I Plead Guilty (And Need a New Roommate)

You would have done it too, I know, if you’d seen them together. They had the same eyes, for God’s sake, the same beady pig eyes. I never noticed she had such unsightly little things in her face until she brought him home. The two of them together—my God. See, Suzie and I were roommates. Still are, I guess, seeing as her name is still on the lease and all. Four years of college together, the best years of our lives and all that, and going on two years in the city. You know, she worked for one of those fake companies, peddling nail art online or something like that. I’m in grad school. Was in grad school. Let’s be real, I’m in the clinker. But, look, Suzie was always a real nice girl, we had years of margarita rounds together, a lot of fun nights making up names for the boys at the shuffleboard bar, sending our pucks flying at the glasses of boys we were sure to see around the kitchen the next day in their tighty-whities… And then came Richard.

See, she never told me what she was doing. I don’t know, I think she found him on the street. Like in a puppy box or something, except he sure as hell wasn’t any puppy. The wrinkles on that thing, Richard had to have been like a hundred in dog years. Or whatever. I don’t do the whole dog thing. Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here with my hands chained to the table writing this all on lined yellow paper. But anyways, Suzie and I, we always knew we could find each other at this coffee shop down the street, and it was nice to be sitting there and be joined by somebody you knew. You know, like in a TV show or something. Anyways, one day I’m sitting there sipping my latte and knocking off a couple Danielle Steele chapters and suddenly I hear this snorting at my feet and I look up, or down rather, and there’s this little pig on a leash with the skin coming off of it in bags, drool flowing out of the corners of its mouth, staring up at me through those beady, empty little eyes. Snorting. God, what is this thing, I think. Then Suzie comes out, squealing over her frilly little tea cup, meet Richard, this is Richard, oh isn’t he adorable?

And that’s when it started. The resemblance. Maybe Suzie always looked like a pug dog and I never noticed. But I swear, and I’m sure you’ll be looking at a lot of pictures and you’ll see, something started happening to Suzie. She started to look like that damn dog. She really did. Or maybe I was just going crazy. Slipping on drool puddles all over the parquet floor, looking up to find that thing staring me down on the toilet from the bathroom door at six in the morning, the constant snorting. And those eyes. Slimy black holes smack in the middle of a face like a rotting peach She brought Richard everywhere. And everywhere those eyes followed me. From the toilet to late night movies in the living room to the shuffleboard bar where—I swear to God—little Richard would find a way every damn time to shimmy his tiny little pastry extruded body up onto the windowsill. Ever tried sealing a date with a pair of beady black eyes boring into you? I admit it, I lost it.

But I could not kill a dog, note that, would you? Wouldn’t kill a rat in my own home—I’m not an animal killer, no, no. But when Suzie started looking at me with the same look as that dog… Or that’s how it felt. You know that whole dog-owner-resemblance sensation? Well, that’s the best I could describe it. Got so bad I couldn’t look Suzie in the eyes anymore. I said, Suzie, either the dog has to go or you do. And Suzie, she said there was no way she was parting with Richard, ever, and mustered the saddest look she could out of those scrunched little bead eyes she’d been growing. And well, see, the lease isn’t up for some eight months or so, so Suzie’s not going anywhere. Or wasn’t.

So I apologized and all and said, hey, how about you me and Richard go on a little picnic? To Central Park. We haven’t been to Manhattan together in ages. So we packed up that picnic basket and I said, Suzie, why don’t you carry it, while I have some quality bonding time with Richard. So there we were, me, Suzie, and Richard, a happy little trio toddling down the stairs to the L train at 2 pm on a Saturday. Now, you see, there’s a certain way you have to go about these things. First, you’ve gotta make sure you’re at the end the train is coming from, not where it’s going. You know, the fast end, where you can hardly stand straight or keep your skirt down when that thing barrels in. The second bit is trickier though, and that’s all in the timing. You go too soon, that driver’s gonna see what you’re up to, blow his damn horn, hit the emergency brake, cause a whole lot of havoc over your pug dog werewolf of a friend. Too late and you only give her a headache to moan about on the couch with Richard for the next six months. So it’s all about the timing. And as I think you know, I aced the whole timing thing. Feel that breeze, see the lights sliding up the walls, and just when the letter on the train comes into the light, give a little shove… And maybe it’s that her eyes had become too close together, but Suzie with that picnic basket had no balance at all and down she went. I guess I’m not a through and through murderer because I didn’t want to look and I covered Richard’s eyes too before we kinda backed away a bit and made to either head back up the stairs or book it to another part of the train (I guess I never really thought through the getaway), but I was bound to run into bad luck somewhere and some lady screamed and the police just happened to be wandering and grabbed a hold of me and little Richard before the thing could snort out its sorrows. And so there we were on the platform, subjected to the proddings of this lady’s gnarly old finger and the policeman’s interrogation when the train pulled away. I tried not to look down. But what I did see, just for a brief second: I saw the cherry pie and the chicken legs scattered all around in between the broken plates and forks and knives, and I gotta say, despite everything, I’m glad I thought to pack those things, because I can always say to myself in my head that’s all I saw. Cherry pie and chicken wings.

But I’m happy now, I really am. I guess I’ll probably be in prison for quite some time. But grad school wasn’t going so well anyways and most importantly, there’s no Richard in prison. I dropped his leash when they cuffed me and I don’t know where the filthy thing went and believe me I don’t want to know. I’m guilty as charged, but if for whatever reason you don’t book me, I’ll be in need of a new roommate. No dogs allowed.