Always Have to Know

Curiosity doesn't always kill the cat...but it can make the cat wish it had.

(300 words)

I don't do surprises. Never have. God help me, I wish I wasn't like this.

The night I learned to regret this aspect of myself was Thursday night, family night, and I was making chicken.

"Mom, you know this garbage is overflowing, right?" I called.

Mom called from the other room in a tight voice, "I know, honey; just...just leave it. Your—your father will get it."

"Well could you ask him to get it now, Mom? Gertie's gonna go after the chicken fat." Gertrude, their big dumb yellow lab, was allergic to chicken, but never seemed to realize it. "Want to pay for the emergency vet again?"

She came into the kitchen wiping her hands and looking...strange. I thought she had been kind of "off" all night, but I attributed that to me being on my period. It seemed to me like everybody acted weird when it was my time of the month. Better than the cramps!

I closed up the bag. I could see chicken juice starting to pool in the bottom, and I knew I had to be quick before Gertie went after the bag. Sometimes I think that dog was suicidal. I stepped toward the garage door with the heavy sack.

"Well, if Dad isn't gonna do it, I have to get—"

"Kerry—don't go out there!"

"What? Why not?" I was definitely going out there, now—because curiosity.

"Honey, just...Here, I'll take it out for you." She reached for the bag.

I opened the garage door. "No worries, Mom, I'll just—"

"—Kerry!—"

I should have listened. God, why didn't I listen?!

Standing next to the car was my dad. He had hands around the pull-up bar I had installed in high school. He was wearing handcuffs. And that was all.

Curiosity is not a gift.