By: James Dubeau
Scratch scratch scratch emanated from the bedroom door. Jack propped open a single eyelid. An eyelid which was weighted down with fifty pound sacks of sand. 3:39 the clock read.
Bam bam bam. The door rapt against the frame. A black paw then reached under the door, grasping for air, a loose key, anything that was beyond the wooden barrier.
With closed eyes Jack reach for his running shoes that lay beside the bed. His hand felt the cool wood floor, and then a crumpled pair of boxers, before landing upon a shoe. “I’m sleeping here,” he barked as the shoe launched across the room, crashing against the bedroom door.
The pawing stopped. Dreamland washed over Jack. A bright sunny day. Blue sky hung over head. Vibrant green trees flanked the lush green carpet of lawn. Balloons were tied to everything, the trees, picnic tables, and even the pavilion itself. Smiling people kept walking up to Jack just to pat him on the shoulder and shake his hand.
There she was. Lisa. The sea of friends and family parted, growing quiet to a soft murmur as Lisa floated to Jack. A shoebox was in her hands. It was a colorful little number, covered in pink and purple polka doted wrapping paper. A large green bow sat atop the box. Air holes penetrated its sides.
“Happy birthday roomie,” Lisa smiled in that cure perky bubbly way that she always was capable of. Never able to turn down the joy or happiness. “I thought that since I’m moving across country that you could use a new friend in that lonely apartment.” She bubbled over with a glee so contagious that Jack needed a glass of water just to wash the sugary sweetness from his mouth.
The top of the box popped open as a tiny black furry paw found its way from the constraints of the shoebox. “Its so cure,” the crowd murmured, “I want a kitty too,” a little girl punctuated the spectators.
Whap whap whap. The bedroom door slammed against the wood frame. Jack vaulted the other shoe against the door with a crash.
“I’m allergic!” Jack yelled.