Squeaky Toy
I cant tell time early in the morning and if I can, I probably wont be able to understand what it means when I recite: “seven-oh-four,” like a prayer to the buzzing green digital on the microwave. I look for a very long time at the little glowing numbers that seem like they hop around on the inside of the clock, and try my hardest to figure out what they mean. I realize that in this contemplative state I have frozen and ceased breathing. I exhale as I look back over at the tv. My mom left it on the shopping channel, then left the remote on top of it before she took off for work so I cant change the channel. Bright shiney expensive shit rotates in slow motion on the screen; about the same pace my morning, and now that I think of it, my life is going. Freshman in high school. Its like life is on pause for four years till I can leave.
I forget what I was doing. Oh, cereal. I guess I must have been eating breakfast. Cereal breakfast that’s—fuck, its gotten soggy. What time is it? My eyes keep drifting away from each other and I keep forgetting to keep my mouth shut. One eye is watchng the shopping channel, the other patiently studies the back of the cereal box. Neither are making ny sense to me. My arm is like a little forklift that brings my spoon halfway to my mouth again and again as each time it approaches I slowly decide I’m not that keen on eating any more of my soggy shitpuffs or whatever.
Theres something in my left hand. Oh, its that squeaky toy thing. My grandparents got me a dog toy that squeaks for Christmas, (I’ll never know why,) and I quickly found out I could remove the squeaky device inside. It’s a hard, hollow plastic cylinder thing that makes a shrill noise when air passes through it. My plan today is to piss off my teachers with it. At the table I put it in my mouth. My left eye reads $49.99 for some gawdy POS. my right eye is a dull buzz freaking out over the nutrition facts for soggy shitpuffs- trying so hard to make sense of it all. The forklift comes up, and in a freak occurrence actually makes it to my mouth, dumping its shitpuffy payload into it, agape save for the squeaker pinned between my teeth. Spoon bumps plastic instead of tougue. I think, ‘that’s not right…’ and open wide anyway, swallowing everything. In as much time as it took me to decide that my morning sugar intake is probably unhealthy and think ‘hey wheres my squeaker?’ my dull grey morning takes off like a goddamn bullet train headed for nowhere good and I realize that I am in the middle of swallowing a substantial amount of hard plastic. Its stuck. I open and try to cough. Instead I squeak. Phone n the hook. 911? No, cant speak. I keep making popping sounds in my neck. I cough but the only noise is crushing goddamn shitpuffs and a loud sharp pipe of the squeaker in my throat working its way lower and lower. Swallow hard. Its going down. down. down. down. gone now. My grandparents gift to me has gone the way of my Tuesday morning soggy shitpuffs. Deep breath. Drink some milk. Slowing down. don’t be embarrassed. No one saw. Sit back down. shit. Should have grabbed the remote while I was up. What time is it?