Releasing it

“Should we bring it to the park near the river up here?”

“Yeah. I gotta pee soon.”

We have a live vole in an Amazon box in the car. A vole or a mole. Which is which? I can never remember.

Gotta drive it at least a mile from your house, they say. Otherwise it finds its way back, they say.

When I tire of seeing beautiful trees and green hills out the window, I review my hands.

In that acting class in college my classmates often criticized how I use my arms onstage. The complaints came in two flavors: 1) you swing your arms around like an ape; 2) you clench your arms at your sides, like logs.

Tonight, in my lap, I have one of each: a log and an ape arm. They just never felt like mine, is all. I only paid attention to the words, the words coming out. Halfway through an acting scene I’d remember I had arms and would try to make them do something normal but gave up when it got too distracting.

I think about how today I realized there are two words – synonyms – with the same ending but their beginnings are opposites. PROfess. CONfess.

 

“Do you want me to release it? Or do you want to?”

“Whichever.”

He takes the box. I watch him walk with it a little ways into the woodsy part. Opens the lid, tips out the mole. I watch him watch it scurry away.

I think: it would be kind of funny if I left him off a mile from home, like the vole. I could slide over, start the car and head off. Funny. For me.

Why have I thought this? Is it for things he has done, or hasn’t done? Is it because I’m tired of feeling smaller and meaner lately when I’m with him? Or is it just to see how his face would look as I drive away? I bet many things are secretly done in this life just to see what someone’s face will look like.

 

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