ZDAY

It Is What It Is

 Instinctively, I began sprinting up the stairs with Jeremy hesitantly following. I heard mom scream, but from where? The kitchen was empty. A pan with cracked eggs was on the floor and the flame of the stove was still on.

"This doesn't look too good," Jeremy said from behind me.

"Shut up," I snapped, "this is your fault." He didn't respond after that.

I picked up the pan, tilting the runny yolk into the sink and turned the flame off. "Let's go." I held the pan up like a bat.

As we walked through my kitchen and into the living room, a pang of guilt hit me. I was carrying a pan like a weapon while searching for my mom. Would I really use it?

"Mrs. Christensen?" Jeremy called out.

I swung around and motioned for him to be quiet. What if my mom was a frothing, rabid zombie, perched and ready to kill us?

"Yes?" A breathless voice replied from the bathroom.

"Mom?" I dropped the pan to the floor and ran to her voice. She was standing over the bathroom counter, wrapping a bandaid on her finger. Oh no. "What are you boys doing up? It's four am," she began, but changed the subject as she looked back at her palm, "You won't believe this. But anyways, I was cooking when a mouse ran out onto the counter."

I held my breath, feeling like I would pass out and watched as a thin layer of sweat dewed on her pale forehead.

"So I grab a towel and try to swat the brave little thing, and the damn mouse launches at me. It took a chunk out of my finger, even."

"Where did it go?" Jeremy questioned.

"Oh, I don't know. I ran into here to clean my finger. I don't want ant rodent diseases or whatever it is they carry. And I wanted to get out of the kitchen. Mice give me the creeps."

I turned around and motioned for Jeremy to follow me into the living room.

"What do we do? Is there a cure? I don't want a zombie mom." I began running my hands through my dark hair.

"Well, it's not normal rabies. It might have a different cure. My dad would know. We should go to the lab." Jeremy scratched his chin, thinking.

"How different can it really be?" I asked, "Maybe all she needs is a rabies shot. I'll take her to the doctor." I got up and went back to the bathroom. Mom was sitting on the corner of the tub.

"Are you okay?" I knelt in front of her.

"Yeah, just," she paused, inhaling shakily, "just a little faint. I think that mouse really spooked me. You better go kill that thing before I see it again. Then I'll really die." She forced a laugh. "Okay, mom, this is going to sound crazy."

"Derek," she interjected, "I don't have time for any of your weird ideas right now. I've got to get ready for work. I'm already late. You should be asleep anyways."

"No, listen. It's not a dumb idea this time." I questioned how I could possibly word this right, but continued, " I think that mouse had rabies. You need to go to the doctor."

"No!" her eyes grew wide, "I need to get to work. I can't miss it." She spoke softer, "We need the money. And the insurance was too expensive to renew. So, no I can't. I'm sure I'm fine."

Shit. "But you need to see a doctor. Look at yourself." I put a hand on her shoulder. Her skin was coated in sweat and chalky white.

"If it will make you feel better," she furrowed her eyebrows, "You can ask Mr. Robertson to come take a look. He said to call him whenever we needed. He knows about our situation."