That Mouse Is High

A Short Story by Scott Semegran

The special day had arrived. I pulled into the parking lot, found a spot in the front, and ran in the party store. In an effort to save time, I had a concise list of supplies I needed to purchase: 12 napkins, 12 paper plates, one table cloth, and 12 gift bags, all with a particular Disney character on them. You know, the mouse? I also had to purchase six rubber balloons and one Mylar balloon to be blown up into a festive balloon bouquet, weighted down by a festive balloon bouquet weight. You know, because of last time? You don't know? Well, it's best you didn't know at this point. I was on a mission.

I found all the stuff on my list and waited at the balloon counter for the balloon girl to blow up my daughter's balloon bouquet. You see, it was my daughter's birthday, the most special day of all days of the year. Except for maybe Christmas or Halloween, a kid's birthday is the epitome of everything a kid deems magical: candy, cake, attention, ice cream, gifts, more attention, friends, fun, even more attention. It's the end-all, be-all of a kid's existence. And it was my duty to make sure it all went down in the most magical of ways. Shit, the pressure was getting to me. I only had a couple of hours before go-time. And I had to get all of the mouse-themed party supplies to the other mouse-themed place: Chester E. Cheddar's Pizzeria and Party House. I could only hope they served beer there. At ten o'clock in the morning, I already needed a pint, or three.

The balloon girl handed me the balloon bouquet, her lazy bong-hit smile sliding across her pimply face, and I paid for all the party shit as quick as I could and flew out the door. The cake! I had to pick up the cake at the grocery store and a few other things on my to-do list.

I parked the car in the front of the parking lot, hopped out of the car while shoving the balloons back in the car, and ran into the grocery store. Picking a cart and maneuvering through the entrance, I drove that sucker to the bakery and skidded to the counter. Sophia! A cake for Sophia! I screamed. It was go-time people, come on! Put out your cigarettes, get off your break, and give me some service. Fifteen seconds went by...

Then fifteen more seconds went by...

Then thirty more seconds went by...

It was like a fucking eternity.

Finally, a rotund Mexican lady shuffled out from the back of the store. She smiled an easy smile, one that was actually quite comforting, but only if it had been any other day besides today.

Sophia? I asked, kind of frantic.

Allí, she said, pointing to the end of the bakery counter.

A large box sat on top of the glass case. I looked inside and sure enough, the cake had "Happy 4th Birthday, Sophia!" decorated on top. I felt a small lump swell in my throat and I choked back a whimper and a tear. My little baby was -*sniff*- four years old. Unbelievable. Four years of memories started to roll through my mind, her baby years, her toddler years, previous birthday parties. But there wasn't any time for that. OH SHIT! I thought. I gotta go! I tossed the cake into the cart and drove off.

Buenas dias, she said.

That's right, lady. Feliz cumpleaños!

***

The parking lot of Chester E. Cheddar's Pizzeria and Party House was empty so I pulled into a spot right up front and unloaded the party stuff. Sophia wasn't going to arrive with the rest of our family for another 15 minutes, which meant time to setup the table and... well, uh... see if beer was available.

I took all the party stuff to our table. I noticed on the way, behind the cashier counter, that there was a beer tap, glistening under the fluorescent lights. So I promptly placed all the stuff on our table and ordered a cold mug of beer. It quenched my nerves immediately, pushing the stress to a quiet place. And it was gone in four gulps. I ordered another mug and sat at the table, surveying the empty pizzeria.

The balloon bouquet was swaying back and forth from the air conditioner on the table and I immediately fell into a memory of last year's birthday party. The last year's balloon bouquet was this massive, colorful blob of Disney and Nickelodeon characters, twisted together with rainbow ribbons and string. To me, it was an expensive helium trap, slowly withering to its eminent, deflated demise. But to my daughter, it was a delight. The smiling character heads and flowery spheres made my little girl smile so big that I thought she would pull a cheek muscle. And as birthday parties go, hers was a frantic one with people calling her name left and right for photos and hugs and more photos. After one photo too many, she loosened her grip on the balloon bouquet and it launched itself on a gust of wind upward and onward toward the stratosphere. As it heaved itself above the overpass of I-35, it steadily ascended to outer space right above our heads. And Sophia cried. And cried. And cried. And cried until she fell asleep in the car. A great day ruined in a split second. I could vividly see her sad, sleeping face in my mind.

And then I saw her smiling face in front of me. As if coming out of a trance, I blinked my eyes and shook my head and there she was, my little girl standing in front of me, her big smile plastered on her cute face. She must have come into the pizzeria while I was daydreaming.

Wow daddy! she said. She was holding a Chester E. Cheddar doll under her arm.

Wow what, sweetheart? I asked, placing my hands on her chubby cheeks.

The balloons are beautiful, daddy.

You like them?

I love them! Are they going to fly away, daddy?

Absolutely not. Not today.

Is Chester here, daddy? she asked, looking around for that goddamn mouse.

I'm sure he is, sweetheart. Maybe he's in his dressing room. You know... primping?

What's a dressing room, daddy?

Oh, nevermind about that right now. Where is everybody?

She pointed to the entrance and sure enough, her grandparents, her mother, her sister, her friends, and random other people were coming in. The Chester E. Cheddar's Pizzeria and Party House was coming to life, as it should. It was my daughter's birthday. And it was time for more beer!

***

Daddy? Where is Chester? Sophia asked.

I don't know, sweetheart. I'm sure he'll be out soon, I said.

But I want to see him now.

Go play with your friends and your sister. He'll be out soon.

Sophia ran off to play and I looked at the wife and shrugged my shoulders. We had accomplished what we needed to so the party would be a success. But we knew Sophia's day wouldn't be complete without a visit and a hug from Chester E. Cheddar himself. But his whereabouts were a secret, I guess. My father-in-law, who was sitting in a booth next to me, noticed something was wrong. He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned toward me.

Que paso? he asked.

Sophia wants to see the mouse, I said.

The mouse?

Yeah. You know? That mouse on the sign outside? She wants to see him. Chester.

Oh. That mouse. Go tell the manager.

You think I should?

Shit yeah. Whatever makes the kid happy.

That made complete sense to me. So he and I headed to the cashier counter to speak to the manager. A pimply-faced girl was manning the register, her long hair wadded inside a hair net wedged underneath a Chester E. Cheddar baseball cap. I asked to speak to her manager and she returned a look that said both "uh oh" and "whatever" simultaneously. Weird. I also ordered two mugs of beer so the father-in-law and I could toast the birthday girl. That was essential.

Pretty soon the manager came out. He didn't look much older than the pimply-faced cashier and he had the same unkempt way about him, matted hair smashed under his ball cap. I told him my dilemma and he seemed to get it, seeing that 99% of the kids that came in for birthday parties wanted to "meet" Chester. He continued to tell me that the employee who wore the Chester costume was new and was in the back getting ready for his first appearance of the day. He, too, smiled a bong-hit smile but reassured me that my daughter's birthday would be wonderful. And sometimes, that's all you need, a little reassurance. My father-in-law put his arm around my shoulders and took a swig from his beer mug.

Salud! he said.

Salud!

***

Sophia sat on my lap, a look of disappointment on her face. I consoled her.

He'll be out soon, sweetheart, I said.

Chester is coming to my birthday party, right daddy? she asked.

Absolutely.

Just as I said that, a commotion erupted across the dining room. Another party of manic kids threw their hands in the air and screamed. Sophia perked up immediately, craning her head to see over the crowd of kids. And I could see a pair of fuzzy ears and a fuzzy baseball cap over the sea of waving hands, a capital C planted right in the middle of the fuzzy cap. It was him, the one, the mouse. Sophia stood up and clapped her hands.

Daddy, it's Chester, daddy! He came to my birthday party! she said.

There he is, baby, I said.

A voice over the intercom boomed out, a little scratchy, All right boys and girls. It's time to sing happy birthday wiiiiiith... CHESTER E. CHEDDAR! Put your hands together!

All of the kids in the dining room cheered and clapped, including Sophia and the kids that we invited to her party. But something seemed a little off, something was not quite right. I noticed the mouse ears moving a little awkwardly, tipsily. The mouse pushed his way out of the initial throng of kids into an open area in the dining room. But rather than walk around shaking hands and hugging kids, the mouse was jerking his hands and legs about, as if winding up to bust some moves, some breakdance moves. I looked at my father-in-law and he started snickering. I looked back at the mouse and, sure enough, he bent over and started rubbing his fuzzy butt, like he was shining two oversized apples. My father-in-law bellowed a deep belly laugh.

That mouse is high, he said.

Look daddy, Sophia said. Chester is dancing! Can I go see him?

Wait just a second, baby.

Chester squatted on the floor and attempted to spin around on his back. But his fuzzy outfit didn't allow him to spin on the carpeted floor, so he clumsily rolled over on his side, tipping a table over and knocking down a few kids. Sophia couldn't contain herself. I could feel the excitement erupting inside her.

Daddy! Daddy! I want to see Chester! Can I go, please? she asked.

I don't know, sweetheart. Chester doesn't look so hot today, I said.

Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!

But how was I supposed to refuse. I mean, it was her birthday for crying out loud. I picked her up and approached the mouse, the dancing machine. I set Sophia down a few feet away, holding her at the shoulders, keeping her at a safe distance. I figured I'd let her get a quick hug in, then carry her quickly back to the table. But she slipped from my hands and bolted for the mouse, her arms extended ready to hug him. But rather than hug her back, he popped his hip out and knocked her to the floor. She tumbled under a table, stunned, crying. And that was all it took.

Dead fucking mouse meat!

I lunged at that mouse and knocked his ass to the floor. I could hear the cries of the surprised kids but I didn't let that stop me from pummeling his foamy proboscis, plumes of dust spewing out as I gave him a left then a right, over and over. His fuzzy grin was a target that I waylaid, getting a few good jabs in before someone pulled me off that goddamn mouse. I was furious, totally furious. He ruined my daughter's birthday. And I wanted to ruin him.

But at this point, everything was ruined. My rage didn't placate my daughter, who was still crying. After my father-in-law unhinged me, I picked up my daughter and hugged her. She was sobbing, gasping.

Chester was mean to me, daddy, she said.

I know, baby, I said. I know.

He hit me with his butt.

I know, baby.

You bopped him in the nose, she snickered.

Oh, yes I did.

Chester lifted his head off his shoulders and underneath was the young manager I spoke to earlier, his hair still smashed on his head, some blood oozing from his nose. He looked stunned, confused. Kids were crying. It was time to go. So I nodded to our party guests and my family and I carried Sophia out of Chester E. Cheddar's Pizzeria and Party House. The party was over.

***

Later that day, I was sitting on my back porch, smoking a cigarette. We transferred the party to our house and after a few awkward minutes, the other kids seemed to forget about the brawl with the mouse. A little cake, a little ice cream, a little singing, and all seemed to be forgiven, forgotten, done with. I didn't feel bad about it; just disappointed I guess. Right when I finished my cigarette, Sophia burst out the door, the bouquet of balloons in her hands.

Daddy? she asked.

Yes, baby? I replied.

Are you sad that you beat up Chester?

No, baby. Not at all.

Want to see something cool, daddy?

Of course, sweetheart.

She pulled a pair of kids' safety scissors from behind her back, a cute smile sliding across her cute face.

Watch this, daddy, she said.

She snipped the rainbow strings holding the balloons together and they swirled and twirled upward to the sky. She clapped her hands and pointed to the colorful mass, swirling rapidly toward outer space.

Daddy? Sophia said.

Yes, baby? I asked.

This was the best birthday ever!

Really?

Look, daddy. Look!

She pointed to the sky and we watched the balloons until we couldn't see them anymore. We watched them vanish, together.