FIRST KILL

The odds were fifty/fifty any way you looked at it but I didn’t even know that then because I didn’t know much of anything then because I was only four years old and way out of my element there in the free clinic, a serious, busy place where we took a ticket and waited our turn while mom fretted over the paperwork, no time for monkey business or dawdling, much less childish questions, so regardless of being one hundred percent positive that I had never in my short life ever heard the word “urine” before, once our number was called I took the clear plastic cup from the nurse’s hand and nodded without a peep as she ushered me into a bathroom and closed the door behind me for some privacy while I went about the business of collecting “a urine specimen” for her, although to my mind in that moment there was no such thing, there was number one and there was number two, there was peepee and doodoo, there was poop and there was piss, there was crap, lots and lots of crap that dad went on about sometimes but this “urine” and “urine specimen” business threw me for a bit of a loop until the eureka! moment when the thought of our Cairn Terrier, Dewey, flashed through my little brain, and Dewey’s “stool specimen” that we collected to help the dog doctor figure out why Dewey was vomiting just like I had been vomiting so bingo, nothing to it, two plus two equals four, and yet no small order, a bit of a struggle in fact, so it took a while, long enough that the nurse tapped at the door a few times to see if everything was coming out all right, which it was, finally, the clear plastic cup properly centered at my fingertips, poised for the transfer, which went off without a hitch, the aftermath much much tidier than initially feared, so I was fairly pleased with myself for a moment, having successfully navigated these uncharted adult waters for the first time, satisfied at least, by all means ready to stand and deliver the cup to the nurse, who did not smile and whisk it away as expected but instead stared a hole through it, frowning slightly, quizzically, trying so hard not to laugh she blushed, which made me blush, my ears hot with confusion and, I guess, shame, while we just stood there, the two of us, motionless, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, frozen in time, a tableaux vivant that eventually captured everyone within talking distance for a moment of silent recognition, followed by a communal chuckle, which I joined halfheartedly, more or less mimicking the mood, until I realized to my horror that I was the source of this infectious mirth, at which point I broke out crying like a slapped baby until mom knelt down and hugged me to her chest saying “its okay, honey, it’s okay” then led me away, mortified, absolutely inconsolable, so much so that she kindly never mentioned it again, allowing me to bury the incident deep in my childish unconscious, flushed away, never to return, or not until many years later, at a sleepover with some adolescent chums, when conversation turned to past embarrassments, one kid relating how he forgot to wear his tank suit underneath his jeans one day as was customary for many on the swim team, allowing them to bypass the locker room, strip down, and plunge into the pool, but in he went nonetheless, the near transparency of his soaking wet cotton underwear hilariously apparent to everyone in sight when he climbed back out, and another kid told us how his older sister and several of her friends walked in on him making out with a makeshift dummy composed of pillows and a basketball with one of her bras attached to it, for practice, of course, in hope of someday suavely removing one from a real girl, and we were giddy, giggling our tweenage asses off, when it all came rushing back to me, the free clinic, my “urine specimen”, the look on the nurse’s face, and I ventured in cautiously, determined not to squander the opportunity to unburden myself but entirely uncertain of the episode’s comedic potential until the first round of laughs about Dewey’s stool, followed by a second and a third, the mood more and more raucous with each excruciating detail, what a glorious feeling, stumbling into my first kill, such that life would never be the same again.