Chapter 18

After five weeks, he only had to wear the splint at night, and there were more exercises he had to perform. His right hand looked like it had gone a couple rounds with a barbed-wire fence. His fingers were stiff and didn’t want to flex. He tried to bend them, anyway.

Shit, that hurts.

Your hand looks like it lost a fight with a blender.

Why did you have to be a talking rabbit? Why couldn’t you have just had Bunny Ebola or something?

Don’t be a stupid asshole. There’s no such thing as Bunny Ebola.

As soon as eight weeks passed, David was back at work. He found he actually missed work more than he missed drawing.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Kit said. “But you don’t have to be back already. I can handle the store fine.”

“No, it’s okay,” David said. “Daytime television is depressing.”

Kit smiled. “Well, be careful not to strain your hand.”

Even though he was back at work, he could only really work the register and talk to customers. His hand wasn’t ready for feeding the animals and cleaning duty. Even if he didn’t have to worry about splitting the tendons, he still couldn’t flex his fingers very well.

While he’d been out, Bob’s Pets received a shipment of frog-turtles. The poor things couldn’t hop very well with shells on their backs, but they wouldn’t be in this store if they weren’t mistakes. Because David wasn’t there to name them, Kit decided to call them Tutfrogles; obviously, she lacked the gift. David’s first order of business was to rename them Fruttles.

David came to like the Fruttles a lot more after he learned poison dart frogs aren’t toxic in captivity. They were cool, in a useless sort of way. Their shells matched their skin, so besides green there were red shells, blue shells, and yellow shells.

The less cool part was cleaning the algae off the vivarium’s glass. Mano liked to call him a pussy for disliking vivarium-cleaning duty, and David liked to tell him to shut the hell up.

“I’m closing the shop early, today,” Selzer said one day while David had his hand deep in Fruttle territory.

“Um… why?”

“Family shit,” Selzer said. “I already called Kit and told her not to come in.”

David was surprised to learn that Selzer had a family, and that he’d sacrifice possible sales for them. Maybe it was a lie and he was going out to sell a kidney; that seemed more plausible.

It was around noon when David arrived back at his apartment. He expected to hear Amanda ask him fearfully if he’d been fired, but instead he heard a good bit of commotion coming from the bedroom. It sounded like she was rearranging the furniture.

He walked in to find her surrounded by piles of stuff on the floor. His first thought was that she was leaving him. Then, he noticed that the items on the floor were his and only his.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, honey!” Her face had the expression of a person who had been caught in the act of stealing. “What are you doing home so early?”

“Selzer closed the shop early. What are you doing with my stuff?”

“I was just, um…”

That was when he noticed his father’s baseball cards in her hand.

“What are you doing with those?”

“I was just… um…”

That was when something else occurred to David.

“Where are my grandfather’s knives?”

“Er, I haven’t seen them…”

“You’ve obviously torn apart my entire closet,” he said. “They must’ve been in there.”

“Uh…”

And David knew.

“You sold my grandfather’s knives?!”

“You weren’t making a lot of money, and—“

In terms of possible answers, that was the wrong one. There probably aren’t any good answers in this situation short of needing to pay a ransom in a hurry, but on a scale of wrong to wronger, that answer skewed towards wronger.

“You’re a fucking writer who never sells anything! You make nothing!”

“They were knives, David! What the hell were you going to do with old knives?”

“My grandfather gave those to me! My dead grandfather!”

“We needed money!”

“They weren’t yours to sell! Sell your own shit! Your closet is full of clothes you never wear!”

“You’d rather sell my clothes than get rid of some of your old junk?”

“You think World War II—“ David stopped mid-shout and gave up. “Mano was right; we’re really not meant to be together.”

Her unjustified anger made way for confusion over hearing David say a rabbit was right. “What?”

“I’ll be packing my stuff, now. The lease is up at the end of the month, but that’s your problem.”

David fumed as he dumped his stuff into boxes. Being him, he didn’t bother to pack his things neatly or even partially fold his clothes.

You knew, right? You knew the whole time?

There was a bit of hesitation. Yes.

But you didn’t tell me?

I told you repeatedly she wasn’t the right girl for you.

David grabbed his scotch, poured himself a glass, and continued to pack his belongings. The boxes overflowed with the mess he was shoving into them.

Did she sell anything else?

No. She thought you were going to make it big as an artist. The bitch was even more delusional than you were.

I wasn’t delusional! I—

Shut up, David. You thought you were going to get rich and famous from one small gallery showing.

I wasn’t?

You have no idea what “hard work” is, do you?

David grabbed an armful of clothes out of the closet and dropped them in a box.

Ugh, and I already bought that wine, too.

Since you’re not with Amanda anymore, do you think we can go to a bar and—

No. Now, if you’re not going to help me pack, be useful by shutting up.

David was surprised to find he could fit most of his stuff in his car. Rodney let him store a few boxes at his place and allowed David to sleep on the couch for the time being. In return, David promised that as long as he was staying there he’d be paying for Rodney’s drinks. Rodney would have let David stay, anyway, but hey! Free drinks.

Rodney yawned. “I’m knackered. I’m gonna hit the sack. If you need to take the edge off, I’ve got some ordinary bitter in the fridge.”

David considered grabbing a beer, but he worried that if he started he might not stop, and he remembered how much a drinking-alone hangover sucked. Instead, he fluffed his pillow and lay down on Rodney’s couch.

I think it pulls out into a bed, you know.

Fuck that.

If we wake up with a sore back—

David held his hand in front of his face, studying it as he flexed his fingers.

Your hand is fucked. You’re never going to regain full use of it.

David continued to stare. He’d been trying not to think about it. Thinking about it made his chest ache. The knot in his stomach tightened with each stab of pain in his fingers.

You can’t rely on your hand, anymore. Maybe now you’ll be more willing to find a warm, wet—

Have I told you how glad I am that you’re dead?

Repeatedly.

Of course, David would have been happier if the rabbit were dead and gone.

The next day at work, Mano wasn’t hampered by David’s sore back.

Go to the library, tonight! Go somewhere! We need a good fuck.

No.

I’ll sing.

Then we’ll both suffer.

Mano did sing—a very annoying song from an amusement park ride, in fact—but David refused to give in; it had been bad enough when it was a rabbit, but now it was just a voice in his head. He was pretty sure people aren’t supposed to give in to voices in their heads.

David went next door and got a cup of Hot and Ready’s regular black, not because he wanted coffee, but because he knew Mano hated the stuff. He was only one sip in when Mano promised to stop singing if David threw the rest away. To be a good sport, he went to Molded Sandwiches and got one of their vegetarians on rye. He thought it tasted like grass on crunchy sawdust, but the rabbit enjoyed it.

Kit arrived for her shift a few minutes early, carrying a shoe box. Inside was a dead Glowie Fish.

“You had a Glowie Fish?”

“Oh, I have a bunch,” Kit said. “I just found this one floating at the top this morning.”

“And you brought it here?”

“Well, I signed that contract that said they have to be disposed of properly—“

“You actually read that?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

David shrugged. “I dunno. You’re just the first person to ever bring one back.”

“Anyway, when did you get a Glowie Fish? We’ve never gotten restock.”

“Oh,” Kit said. “I shopped here before I started working here, you know.”

David hadn’t known.

Do you remember any of the store’s customers?

Probably not.

“I wouldn’t expect you to remember me,” Kit said. “You always seemed kind of… distracted.”

Yeah, that was putting it mildly.

David couldn’t help but feel a little jealous; he missed the Glowie Fish. When the lights and television were too bright for his hangovers, the Glowie Fish would have given him something he could watch. It got boring sitting in the dark, popping aspirin.

He was even considering buying the Quat. The thing was sad and pathetic, but at least it didn’t talk to him. Not talking to him was a new requirement for any pet, even parrots. No exceptions.

David was sitting on Rodney’s couch, watching television and doing his hand exercises. Though he wasn’t seeing much improvement, he had to keep doing the exercises or risk his hand getting worse. That seemed like a really shit deal to him, but he didn’t want his hand becoming more useless than it already was.

“Tonight, on the News at Nine on Channel Nine at Nine PM,” the lady on the television said. “The Hide Your Shit Here storage facility caught fire, today, destroying the contents of most of the units. Amidst the rubble, a large number of fire-damaged drawings bearing no signatures were found. Has a cache of priceless artwork been destroyed? But first, find out if your water is toxic and why your showers are killing you and your unborn children. Tonight, on the News at Nine on Channel Nine at Nine PM.”

David stared at the television. “What the f—”

Mano, those drawings…

Yes?

They look at a lot like your drawings.

There was no response.

MANO?!

What?

Why the hell do you have a bunch of drawings in a storage locker?

Mano sighed mentally. Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. Look, I didn’t draw every night; I kept a bunch in storage so I could just grab one.

You’re a fucking asshole.

No, I’m practical.

David sighed. There was no point in arguing about it.

Were you ever going to tell me about it?

It wasn’t high on my list of priorities, no.

But, I—

You killed me! And now that I’m stuck in your stupid body, you won’t do anything I ask of you.

All you want us to do is get laid!

That’s not the point. The point is that I have no incentive to help your stupid ass.

David thought about it for a moment. What about if I play chess with you?

You don’t know how to play chess.

I could learn.

Why can’t you just get laid like a normal guy?

No.

Ugh. If we play chess, I want to go to the park and play against someone who already knows the damn rules.

The park? You mean, like, out in the sunlight?

Yes, oh astute one: out in the sunlight. With people. We’ll get some fresh air and you’ll like it.

I hate fresh air.

Fine, we’ll get some fresh air and you’ll hate it. Don’t care.

Because the thing that made Mano a little less miserable was making David a little more miserable. After all, that’s what friends are for.