Slug Boy

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The next morning when she showered, she didn’t see the slug and figured leaving the curtain open for the stall to dry out had worked, but the following few mornings it was back, and then one morning it was much higher up the wall, about eye level with her. There was no way she could shower without the spray hitting it, so she decided to move it, but when she touched it with her fingertip to flick it into her palm, it was much more strongly attached to the wall than she had expected. It didn’t budge. She decided to leave it alone and went about her bathing. When she glanced at it again, it was gone. She checked by her feet, but it was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh,” she said sadly, realizing she’d grown accustomed to the slug. “It’s gone down the drain. Shoot.”

She tried not to picture it drowning, but the thought really bothered her. Wanting to be free of her thoughts, she quickly finished her shower, but throughout the day, the slug kept popping into her mind. In the middle of making a series of client callbacks on the phone, she started wondering where slugs went when they died. Was there a slug heaven for slugs that had been good? What about a slug hell? Could slugs even be good or bad? She was lost in her moral dilemma over slugs, and it carried her thoughts to her own mortality. Where would she go when she died? Would it be the same place as slugs? Did Jesus have a position on slugs in Heaven?

She’d read that people lived forever, that after their bodies died, they got a new one. She liked that idea until she considered where she’d be when she was between bodies. Would she get a loaner until her new one was ready? No one took care of loaner cars, and they smelled of other people’s bad habits. Or would she float around, bodiless, without her boobs and pretty smile? She felt her smile was her best feature, which was why she smiled a lot. She had noticed smiling was contagious, and she would much rather deal with a smiling person than a Grinch. Maybe her next body would have a nice smile, too.

Her work desk was in a maze of cubicles, and as she was thinking this, Nathan, a coworker she found exceedingly annoying, started down her aisle, interrupting everyone to show them a printout of his wife’s ultrasound. Then it struck her how precarious this theory about getting a new body could be. With a squeamishness that went all the way down to her toes, she realized if she died today she could come back as Nathan’s kid.

When Nathan arrived at her cubicle, announcing what he had to show her, she forced a smile as she took the offered picture and asked, “When’s it due?”

“It?”

“Yeah.”

“It is not an it. It is a he.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“He’s due on the sixth of January.”

“Boy, you know the exact date.”

“It’s called science, Abby.”

She handed back the picture.

“But we might induce labor early so we can claim him on this year’s tax return. I’m going to love having a dependent.”

He moved on to the next aisle over, and she said aloud to herself, “I can do that.”

“What can you do?” It was Anne, with whom she shared her cubicle, returning with their coffees.

“Stay alive until January seventh so I don’t get reborn as Nathan’s kid.”

“Oh, God, can you imagine?”

“That’s my problem: I can.”

“Ooo, ga-ga,” Anne cooed like a baby. “I wuv you, Daddy.”

“Stop, please.”

*   *   *

The next morning in the shower her slug was back. “Hi, Mr. Slug,” she said. All slugs were male to her. “I thought you were dead.”

And then, as if purposefully, the slug let go of the wall, fell to the floor and swirled down the drain before she could even react.

“Shit,” she said. “Goodbye again, Mr. Slug.”

If he’d been a good slug, maybe he’d move up a few notches and come back as Nathan’s kid. Or he might crawl up out of the drain and be back tomorrow, trying to be as good a slug as he could so that, when he dies he won’t come back as Nathan’s kid, she thought with a smile, her best feature.

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