A Guinea Pig

Lina stood on the train platform feeling anxious and exposed. Alone despite all the people waiting on the same platform. She hated shopping and she hated taking the train but today, both had been required. With her ticket tucked in her purse and bags clutched at her side she waited for her train to glide up to the platform.

“This is a North East train,” the announcement said, “Passengers going West, please disembark now.”

Lina’s face burned with embarrassment at the sound of it but as long as she did not speak nobody would recognize her own voice. She stepped onto the train, shuffling past the other passengers to a booth, one side of which was unoccupied. When she sat down, she realized why nobody else had wished to sit there.

The two men before her looked like they could be part of a biker gang—each of them had graying slicked back hair. One wore a studded black leather jacket, the other had a neck beard and wore a jean jacket with the sleeves torn off and a black t-shirt underneath. They looked out of place squeezed into the booth. The one in the leather jacket had a box on his lap, the other held something wrapped in a crumpled brown paper bag.

She avoided eye contact, not wanting anyone to try starting a conversation with her. It became rather difficult not to stare when a squeaking sound came from the box that leather jacket held. Lina shifted in her seat, wondering what could possibly be in the suspicious packages wrapped in brown paper that each man held.

Leather jacket leaned forward, the corner of his mouth lifting, “You want to know what is inside?”

Lina really did want to know. She nodded yes.

The other greasy haired man elbowed his companion, “Keep that box shut tight.”

Leather jacket grunted but fell silent. Lina watched as the brown paper bag that neck beard held moved of its own accord. The man shifted in his seat, his eyes meeting hers. He smiled at her. Despite his appearance Lina was surprised to find a soft kindness in his eyes. Like a father concerned over his child’s skinned knee. She found herself smiling back.

The announcement of the train made her wince though, and her look of pure embarrassment returned as the train slowed to a stop at the next platform. Bodies shifted about but the three of them remained seated.

“Are you okay miss?” The man holding the box asked.

She nodded, “Yes, I’m fine thank you.”

Neck beard squinted at her quizzically, “Huh, do I know you? Your voice sounds awfully familiar.”

“No. No, I’m certain you don’t,” she responded, the heat rising in her cheeks as sweat beaded under her arms.

“Yes, you sound just like the train lady. You are the voice of the train!”

“No I—” Lina tried to protest, realizing the more she spoke the more she was confirming the truth. The sound of her own voice announcing the next stop cut her off. Lina sighed, “Okay. Yes. I am.”

“It’s like meeting a celebrity! Isn’t it Owl?” Neck beard said to his companion holding the squeaking box, “I swear just the other day I was talking about how pleasant the train lady sounds.”

Owl nodded, “It’s true.”

Lina’s cheeks burned, she wished she could disappear.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m serious. It’s really cool,” Neck beard said.

A scrabbling sound came from the box. The paper bag shifted. The two men fell silent, avoiding eye contact with her as if they had just broken their mother’s antique flower vase and didn’t want to take the blame. Despite her anxious embarrassment, Lina found it comical.

“Okay, seriously, what are you guys carrying?”

The two men glanced at each other, then back at her. Neck beard pulled the paper bag off to reveal a pillowcase which he carefully opened, one hand holding onto whatever was inside. Lina peeked inside, nervous until she got a good look at it.

Its colours were beautiful shades of orange and red. Neck beard spoke, “She’s a corn snake. The owner didn’t want her anymore, so we went and picked her up. Going to give her a great home.”

“So, the box is… food?”

Owl shook his head, “No, no, no. The owner did have that in mind for these fella’s, but I just can’t bring myself to kill these little cuties. We’ll take care of them too. We don’t feed live mice unless we have to. I have a hard enough time with the crickets…”

Neck beard gave his friend a pat on the back, “It’s natures way. I usually take care of the feeding.”

“How many pets do you have?” Lina asked.

The man thought about it for a moment, “20 reptiles and… how many rodents now?”

“Depends on how many babies Bertha has. Maybe 30, plus a guinea pig I’m re-socializing.”

Lina had had a guinea pig as a girl. Their tiny squeaks always made her heart feel warm and too big for her chest. She had been heartbroken when they had died of old age. Lina had always intended to get another pet, but it never seemed like a good time—she lived alone, and her work hours were always inconsistent.

“If you know anyone good with reptiles and rodents, we are looking for help,” neck beard said and then handed her a handwritten card with their names and a number on it. Lina tucked the card into her purse, her voice on the loudspeaker notifying her that they had arrived at her stop. They had looked scary but both men were incredibly sweet, her heart felt warm as she walked home from the train station.

By the time she reached her house, those feelings had dissipated. She slipped off her shoes and wandered from room to room, the place that she called home feeling like an office after hours. Dark and empty. Lina pulled the card from her purse, fingers running over the smooth paper as she thought about their kind eyes.

An hour later she was awkwardly sitting on the grass, waiting for Owl to bring the guinea pig out onto the lawn. The men lived in a typical suburban house. The backyard had a deck, barbeque patio and a garden full of vegetables in the corner. She smiled at the thought of Owl bent over the tomato plants in his leather jacket. The back down slid open and out came the man, now in a black tshirt instead of leather. He had a square pen for the guinea pig with a mesh bottom so she could munch away at the grass. The slightest movement would send the guinea pig bolting back into her spherical shelter. Lina and Owl sat still and quiet beside the pen until gradually the guinea pig came out, her nose twitching as she chewed on the grass, her furry face and large brown eyes watching them.

“Maybe you should take her home,” Owl whispered, “Get re-socialized.”

Lina laughed softly, “Therapy for her or for me?”

He looked at her, eyes drifting over her face, “Both.”

Lina tried to hold back her tears, she wiped at her cheeks and his face softened further, “It’ll be alright Lina. Take her home and you’ll see. Things will get better.”

The young woman sighed, Owl had read her like a book. He had seen her sad, lonely, anxiousness. He carefully picked up the guinea pig and held her close to his chest, his voice a barely audible whisper, “We really could use the help if you want to come by once and a while. The animal pens always need cleaning. It isn’t glamorous but it gives us purpose. Something to hold onto when things get tough.”

He passed her the guinea pig. Lina clutched her against her chest, stroking her soft white fur as more tears spilled down her cheeks. Lina mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

It felt good to focus on caring for someone outside of herself. She felt needed and wanted for the first time in a long time as the guinea pig made a low purring sound against her chest. Owl smiled, “She likes you.”

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Written by Kelsey Reich on July 25/2021 in Ontario, Canada.