The Idealists: Part VII

The Idealists – Part VII


“We have a window of about four months,” Ruthie says. “After that, the drugs will start to damage my ovaries.”

They are sitting in Ruthie’s office between classes.

“Are we sure we want to take that risk?” Derick asks.

“Dr. Park says if I don’t do it now, I’m not doing it,” Ruthie says.

“Well,” Derick says, “If we wait till the summer, that will mean the baby will be born in the summer, so we won’t have to miss classes.”

“True,” Ruthie says with her lips, but not her eyes. “I mean,” she adds, “What if we’re no good at parenting?”

“We are essentially parents to almost 200 kids,” Derick says.

“Yeah, but we can send them away and lock the door every so often. You can’t do that with your own kid.”

“You’ll be a great mom, Ruthie.”

“We’ve never even had a pet. I mean, a dog or something would give us a taste of what it would be like to have to care for another life.”

“We’re allergic to dogs. And you’re asthmatic.”

“What about hypo-allergenic dogs?”

“They look pretty annoying. How about a bird?”

“Birds poop everywhere. And hypo-allergenic dogs are cute!”

“I don’t think you can find those kinds of dogs at the pound.”

The bell rings, and they both scramble to get to their classrooms.

After classes, they sneak home and lock the doors. Derick rented a movie—the kind with lots of explosions that they both liked—and they settle in to watch it a full fifteen minutes before someone knocks on the door.

“I’m not getting it,” Ruthie says.

“Might be important,” Derick says, “The world might be exploding.”

Ruthie flashes him a mock-annoyed look and then exits their den to answer the door. Derick follows her.

“It’s students,” she says over her shoulder, opening the door.

“I’m shocked,” Derick says.

“And they have a cage,” Ruthie says.

Derick gently moves Ruthie aside and the girls glide in. One sets a plastic bag on the floor and together, they carry the cage to a table in the den.

“Thanks girls,” Derick says.

“What is this?” Ruthie asks.

“Effie and Daisy,” Jenny, the girl who’d been carrying the cage, says. “Daisy’s the white one.”

“They’re from Tiffani’s biology class, but she needs us to foster them for awhile,” Derick says.

“They’re very sweet,” Jenny says.

“Yeah,” Mandy, the other girl, echoes.

“Ms. Conners said you can teach them their names and tricks and stuff,” Jenny says.

“Huh,” Ruthie says. “You’re so cheap, sometimes, Derick.”

“They need to be cared for,” he says. “And we need to care. You said.”

Ruthie leans in to examine them. Two noses, one brown and one white, poke out of a plastic igloo in the floor of the cage and, ever so delicately, sniff.

C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Troubadour 21