Zoe Whitaker

The best part about being a rat girl is the candy. I’ll admit that I’ve been jealous of Sorbet’s long ears, squishy paws, and fluffy rabbit tail. But, when I visit her burrow, stuffed with hay and hay and more hay, I can’t help but wonder if she’s bored. I’m not saying I’m better than her. I’m just saying that if I were her, I’d wake up every single day wanting to throw up.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not shallow. I know Mom sacrificed a lot for the gingerbread house.
It happened right after I was born. I was a squirmy little pink thing, weighing a whopping 8 grams. At the time, we were living in the vents. It wasn’t luxurious or anything, but Mom says it was comfortable. We had easy kitchen access, and there was always a gentle cool breeze coming through. But one day, the breeze stopped. The vents got warmer and warmer, and when my squirmy pink body overheated, Mom did the unthinkable. She ventured into the kitchen in the middle of the day. Everything twinkled in gold and red, and the music was so comforting she could almost forget how afraid she was of being caught. But, the most amazing thing, she says, was the smell. The air was filled with a spicy sweetness, and she could taste the sugar just by breathing. And, like it was destined to be, the scent led her right to our house. The gingerbread walls and frosting trim would perfectly accommodate our family of two.
Moving is always a dreadful process, but we managed to pack up quickly, and transition to gingerbread livin’. Mom hauled over our belongings: our spoon, two coins, credit card and of course, little old me. Everything felt perfect, until something super rude happened.
Some stupid boy screamed.
“Mom! There are rats in our gingerbread house!”
Then, a lady screamed too.
“Ew! Oh my god. That’s disgusting. John, get rid of it!”
Then, a man came in and poked and prodded at our gorgeous home.
“They took my credit card! That’s it, I’m killing them!”
After that, there was arguing. The man was angry, the boy was crying, and the lady was pleading, “Please, don’t kill them! I don’t want rat blood on my carpet! Just take them outside!” The man’s concern was that we’d come back, but the lady assured him not to worry, because certainly we’d freeze to death in the snow! It’s really beautiful when couples can compromise.
They threw the gingerbread house out in the snow, along with all the candy decor and extra frosting they had to accompany it. Maybe they didn’t want to risk eating anything we had touched, or maybe they were being generous and offering us a house warming gift. Either way, it provided the perfect insulation to get us through these past few months of winter.
Each wall got a fresh coat of vanilla frosting, with corners sealed in red licorice. Mom furnished the place with graham cracker tables and peppermint chairs. She pulled taffy into a blanket and swaddled me up onto a bed of marshmallows. After the candy cane fence, the ceiling fan of lollipops, and even the gumball globe, we were still left with a seemingly endless supply of candy. Enough candy for me to grow up on a delicious diet of gumdrops for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every snack in between.
Mom always tells me this story as a lesson of gratitude. She tells me again on our morning walk through the meadow, when I say I don’t want to go to Sorbet’s burrow for dinner.
“Tina! Sorbet is your best friend! Why would you say that?”
“I love hanging out with her! I just don’t want to eat hay! It’s disgusting.”
“Hay is all they have, Tina. You should be grateful for their generosity.”
“Mom. Would you eat hay?”
This is when she tells the story, as a diversion from my question. But, as humble as her beginnings are, I know what her answer would be. Just as I have, she’s grown accustomed to the sweet treats and marshmallow pillows. And while there was a time when she would have eaten a battery or an old sock, I know that now, in her mature age, she’s too good for hay. She gets really mad when I say that out loud.
“Tina, you’re so spoiled. You don’t know how lucky you are to grow up with this level of affluence.”
“You can’t call me spoiled when you’re the one that’s spoiling me!”
She halts in her path, kicking up dirty snow from beneath her feet. She gives me a look that a stranger would describe as a blank expression, but as her daughter I know it’s filled with rage. Her whiskers are softly lifting and falling with each of her tight breaths.
“You’re going to Sorbet’s burrow for dinner.”
“Mom!”
“You are going to eat their hay. You are going to be polite and grateful, and after dinner, you will thank them with a gumdrop for dessert.”
“One of my gumdrops?!.”
“Yes, Tina! If you don’t think their food is good enough, then you can share some of yours.”
I wish I was the kind of teenager that could lie to their mom. I guess I just have the kind of mom that you wouldn’t want to lie to. That’s why I go to Sorbet’s burrow with my favorite gumdrop tucked under my paws, ready to be given away.
To a tiny rat like me, Sorbet’s burrow should feel massive. The underground hole is deep enough to fit five rabbits, each double my size. Yet, it still maintains its cozy and homey feel. There are warm knit blankets in clashing patterns, and old dried flowers taken in from the forest. Everything is a little dirty, except for Sorbet. She frequently dips her face in snow to rinse the grime from around her black eyes, and fluffs up her spotted fur by rolling in a rosemary bush, leaving her with a fresh, herbaceous scent. Sometimes I wish I could rock a coat like that, with a cookie dough ice cream pattern. I always thought it was so cool how everyone in her family has different colored fur, like it was a delightful surprise each time a new bun was born. It makes me feel embarrassed about my family’s consistent dark gray.
I’m hit with the smell of rosemary as soon as I enter the burrow, and Sorbet engulfs me in a fluffy, snuggly bunny hug. We squeal and jump and tell each other just how much we missed each other in the brutal two days apart.
“I was literally so bored without you! I played hide with my little brothers. That’s how desperate I was for entertainment,” Sorbet says, laughing.
“You mean hide and seek?”
“No, literally they would just hide somewhere and I would watch. The worst part is that I actually kind of had fun.”
We laugh, and then laugh harder because it’s funny that we’re laughing. When Sorbet laughs, her little rabbit nose scrunches up and she closes her eyes. It reminds me of when we were kids, and I tripped over a pebble that was a little too big. She laughed so hard she almost peed, before helping me up and asking if I was okay.
Once we catch our breath, Sorbet’s dad beckons us to the dinner table. We gather on a soft pile of blankets, and I have to stand on my tippy toes to reach the rabbit sized table. When Sorbet’s mom joins us with a fresh serving of the dreadful hay, I decide it’s time to offer my gift.
“Thank you guys so much for having me for dinner!”
“Oh any time, sweetie! We have plenty to go around!” Sorbet’s mom says as she serves me a hefty portion of dry, scratchy grass. I try not to gag.
“I… um… didn’t want to show up empty handed! So I brought a little treat for the family…” I pull out my bright green gumdrop, sprinkled in shining sugar. It’s met with stunned silence.
“Oh! Well… what a kind gesture!” Sorbet’s mom says after a good minute of intense staring. She doesn’t take the gumdrop.
“I thought we could have it for dessert!” I suggest, pushing the gumdrop towards the center of the table. Everyone just sort of looks at it. I can’t tell if their slight frowns are expressions of disappointment, offense, or disgust. I don’t know which one I’d prefer. Before I can demand an explanation, Sorbet breaks the silence.
“The hay is great, Mom!”
The family continues their normal conversation as if there isn’t a giant green gumdrop in between them. It just sits there obstructing everyone’s view from one another, like some useless centerpiece. Instead of eager paws and tears of gratitude, my treasured gumdrop is met with neglect and feigned ignorance. They chat about nothing and crunch on their hay. I can feel myself going crazy listening to them distract themselves from the gumdrop with chatting, crunching, chatting, crunching. In an attempt to break through the tightness in my throat, I shove a wad of hay in my mouth. I try to swallow with the same ease as the rabbits., but it feels like I didn’t chew it enough. A clump of now-wet hay gets stuck behind my tongue, and when I try to dislodge it with a subtle cough, it triggers my gag reflex.
At this point, everyone’s looking. I fake a smile through my involuntary closed-mouth coughing fit. I perform a loud series of gags and coughs and chokes, until Sorbet asks me if I need help.
“No! I’m actually really cool, don’t worry!” I say. Through my gritted teeth, it comes out as nonsense.
“Seriously, Tina. You’re like sweating.”
I wave her off with a swat of my paws, and a series of shrugs. It is not convincing. Sorbet starts hitting my back. It takes about six increasingly forceful slaps to the back for the hay to dislodge from my throat and come flying onto the table. It lands, wet and soggy, right on the gumdrop.
My face grows hot as I look at the shocked, gasping faces surrounding me.
“Oh my god. I am so sorry!” I try to brush the gumdrop clean.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie! We can just throw the gumdrop away! It’s like it never happened!” Sorbet’s mom says.
I’m taken aback by this comment, and my embarrassment shifts into offense.
“What did you say?”
“It’ll be like you never choked on the hay, Tina!” she says with a passive aggressive smile.
“If there’s something wrong with my gumdrop, just say it.”
“Well… there’s spit and hay on it… so…”
“No, you know what I mean! Before I even choked, you all hated the gumdrop! Didn’t you?!” I ask, with my eyes darting back and forth between each bunny, waiting for one of them to break.
“Tina, calm down. You don’t have to get so defensive.” Sorbet chimes in.
“Just tell me why you hate my gumdrop, and I’ll calm down!”
“We don’t hate the gumdrop! We’re just tired of you acting like you’re better than us! Seriously, Tina? You bring a freaking gumdrop to my house for dinner? Like hay isn’t enough? It’s rude!”
Oh. The room falls silent, and I sink low to the ground. I quietly say my apologies to the family, and exit the burrow, leaving them with the slobbery gumdrop to deal with.
I walk back home with my head hanging low, and the memories of coughing and gagging and yelling replaying in my head. The sinking feeling of regret sits deep in my stomach, and builds to a lump in my throat. I want to be angry at Sorbet, or my mom, or anyone but myself.
My paws crunch the last bits of melting snow beneath me, revealing budding grass drenched in dew. It’s warmer outside than usual for this time of night. The prospect of spring reminds me of Sorbet. Bunnies age slower than rats, so she’s gotten to see more seasons than me. When we first met, she told me how excited she was to show me spring. She said the days would get longer, and the trees would grow leaves. At first I didn’t believe her, because all I’ve known is cold. But now, looking at the green grass soaked in moonlight, I can practically hear her saying, “I told you so.”
When I get home, all I want to do is wrap myself in taffy and call it a day. Mom interferes with my plans by greeting me at the door with an eager smile and a dozen questions.
“I don’t want to talk right now, Mom.” I walk past her.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
I roll my eyes to signal that I am not to be messed with. It doesn’t work.
“Did you fall down again?”
“No! Mom! Leave me alone!” I walk into my room and flop onto my marshmallow. Mom stands in the doorway, keeping a safe distance from the impending danger of my teenage emotions.
“Are you still mad at me for making you give away your gumdrop? I told you they need it more than-” Before she can break into another lecture, I let my emotions explode and blow all the humiliation and rage onto my mom.
“Yes! Of course I’m still mad! They didn’t even like it! They thought I was insulting them! It was awful and embarrassing and now Sorbet thinks I’m a bad friend and it’s all your fault!”
“Oh, Tina-” I don’t even let her comfort me, because I know she’d do a good job. She’d lay my head in her lap and gently shush me as I cry. I know she would make me feel better, but then I wouldn’t get to be mad. For now, I slam the door in her face and beg her to leave me alone. This time, she listens.
My outburst leaves me exhausted, and left with no choice but to sleep off the day’s events. It’s not the best sleep of my life, but it feels good to put a pause on my feelings for a while. In the morning, I wake up to a dripping sound and a guilt driven stomach ache. My foggy head lifts from my marshmallow in search of the pitter patter. I spot dropping crumbs and my eyes trace them back to a spot just above the door. There’s a crack.
I jump up from bed.
“Mom?” I call out.
The crack stretches up the wall, and sheds gingerbread debris from ceiling to floor. The guilt in my stomach gets heavier.
“Mom!” I shout, louder.
I hear her little footsteps make their way towards my room. She asks me if I’m feeling better. Her kindness makes me feel worse. She stops at my door, and as she notices the damage, panic builds in her voice.
“Tina! Just stay where you are. I’m going to get some frosting.”
My body freezes completely, afraid that even the slightest movement will deepen the crack, and send the wall crumbling down. I can’t stop staring at it. The smallest crumbs feel like boulders. Every little fragment of gingerbread fallen is a missing piece of my home, and I’m the one to blame. The thoughts flood my head of everything I shouldn’t have done. I shouldn’t have slammed the door, or yelled at my mom, or ever have existed.
Mom’s running feet quickly return to the door, and she slathers frosting on the other side of the wall. I see the vanilla goop seeping through the crack, but for the first time in my life, it’s not sticking.
That’s when I notice just how warm I am. I glance towards the window, checking for snow, and to my dismay, it’s sunny. The sun glares at the house with vengeance, undoing the sticky insulation that kept us together through the cold.
“Mom!”
“I’m trying to fix it, Tina. Don’t worry!”
“Mom, I think we need to get out of the house.”
“Just wait a little longer!”
“Seriously, Mom. Get out of the house.”
I jump through the window, and land on a patch of grass. Around me, the dirt is damp and the plants are soaking in the sunlight that they’ve been missing. Then, there’s the gingerbread house. The gumdrops, the candy canes, and the licorice are all tacky in their own dissolving sugar. Mom runs out the front door and meets me in the grass. We hold each other, and watch as the frosting melts, the crack grows, and the walls come falling down.
“It’s spring,” Mom says, like she knew this would happen.
I can’t say anything. I just watch.
It’s almost beautiful. I’ve lived all my life in winter, so I should be appreciative of the sunshine. Especially how all the candy glows and the sugar glimmers against the light. For a second, I try to enjoy it. I pretend that I’m a human, and that this home only exists to be destroyed. I pretend that candy is something I can pick up at the store, not savor for a lifetime.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I can’t even look her in the eyes. “This is all my fault.”
She smiles, and holds me tighter.
“It’s not your fault, Tina. Candy houses aren’t meant to last forever.”
I lay my head in her lap, and she makes me feel better.
We don’t have any stuff to move. We show up at Sorbet’s burrow empty-handed, with nothing but a shocking story. They welcome us in with open arms, and set us up with a blanket of our own in their crowded home. Sorbet envelopes me in a hug that I don’t deserve.
With teary eyes, I apologize.
“It’s okay, Tina! I’m sorry, too,” Sorbet says. Then, she leads me to the kitchen table. “We felt bad, and didn’t want to throw it away.”
The green gumdrop sits exactly where I left it, protected from the sun in the shady underground burrow. Despite the bits of chewed hay stuck to the top, it looks delicious. The sparkling sugar paints the room in a pale green glow. It reminds me of the gingerbread house.
“I thought we could have it for dinner tonight…” Sorbet says. She looks up at me with kind eyes, and a supportive smile. I can only laugh.
“Ew! Sorbet! I spit all over that thing!” I make her laugh with me. “Let’s just eat hay.”