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"I DON'T GET IT"
Part 7

By: I Write Big

"I said, I can't do this anymore," Nick grumbled through the pain.

Finnick gave him a once over, "What happened, you crack a rib in that dog pile or something?"

Nick had half a mind to turn around and leave. He had said what he came to say, but there was still the issue of the five pound saxophone hanging from his paws. He dropped the case by the back tire. "My ribs are fine. These lessons, Finnick… I can't."

The little guy waited for him to continue, but Nick had nothing.

"...So just like before, huh? No good reason, out of nowhere, you're done?" he fixed him with a blank stare.

"Yeah."

Finnick again fruitlessly waited for him to continue before kicking the instrument to Nick. "Already told you, I ain't your personal storage," he nodded to the other side of the van. "Dumpster's over there."

Nick returned the stare for a couple seconds, before picking up the sax. He stomped down the alley and tossed the thing into the trash with a heavy clang. He didn't feel any lighter.


"Just knock already," Nick told his trembling fist. No matter how hard he glared, though, it wouldn't listen.

Nick unfurled his paw and instead ran his fingers over the unvarnished wood. The hot stage lights boiled above him like miniature suns. He kept searching through the splinters until his claws slipped into a set of marks two feet above the stained floor. Though much smaller than his current claws, he still recognized the feel of his old sign. He pushed away the memories, not quite ready to revisit those times. The knob turned and the hinges creaked open.

"Do Re Mi Fa So La—" she saw him and dropped the last note.

"Hi, mom."

The vixen was a head shorter than him. The vibrant red hair coloring hid her true age, but Nick recognized the need to remain young in her line of work. The spangled headdress was a bit much though.

"Nicholas," she gently pushed past him, throwing on a shawl. "What are you doing here? It's not my birthday."

He diligently followed her, ignoring the cold, trite tone, "Oh, the bandages? Thanks for asking but don't worry. A lot worse than they look, trust me." She peeked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened slightly at his injuries before she turned away.

"Glad to see you haven't lost that snark of yours."

"Learned from the best," a wave of applause cut him short as they arrived at edge of the stage. The latest act, a colorfully dressed zebra, was bowing and blowing kisses to the smoke obscured crowd. "You on next?"

"...Yes," she admitted with a tinge of anger, "and I would've appreciated you waiting until after for whatever this is."

"Come on, mom," he teased as she touched up her foundation. "We both know how good you are with separating career and family life."

She snapped her compact shut and looked him in the eye for the first time, "Are you dying?"

"What?" he frowned.

"'Cause unless you're dying, I don't want to have this conversation." The teasing was over. Nick opened his mouth…

"Up next, everymammal, put your paws together for the always lovely Miss Wilde," a cool voice on a microphone announced.

She gave Nick a couple more seconds, then went on stage.

"I told someone."

He saw her steps hesitate and there was a look of genuine shock before she put on a professional face and continued to the piano. "At least I got her attention..."

"Thank you all for being here today," her caressing, deep voice fluttered through the theater as she played a few opening chords. "Since I have the time, I think I want show you a little something my son cooked up for his momma. He likes to say I wrote it, but really, we made it together" She shot him a sad smile, "...Back when we talked."

Nick's legs wobbled. He stumbled back as the first notes hit him.

"The angel carried her far and wide, to a place where darkness could never hide…" Her performance was slow... kind... understanding... perfect for dozing off to over a warm glass of milk.

Nick made his way back to the dressing room and shut himself in. The song was dampened through the thick walls to a mere trickle, allowing him to think. Nick admired the organized clutter that marked the dressing room as her own. The little details stood out. An entire jewelry box for her only necklace, the heels she's worn since before Nick could remember. Above them all sat the photo. The image of an idealistic, young kit in a crisp new Junior Ranger Scouts uniform. His vision clouded, forcing him rub the tears away. "Keep it together." It was a couple minutes before could see again, but when he did he spied another photo tucked into the frame of the vanity mirror. A far more recent picture of him wearing a blue uniform with a familiar bunny at his side.

Thunderous cheers shattered the moment as the door flew open.

"Baby, that was stupendous! They were putty in your paws! Chills!" congratulated a chubby molerat while gnawing on a cigar, "Can you do that opener again for the dinner rush?"

"We'll talk later, Larry," she shut the door in his face. A few seconds later, she set the lock. Nick understood the message clearly.

No more jokes. No more wit. One chance. Plain and honest.

He took a seat without a word and waited for her to start. She took off the headdress, threw away the shawl and began scrubbing through the makeup. The transformation was unnerving each time. Her once sleek, combed fur had frizzled to the erratic texture of a shrub. Meanwhile, the now visible snow white fur framing her eyes gave a sense of wisdom and experience; traits most mammals don't want in their singers.

Satisfied, she asked him, "Who?"

He motioned to the picture.

"Her..." She seemed less surprised than he was expecting. "I was planning to come to your graduation, Nicholas, I really was," she apologized, "but they needed me here. Rose had come down with a sudden cold and someone had to fill in. It was an emergency."

"It's fine," he shrugged.

"So..." she prompted his reflection, "How'd she take it?"

"Spent the first month singing, humming and blasting the radio non-stop," he smirked.

His mother let a melodic laugh that filled every corner. He couldn't help but join her. "You see, you had nothing to worry about."

"Guess you were right," he sighed, "at first." For the thousandth time he searched for what went wrong, "Now, she doesn't hum. She doesn't touch the radio. It's like she's doing everything she can to avoid music around me." His paws clenched when the words escaped his mouth. Saying them out loud had cut deeper than any knife. Normally, silence was a welcome escape, but they had become times of dread…

"Isn't that you always wanted, Nicholas? Isn't that what you've been trying to—"

"She's not happy!" he jabbed an accusatory finger in her face. "You sang because you were happy! Singing made you happy!" The stare on his mother's face made him catch his sudden outburst. Nick sheepishly turned away. "I can tell, mom. She isn't happy."

His mother's unflinching demeanor wasn't fazed. "You don't want what happened to us to happen to the two of you," she said. He felt himself nod. "Nicholas, that emotional bunny is rubbing off on you, I swear." She sighed and poured herself a drink. "Singing did and does make me happy. It's what I always wanted to do and why I worked as an overnight janitor here for ten years. You know what didn't make me happy? Flipping burgers, shining shoes and scrubbing other mammal's toilets just to come home late and find you making yourself miserable."

Her words only made him feel shame, "And what was I supposed to do?"

"Talk to me, Nicholas… You wouldn't talk to me. It didn't matter to me how you felt about music. We pushed each other away because I couldn't make time for you and you wouldn't be honest with me." She sat in front of him and made sure he was listening. "The lullaby we wrote… Tell me, did you enjoy that?"

"It made you happy—"

"But were you happy?"

A lump formed in his throat and he tried to think of something else to talk about. A clever turn of phrase. A joke. Anything.

"...I hated every second," he pushed out.

She held him close and whispered, "That's okay. You don't need to like my music or anybody's music." Her arms wrapped him tightly like the softest blanket. Fingers scratched between his ears. A love held back by years of distance and pain. It had been too long. He hugged her back.

"Just talk to her. Let her know, you're not a fragile child."

He let out a choking laugh, "That's it."

"Not even close," she admitted. "But it's how you'll start." She rubbed his head and asked knowingly, "When was the last time you two talked to each other?"

He blinked, "...A week."

"For the love of—" She stood up in a fit. "A week?! What are you doing here? Get your tail moving!" She shoved him towards the door.

"Are you sure?" he grinned. "I mean, I don't mind sticking around, catching up, that sort of stuff."

"Priorities, Nicholas!" He nearly tripped over an impatiently waiting Larry. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nick gave his mom one last smile and headed out.

"Why her?" she called.

He stumbled, confused at her derailing question, "I… I'm not sure?"

She rolled her eyes, "Figures."


"Last chance," Finnick nudged his side.

Nick didn't say anything. If he did, he was afraid he would run in there and grab it. The garbage truck raised the dumpster high and tilted. For a split second, the case was in clear view, tumbling, his name still legible. It disappeared. Finally, the truck pulled away, carrying the sax back to the dump where Nick first found it. He breathed deeply.

"I don't get it," he heard. Nick flinched. He turned to his friend. Finnick broke his sidelong glance with a shrug and continued, "But I don't need to. I'd like to. It'd sure be nice… But I don't need to get it."

The first laugh sounded more like a huff but soon Nick found himself chuckling harder than he had in months. He felt lighter than air. Like he could fly. It wasn't until he nearly fell over that he regained some control. Nick wiped the tears off his muzzle and said, "You make it sound so easy."

"What are you talking about? Why were you laughing? What is wrong with—" Finnick's confusion quickly morphed into a growl. He shook his fists then dropped them, "Forget it! I don't care!"

Nick punched his shoulder, "Hey... thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," Finnick climbed into his van. "Being truthful here, you were a lousy teacher."

"Why do you think I never charged? Can you drop me off at the corner of 6th and Main? I got a suit to pick up."

"A suit? I thought we could get drinks."

"Tomorrow." He pulled out his phone and dialed Judy, "Tonight, I got a party."

END PART 7

I'm happy you made it this far. Hopefully, you've enjoyed yourself. There's only one more part, so... could you stay just a little bit longer?