Karl Tate had the right idea. But the wrong motive. The millionaire did it for profit but when I - I - do it . . . it will be personal. (And what I will do to them will be different BECAUSE it's personal.) I feel like shouting my message from a roof top - a single-story building - or else my words will be lost in the clouds. Some, if in my place, might don a cape, tights with underwear over it and a logo on the chest - a walking broadcast of what the person is standing for - but not I . . . not I. I do it right. I'll do THIS right. I'll be in my school clothes - whatever I happen to be wearing that day - so when I watch the life drain out of their eyes, the whites of mine will be completely plastered over their view as they - their entire existence -fades away inside a husk. The last thing they will know - maybe the last thing they will ever know since the sinking in of this experience might crowd out completely memories of anything else - is the all-encompassing sight of a citizen doing her duty - doing, as cliche as it sounds, what needs to be done.
I pet my kitten, Tigger, while sitting on my bed in my room knowing that what I'm about to do is making the world a better place for him. He deserves the best world possible to live in . . . simply because he is the best. I pet him again, with each petting sliding down the complete length of his body from the crown of his head to the curvature of his butt. I don't give him half-pettings like those who don't love cats as they should. I buy him toys each time he bats one under the refrigerator. Not because I can't retrieve it back for him. But because he deserves to get a new one each time.
Tigger looked up at me, head tilted, with soft innocent round eyes, Oh, but I'm scared, though. I don't have the stomach for such a calling. Why am I such a cry-baby? My father will kill me if he finds out what I'm up to! He'll ban me from being in the Babysitter's Club! I'll be shipped to Iowa permanently!
I looked at Tigger again. He was licking the inside of his paw. For some reason, that gave me the chills. As most people know that sometimes the most casual things in life could be relaying the most menacing and loudest message like a mobster fixing himself a drink with his back turned while you're alone in a room with him.
I suddenly felt myself needing to get to the Babysitter's Club meeting. I guess that I've trained my body to prick up and alert my mind whenever that time of day comes by. I was now in getting-to-the-meeting mode with an almost singular mentality. Still, there was still some kind of vague residue wreathed around that single purpose.
I hopped on my bicycle and rode to Claudia's. I was racked by a queasy unsure feeling during the whole commute.
I arrived in Claudia's room very winded. Funny. I've made the trip from my house over here many times but I've never been THIS fatigued before. I must be burdened by something.
"Hi, Mary Anne," Kristy acknowledged. She's usually already here when I arrive. She likes to be early since she's the president of our club, to show us the importance of punctuality by example, I guess.
"Hi," I returned the greeting.
My gaze magnetically shot to the collie hat that she always wears to meetings. My bad habit of biting my nails (I used to do it a lot in seventh grade, last year) returned in full strength. I lifted my fingers to my teeth. I bit a piece of fingernail and ripped it off with a savagery that surprised me. At the same time, an enveloping thought sprung into my head: I've changed my mind. I DO care to wear nail polish after all. It just won't be something you can buy in a store. My nails will be coated in deeply red animal blood - specifically dogs.
When I got home from the meeting, I was craving cat food. I took my mind off of it by starting dinner for my dad and I. I cut up vegetables for the salad with relish imagining the gleam of the blade as it sliced. I poured spaghetti sauce over noodles with the mind of a fiend seeing blood mixed with the entrails of a victim. I set the table and placed the food on top with the feel of preparing a reward for myself and a partner after a successful macabre mission together.
Afterwards, I went upstairs, got in my cat costume that I secretly made and drew whiskers on my face like ceremoniously putting on war paint. I then poured cat food in a pet bowl, set it down on the floor and called Tigger over. He ate while I, sitting on my calves and heels, picked at it.
After that, I began to knit with the remembrance in the back of my mind of why I sought out to learn it in the first place. I didn't know in the beginning why I was drawn to learning that skill. But now I do. I planned to knit until my dad got home.
I kept my hands busy with this recreation as I strengthened my resolve. I'm not going to be weak. I'm not going to give in to what's abundant in my nature.
The necklace that's always around my neck burst into prominence in my mind drawing all of my tactility to it. The engraving on it felt like it was glowing. I told everyone it said Mary Anne when actually what's etched in is Tigger. I know that telling people what was really inscribed on it won't perk up any suspicions but I'm under the notion that revealing it might compromise something somehow.
Tomorrow's sitting job's with Charlotte. I zoned in on that upcoming event by running certain thoughts through my head: I am NOT weak like your previous owners, Tigger. I don't have those failings. I SEE what they failed to see. They failed to see because they were not one of us. It's sad that you wasted all of that effort on them only to find out that they weren't.
As I soaked up the feeling of the necklace pressing against my flesh, I felt my kinship in being the same species as him fusing closer - stronger.
Dr. Reese didn't understand me. She doesn't understand US. She didn't understand our plight either. How dire it is. No one does.
I looked down at my hands. How dexterous with a needle and yarn they were. The perfect instruments.
I'm glad you chose me Tigger - for this.