he actually envied a rat! Mr. Biagini never even noticed there was vermin loose in his class. Marty had an elaborate story planned about how he was going to use the creature as a model in a painting, but he never needed it.
Marty’s next class was Social Studies, and that would be more of a challenge. Mrs. Hightower was a snooty old bitty who thought she was far too important to be teaching a bunch of riff raff about the proper way to live. She spent most of the class vehemently deriding current fashion trends and social “degradation” as she called it, and finding a rat in her class would probably give her a heart attack. The mischievous part of his brain could imagine Molly scurrying under her desk, making her stand on top of it, screaming, while he summoned the superhero rodent back into her mobile home and closed the case, leaving everyone dumbfounded.
“Mr. White,” her high-pitched, grating voice shattered his daydream. “Have you become a Fuller Brush Man?” She gestured disdainfully at his bulky sample box, as if it was a scruffy mongrel at a dog show.
“Um, no, it’s just I have so many books to read.” He shoved it further under his desk with his toe, and felt Molly scuffling inside. He prayed to all the gods that she wouldn’t make him open it.
“Humph. Comic books, no doubt,” she sniffed with an air to convey that such drivel was far beneath her standards for proper reading material. She knew he was the cartoonist for the school paper, of course, and even had one of his drawings taped on the wall next to her desk. Then she arched an eyebrow at him in a way that few could see, and from her half smile he knew she accepted him as a hopeless eccentric. “You artists are all crazy, anyway,” her eyes seemed to say. He could feel an entire room full of evaluating eyes judging; categorizing him, labeling him for the specimen case. He had a sudden urge to let Molly out anyway, to show everyone how cool he really was. Instead, he just stuck there like gum on the sidewalk – the poor, grungy boy with the thrift store clothes, who couldn’t afford a proper backpack.
That was the last time he took a rat to school.
Fortunately, Molly was a big hit at the bleachers, where the misfit babes wearing too much makeup crowded around his sample box. “Oh, she’s so cute!” they cooed, “Look at her whiskers twitch!” Beautiful, elf-like Alicia was the princess of the bleacher tribe. Because they shared an affinity for art, Marty sometimes thought they had deep conversations. Unfortunately, there was no glimmer of encouragement in her eye, so he refrained from deluding himself into thinking their relationship could ever be more than friends. (That level of common sense was highly unusual for him at the time.) On that particular day, she was with her friend Sandy: a skinny, freckle-faced girl from Forest Knolls with a wide, country grin. She and Marty got to talking, and he noticed with some astonishment that the beacon he’d hoped to see in Alicia’s eyes seemed to be shining from Sandy’s! She was only a freshman, and he’d never paid her much attention before, but now he truly saw her for the first time. For Marty, a girl had to be slender to be attractive, but Sandy was almost painfully thin. The skin stretched tight on her cheekbones, making her striking blue eyes stand out even more. Her braided pigtails were short and hay-colored, and she often wore overalls, which accentuated her plucky hillbilly vibe. More than all that, she had a witty, friendly personality that saw the best in everything. She was sincerely impressed with Marty’s originality in having Molly as a pet (and bringing her to school, for goodness’ sake)! They spent lunch and recess together, and by the end of the day, he decided that he liked her a lot, and thought that she liked him, too.
“How are you getting Molly home?” she asked after school, as if the welfare of a rodent was more important than his own.
“Mike or my mom usually come by after work. I’ll just hang out here and read. Or draw,” he added quickly, accentuating his one well-known skill..
“You could get a ride with me and Francisco.”
Oh great, Marty despaired immediately; crestfallen. She has a boyfriend. The fire fizzled and went out.
Sandy sensed the disappointment on his face. “He’s my mom’s boyfriend,” she teased, just to gauge his reaction. Marty suddenly knew that she knew what he’d been thinking, and they both laughed in spite of their embarrassment. He thought it was a good sign that she had empathy for his feelings.
Whenever a conversation with a girl got close to “the flirting zone,” Marty felt like his brain got on a roller coaster after eating too much cotton candy. He could experience the dizzy heights of amorous optimism in one moment, and plunge into a free-fall of nauseating doubt in the next. Somewhere in between was where he wanted to be: having a level discussion with a person who thinks the way he does, and brings a vitally different perspective to everything. He didn’t want any more sweet snacks… he was seeking a much deeper sharing of soul food. He felt helpless to control the emotional ups and downs of his social shortcomings, until self-judgment eventually drugged his confidence into a catatonic state. If there wasn’t anything about which to be self-conscious, he could usually invent something. He would sometimes live and die 20 times in the space of a five minute chat about nothing in particular. All this would happen at 25,000 miles per hour, as if his heart was a helpless satellite caught in the alluring gravity of a heavenly body.
Marty cringed when he reflected later on what he must have looked like to the poor, young woman upon whom he was inflicting his desperation. Thankfully, this was in the days before video cameras! The only way he knew how to cover up his clumsiness at being a seducer of women was to be funny. While waiting for Sandy’s ride, they engaged in humorous banter about whatever came to mind, but the real topic of conversation was not in the words. They were sizing each other up: she to gauge his sincerity, and he to estimate his chances. It was a rather delicate waltz of emotional decorum for an amateur couple to attempt. They stepped on each other’s toes a lot – figuratively speaking, of course.
Marty wound up tagging along on that ride home with Sandy and Francisco, who truly was her mother’s fiancée. He seemed to be in a fantastic mood, and Marty vaguely wondered if he was stoned. It really didn’t matter, as he was aware only of the warm nearness of Sandy’s shoulder in the cab of the truck. Then the discussion turned to deeper relationships between men and women, and he could sense himself blushing. Francisco regaled them with romantic platitudes about being “young” and “in love,” and Marty’s breathing became short and shallow. Sandy was feeling warm, too. He could feel the heat of her thigh next to his on the seat, and was becoming aroused. Desperately, he wished that he could melt into the upholstery out of sheer embarrassment. His face got so red, the car in front of them pulled over thinking they were the cops! “Let me out here,” he gasped, “I need to stop at the post office!” His pants were becoming awfully crowded. He gauged the distance to the ditch in case he might have to jump and roll.
“Oh! I mean, that’s fine, hold on,” Sandy said uncertainly, also shaken by Francisco’s unexpectedly descriptive romantic fantasies. He pulled up next to the drab cinder block building that looked like a pillbox, and Marty hopped quickly out of the truck before it came to a full stop. “We can wait if you like,” she offered as if it were a question.
“No thanks, I have to take some stamps to the librarian.” He didn’t know why he said that, it just came out oddly… like having your dentures fall in your lap. “Up on the hill.” He pointed up the path uncomfortably, hiding behind the door of the truck.
“Oh,” Sandy responded, with an awkward look on her face, as if he had a booger hanging from his nose and she was too nice to tell him about it. “Well okay, see you tomorrow.” She rolled up the window, and Francisco turned around and headed back to Forest Knolls.
Poof! The little angel appeared on Marty’s shoulder, droning loudly in his proselytizing voice, “How nice you were to give her some time! You were both scared by how fast things were going!”
Pop! Mr. Devil stood on his other shoulder, and sneered, “Ha! You mean ‘growing.’ You really blew it that time, you idiot! ‘Taking stamps to a little old lady’ indeed. That lie will cost you an order of soul food, to go!”
“Fuck!” Marty shouted, with an intensity of feeling that would have made Otter proud, and the cartoon angel and devil both disappeared. Why was talking to a girl so damn hard?!
There was nothing to do but walk and think, or think and walk. Where do thoughts come from? He mused somberly. They sneak up on you like rats inside the walls, and then they disappear. I’d sure like to know how they’re getting in, so I can patch a few holes! That variety of self-berating reflection continued all the way home – a distance of 1.2 miles that he wouldn’t have had to walk if he hadn’t been so stupid! All he had to do was sit next to a pretty girl and make like James Dean, but he wound up as Gilligan instead. Noble Francisco had done his best to set the mood, and Marty wet his pants on stage. He didn’t even get her phone number! It didn’t matter that he had only really started talking to Sandy that day – in his mind they had lived and loved a lifetime together, and now she was gone. Of course he would still see her at school, but he knew it would forever be different.
Following the creek home, he was relieved to see the torrent was calming down a bit. The winter rains had been heavy, and the entire valley drained right through that narrow canyon. The familiar roar of raging creek water calmed his jangled nerves. The resolve of the floodwater to reach its destination somehow gave him strength to carry on. By the time he got back to the Rusty Bucket Ranch, he went straight to his room. Once again surrounded by books, drawings, and music, he took a hit from his bong and floated away, surrendering to the current; not knowing where he was going and no longer caring, just reflecting that if love was an ocean, he fell overboard every time.
“When I’m tired, and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
And dream of a girl I used to know
I close my eyes, and she slips away…”
— Boston