Elizabeth Massie - Naked, on the Edge

Dressed in a denim skirt and black sweatshirt that read, “A Crow is a Cat is a Cow is a Dhild", Hannah had hacked the padlock from the holding cell, then stepped back as Karla’s nine-year-old son, Allen, was allowed the first rescue.

“Go in, sweetie,” Karla said, giving the little boy an encouraging push. “Those kitties and puppies are going to be poisoned if we don’t set them free. They will cough and shake and vomit and suffer. Go get the first one out.”

Allen, in his little red “Peace Now” ball cap, had gone into the dingy cell among the condemned, cats in a cage on the right of the cell and dogs in a cage on the left. The condemned watched him with hesitant wags of tails and blinks of eyes. He pulled the pin to the cat cage and lifted out a scraggly calico. As he turned to face the other rescuers, Joe snapped a Polaroid photo.

Grinning child and living cat. The crow is the cat is the cow is the child. Bless the beasts and the children.

Equality beyond specieism.

The photo was now displayed on her refrigerator along with photos of other events in Hannah’s activist life; protests, marches, passing home-computer generated pamphlets out on the street in front of the college and the nearby grocery stores.

Commitment and courage. Promises kept.

As little Allen would say when asked if he would always look out for the weaker creatures, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Hannah stared at the photos, letting pride in what she was doing squeeze out the irritation at her father’s selfishness. It took a little while, but it worked.

Joe wore a red plaid flannel shirt, not quite grunge but amazingly attractive in its carelessness, faded jeans, and boots. He sat, as he always did, in the middle of the classroom, leg crossed casually, pen top in teeth, scribbling notes faster than Hannah spoke.

Interpretations, she assumed. His own additions to her lessons, questions, comments, insights.

As humans went, he was beautiful. Young and dark. Committed and courageous. And agonizingly sensual.

Hannah spoke today on the contrasting beliefs within the fundamentalist denominations in early twentieth century America. As was true in any class period, some students leaned forward with interest, some slumped back in boredom. Timothy, brought to class each day in his airy cat-tote, lay on a fluffy folded towel in his windowsill overlooking the campus green. Every so often he would stretch, arch his back and scoot down a bit to catch the movement of the afternoon sunlight.

Class ended with the usual assignment, Hannah’s challenge to younger minds. “Study those around you. See what we are. Observe and remember. Until tomorrow.”

And the students were gone then as quickly as water from a draining tub.

Joe sat unmoving at his desk, leg crossed, pen tapping his closed notebook. Hannah collected her books, scooted her podium over to the wall so the janitors could better clean, and took a last sip of the coffee from her earth toned “Love Your Mother” mug.

Joe did not move. Hannah patted her hair and smoothed the tight bridge of her

nose, then looked at him directly. He was smiling his beautiful smile. Her heart clenched at the beauty.

“Did you have a question?” she asked.

“I wanted to thank you for letting me be part of the rescue last weekend, Miss Livick,” Joe said. His pen continued to tap.

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Hannah said.

“Of course you could have. It’d have been a little more dramatic, but you could have.”

“It was your idea.”

“And you agreed to take me up on it.”

“So we both should be congratulated.”

“Congratulations to us. And to those we saved.”

Hannah sat on the top of a front desk and crossed her arms. There was more to come here, she just had to wait.

“We should celebrate.” Joe stopped tapping the pencil. He uncrossed his legs. “How should we celebrate our success?”

“I don’t have balloons or confetti in my desk, nor any champagne. I supposed we could shout, “Hip, hip, hooray?”

Joe shook his head. His dark hair rippled. “I was thinking more in line of a dinner. Do you have plans tonight? We could have dinner and toast our beliefs.”

Yes, I have plans, damn, she thought. But I’ll work around them. No problem.

“That would be nice. Do you want to invite some of the others?” she asked. “Susan and Thomas and Barbara helped us set those animals free.”

Joe stood up and put his notebook into his satchel.

The pen he slid through the thick hair to rest on his ear.

“I thought just us.”

“Just us. Well,” said Hannah. She looked at the window. “Timothy, come on, boy.”

The cat turned his head and blinked. He was clearly too comfortable to move.

“Timothy, it’s time to go.”

Timothy shut his eyes and rolled over, exposing his stomach to the warmth of the light.

“Jerk,” laughed Hannah. She went to the window and picked up the cat. He drooped in her grasp, a furry soft-sculpture with twitching whiskers. “Into the case with you.” Then she looked at Joe. “He’d get up under the gas pedal if I didn’t contain him. They may deserve the same rights as humans, but I don’t think they’re quite as smart.”

“Ah.”

“That was supposed to be a joke.”

“Oh. Ha.” Joe walked over to Hannah and the cat carrier, stuck a finger through the slat and scratched the cat. He brushed Hannah’s retreating hand as he did.

“So, you can make it tonight?”

“Sure. And there is a wonderful restaurant, the Garden Gourmet, out on Booker Street. What do you think?”

“Actually, I have a lot of food at my place. Would you mind eating there? It’s not a bad apartment. I’ll actually run the vacuum for you. My roommate is gone for a few days, and I don’t often have a chance to cook for someone else.”

“Oh, sure. That’s fine.”

“Seven?”

“Could we make it eight? I have to meet Karla at six and then I need some time to get ready, feed the cats, all that,” said Hannah.

“Eight’s good. You won’t change your mind, now? You won’t call and say you’ve come down with something?”

He smiled, one eyebrow going up.

“I don’t break promises.”

“I knew that. After we eat, maybe we can take Timothy to the park. So bring him.”

Hannah bit the inside of her cheek to keep the insipid grin she felt building from showing on her face.

“Sure,” she said.

Joe gave her a wink and strode from the classroom.

Hannah hugged the cat tote to her chest, held her breath, and waited until the unsummoned thumping between her thighs eased.

Karla was late getting home from work. Hannah sat in her car in front of Karla’s house, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as Timothy whined in irritation from his cat tote.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’ll be home soon. Be patient.”

On the back seat of Hannah’s Bug was a box load of Voices for the Voiceless brochures that she had run off at Kinko’s just an hour earlier. Karla was attending a state senator’s re-election campaign rally this weekend, and planned on getting a copy of the Voices mandate into every flesh-pressing palm. No doubt it would either catch the attention of the press or of security, giving Karla the brief limelight she sought.

Tonight, Karla was going to work on her presentation and make a couple conference calls with folks across the state. And Hannah had agreed to babysit Allen.

“Come on come on come one,” Hannah said.

“Damn it.”

Karla’s blue two-door pulled up behind Hannah’s car and stopped. Karla climbed from the driver’s seat, looking weary. Allen hopped from the passenger’s seat and bounced around to Hannah’s window. Hannah rolled the window down.