literal leigh 05 - joyful leigh (2 page)

Gertie gave one of the wheels a little kick. “Sorry. They really need to lubricate these so they’re nice and smooth, otherwise it’s downright painful.”

“That’s what
he
said!” My little joke didn’t register with Gertie one bit. “Say, Gertie. Do you know what the difference is between a sweet potato and a yam? I asked the woman that works here and she just took advantage of the fact that my normally quick wit is out of commission.”

“I doubt they are the same thing. Or are they more like beets or turnips than potatoes?” Gertie said and then pulled a box of Lucky Charms from her cart. “We could just eat these. I can’t get enough of this stuff.” Gertie’s head popped up and she looked at the front door of the store. “Look! A giant mouse just walked in.”

I looked at the automatic sliding glass doors just as a man dressed in a mouse costume jogged into the store. It was the kind of costume that reminded you just enough of a well-known, cute, brown cartoon mouse without the copyright infringement. “Oh, I’ve seen that guy here before. Whenever they have a big cheese sale going on, he’s walking around in the deli carrying a tray of samples. He must be late because he sure seems like he’s in a rush.”

“Maybe someone else in a cat costume is after him?” Gertie shrugged and laughed. “Hey Leigh, I’m going to take a look down the pet food aisle. Be right back.” Gertie schlepped her screeching, wobbly cart back into the forest of shelves.

“All right.” I gave the temple of cans another look. I began to mumble. “Oh great. Now here’s a can that says ‘Billy’s Yams’ above the picture and ‘Fancy Sweet Potatoes in Heavy Syrup’ under the picture. So what the hell is this? Yams? Sweet potatoes? Or potatoes sweetened with syrup? How do they define ‘Fancy’ anyway? I don’t see anything
fancy
about a can full of brownish-orange lumps.” Maybe it’s just me, but labels sometimes drive me absolutely bonkers. I really needed a helpful second opinion.

The mouse guy had just stopped behind me and was apparently getting some costume accessory from a duffle bag. “Excuse me, cheese guy. You’re in this store a lot. What can you tell me about yams versus sweet potatoes? You see, I’m thinking about cooking my first real Thanksgiving dinner, and I can’t get past this damn yam issue I’m having.” The mouse didn’t say a word. He found what he was looking for. The item he held in his furry clutches looked just like a little toy pistol. “What do you have there? Are you guys going to do one of those mascot pranks? I’ve seen videos of those. Is there going to be someone in a cat costume? Because that would be…
purr
fect! Get it?”

“Enough, already!” His arm quickly came from behind, wrapping tightly around my chest, pulling me close.

“Cool! I’ve always wanted to see one of these videos made.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, lady? Look around! You’re my hostage. I just robbed the Third Fifth bank. Or the Fifth Third Bank, whatever the hell it’s called. The cops cornered me in here.”

“What? No you didn’t. I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Nobody would rob a bank dressed in a goddamn mouse costume. But as long as you’ve brought it up, I have another question. What is up with a fifth of a third bank? Wouldn’t you want to start with the first? Really. Were all the other banks numbered first through fourth and etcetera? That whole name, as a fraction, it makes no sense. Anyway, where’s the guy with the camera?” I tried to brush away the round floppy mouse ear that kept hitting my cheek.

“Shut the hell up!” The mouse had the pistol to my head. When he shouted towards the entrance, I knew this was no hidden camera prank. “I want an armored truck in fifteen minutes or the girl gets it!”

Maybe it was just the unexpected surprise combined with the fact that I was so tired. I don’t believe I am
normally
so unaware that I couldn’t believe I was being held hostage. When I saw the police cruisers outside, not to mention the rest of the people in the store had cleared out, I realized I was in one hell of a bad spot. Imminent danger also seems to make me laugh or crack some sort of joke. I suppose it’s just the way my mind reacts to fear. “And how did the bank job go? Not a lot of cheese in those places,” I laughed at my own stupid joke. “But seriously. Why the mouse outfit? I bet your name is Jerry. Don’t you stand out in a crowd like that? Or is it so you can’t be recognized?”

“Fucking Christ! Forget the fifteen minutes! You’ve got five!” he shouted to the cops.

Then my mousey captor and I heard the sound. It was the screeching sound of a hundred demons clawing their way up from hell through a metal stove pipe—Gertie’s shopping cart. The robber jumped at the sound. “Relax. It’s not a giant cat, just a shopping cart.” I snorted at my little joke.

“Leigh! Carrying on with that rodent? Sweet Jesus!” Gertie said, bristling with indignation and shock when she saw me—apparently—getting my freak on with the mouse. My abductor spun around to see who it was that had dared so boldly, and so stupidly, to walk up to him. Gertie’s brain swirled with new information when she saw the gun being held to me. “Oh! Wait.” She looked like a deer caught in the deadlights for a few seconds. She cocked her head like a dog that listened to understand a new command. “A gun?”  As if she had been jerked back by an unseen force, she suddenly barked out, “A gun!”

Through the window I could see Hunter outside by his patrol car. He was looking directly at me, making sweeping motions as if he held an invisible broom. It took a minute to sink in and correctly guess his charade. “Gertie! Your broom!” I vocalized my realization.

Gertie reached into her purse. “Good idea, Leigh!” She took her little broom out of her purse. The evil mouse reacted by pointing his gun in her direction. I knew that he meant to shoot Gertie. I suppose he thought she was taking out a weapon of her own. I reacted by wildly flinging myself against his outstretched arm. The pistol went off with a frightening thunderclap. I had never heard a sound as loud as the gun going off next to my ear. It stunned me, but I could tell I had succeeded in making the shot go wild when crumbs of ceiling tile sprinkled down to the floor.

Gertie screamed, shaking her broom. She shouted something, but with my temporary deafness, I couldn’t make out a word she said. I think she was trying to get us out of there and bring the police in. In any case, Hunter suddenly flashed into the store in my place. I was thrown back against a pallet load of clear plastic bags filled with breadcrumb stuffing mix. I have to say, if you ever get thrown through the air at the grocery store, pray that there is a pallet of stuffing between you and the freezer section. Instead of breaking any bones, the bags thankfully absorbed my fall. Dozens of them popped open, showering the area in stuffing mix.

Hunter instantly dispatched the giant mouse with a single, adrenaline fueled, super-hero-like punch. I could practically envision the classic comic book onomatopoeic sound effect
, “
BAM!!!
” hanging in the air in big bold letters and multiple exclamation points.
Hunter literally knocked the guy out. A pink mist hung in the air from Gertie’s burst of magic adding to the comic book effect.

“Woohoo! Yeah! Hit ‘em again, Hunter!” Gertie jumped up and down as she cheered while I floundered around in the heap of stuffing mix. Four police officers rushed through the door.

A hulk of a cop kicked away the criminal’s weapon while other officers cuffed his still limp body. “Holy shit, Kovacs! How the hell did you get in here so fast? We were supposed to wait for the tactical team.” The big man swatted the air and squinted. “And what the hell is all this pink shit in the air?” Swat, swat.

“This must be the SWAT team,” I joked.

In the swirling pink clouds, my victorious hero stood over the vanquished giant mouse. It was quite a surreal sight to behold, almost like something you’d see in a late night cable TV offering—possibly called “Gladiators of Mars.” Thankfully, Hunter knew just what to say to the veteran officer. “Once I heard that gunshot, I knew there was no more time to wait.”

Gertie came over and helped me up. “Gertie, I’m pretty sure you saved my life with your magic. Thank you so much,” I whispered.

“Anytime! Thank Hunter, too. He was the one that punched the guy,” Gertie said.

“Oh, I’ll
thank
him. Look at him, Gertie. See how he’s standing over the criminal he knocked out? He’s a million times better than any alpha male book boyfriend.” Part of me was ready to rip his shirt open and go at him like a sex crazed nymph—yes, literally
that
part of me. The need to lick every inch of his delectable body was almost too much for my will power. I nearly caved!

Another police officer lifted the villain’s unconscious head by the floppy mouse ears. “Hey, Kovacs, do you know who this guy is?”

“Um…Isn’t that Jerry? Or is it Tom? I always mix up which is which,” Hunter answered.

“I know! Me, too!” I added. By that point my hands were helplessly running across Hunter’s chest.

“No! Not the damn cartoon. The suspect for Christ’s sake. Jesus! You two. They call him ‘The Mouse,’ but his real name is Tom Gatos. Isn’t that ironic? The FBI has been hunting this guy for a while. He’s been eluding traps for months.”

Chapter Two

Reflections

The next day I clipped the newspaper article from the front page of the Tribune. “Hero Rookie Cop Catches Mouse—Saves Fiancée.” A sentence at the end of the story caught my eye. “Gatos, aka The Mouse, dismisses claims that Officer Kovacs was the real hero. He has stated that witches were responsible for his capture.” It was definitely something you’d easily dismiss as the ranting of a demented criminal. When I imagined The Mouse babbling to his interrogators about witches, I had no worries. The existence of witchcraft would remain a secret.

Personally, my comic bookish brush with death had a profound effect on me. I sat at my desk and wondered what the true spirit of the upcoming holidays was and what it meant to me. I know I can’t be alone in thinking about this topic.

Remember when you were just a kid and the annual holiday season seemed so magical, so exciting? I closed my eyes and remembered the sights, sounds, smells, and the special ambiance.
Everyone
seemed to be getting into the joyful holiday spirit, and that made it all seem even more wonderful. A walk in the city during the holiday season was unlike any other time of year. Like a dreary cactus that unexpectedly erupts in showy blossoms, Chicago would suddenly be awash in the glittering, seasonal gush of holiday décor. Perhaps it wouldn’t have seemed impressive to me if it wasn’t such a contrast to the city’s normally faceless crowd that rudely buzzed about between monolithic buildings.

Even my dad held onto a holiday tradition. We always sat down together as a family right after Thanksgiving and watched the Chicagoland television station staples that have been broadcast every year since the 1950s. The old black and white animated TV shows
Hardrock, Coco and Joe,
and
Suzy Snowflake
were special to my parents growing up, and they passed the tradition on to us. I can’t forget the early black and white version of
Frosty the Snowman
. None of these shows were particularly great, but they were a tradition. They were a holiday rite for the Chicagoland culture. And culture is something I ended up thinking about this year more than ever, but I’ll explain more about that later. Maybe the rest of the country has never seen those old shows, but I’m willing to bet there are millions of kids from Chicago that remember them as the official kickoff to the seasonal epidemic of joyful anticipation.

Sadly, adulthood comes around and vaccinates you with a little cynicism to offset the childlike, carefree view of the world. Through the jaded eyes of full-blown grownups—those once majestic decorations start to look like nothing more than shabby marketing techniques and worn out clichés designed to make you feel obligated to spend your hard earned cash on a pile of shoddy rubbish. Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and Christmas all rolled up and churned out into an orgiastic season of excess, American style. Then there are all the family get-togethers. The real winners truly are the therapists. I bet they get more new business out of the holidays than any other time.

Whether all the commercialism is reality or not, I made a decision to not allow any sort of mature thinking to bring me down. I was ready to celebrate all of the holidays starting with Thanksgiving. It would be called Thankshanukkamas. I vowed upon my magic desk and witch’s broom that the holidays would be filled with childlike joy—for me, my family, and my friends—even if it killed us.

Chapter Three

The Best Laid Plans

“Hey, Hunter? We only have eleven days until Thanksgiving. I was thinking about having Thanksgiving dinner here for both of our families. You know, a traditional feast with a turkey and all the trimmings. After all, we’re finally all moved in and the house is pretty much ready. It’s time we brought everyone together and made a statement. ‘We are engaged to be married! So maybe we should start getting to know each other a little better!’ What do you think?”

“Em…Um…sure, baby. Sounds good. Real good. My parents…turkeys…nice.” It felt so good to have his warm naked body against my back. I stroked his muscular arm that was wrapped lovingly around my waist. The little red glowing digits that looked like they were suspended over my nightstand told me I had completely lost track of time. “Is it really three in the morning? Wow! Thank God we don’t work in the morning. Wasn’t it amazing how quickly Kelly’s uncle, Carmine, was able to get that whole crew in here?”

“Yeah…quick...wise guys.”

“I’ve been fending off my friends on a daily basis. All they want to do is dive into the insanity of wedding planning. I’ve told them to wait until the holidays are over. I don’t want to add a whole new layer of drama and madness to it. I can only handle so much crazy.” I waited for a response. I waited some more and poked him.

“Are you still awake?” His breathing was slow and steady. He was snoozing hard.