scrutiny:
a careful look or examination of something.
The room reminded me of a classroom: that same organization, the specimens, the models of animals opened up to show their skeletons.
School was okay as a social event, but most of the classes were tedious, something to get through. Still, I would have given anything to have been there now, to hear Bergeson’s whiny voice going on about ecosystems and natural selection, to have given a pat to Bessie, the human skeleton, whose bones clanked like chimes when the window was open.
There were two or three stuffed deer heads mounted on the wall, plus a moose head, and there was a bear rug sprawled on the floor, like the one in the trucker’s photo. But mostly there were birds. I recognized some of them: hawks, owls, sparrows, blue jays, and a solitary woodpecker. Their stillness made me long for the live, shuffling bodies of the sheep. Beneath the birds, under a dusty glass counter, were displays of feathers, shells, and fossils, and a collection of butterflies pinned to cardboard. House of the dead, I thought. It was so creepy. Even the owner, I imagined, was not among the living.
I was about to leave when I noticed a small kitchen setup at the back: a refrigerator, a microwave, and a sink.
First, I hit the sink. The water came out brown. I let it run for a while, then drank from it until I couldn’t swallow any more.
Next, I opened the fridge. There was nothing in it, just a few cryptically labeled bottles that looked like urine specimens. The freezer held a jackpot, though: a pizza. The expiration date was two years ago, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t eaten since the chili with the Mexicans the day before.
I ripped off the carton and plastic wrapper and opened the microwave, then got another shock. A rat, gray and sinister, bared its teeth at me, like an imitation of the bear. You’d think I would have known, but it took me a couple of minutes to figure out that it, too, was stuffed.
I shuddered. To me, birds are best in the sky, insects on the other sides of screens, and animals either pettable or roaming in their own habitat. Rats definitely belonged outside.
I found a piece of cloth on the counter, removed the rat, and threw it in the trash; then I wiped out the microwave. I plopped the pizza in, trying not to think about rat juice or rodent preservative, then pressed the button. Nothing happened. I checked the plug and tried again.
I wasted about half an hour on microwave resuscitation before giving up. I grabbed the pizza and hurled it like a Frisbee across the room. It hit the wall and crashed to the floor.
Then I got a new idea. Outside, the sun was shining in full force. I grabbed the pizza, took it outside, and laid it on the cooler to thaw.
I went back inside, cleaned up, washed my hair, then put my shirt in the sink. I kept my pants on, as much as I wanted to wash them. If someone showed up, I didn’t want to be naked. The birds watched me from their perch as if they didn’t like what they saw.
On the other side of the glass case were drawers. I searched through them. Most had medical-looking instruments, tools of the trade. One drawer was full of glass eyeballs. Another contained feathers. The last drawer had paper clips, rubber bands, markers, and seven quarters. I knew I needed the quarters for something, but my brain kept short-circuiting. I wondered if I’d ever think straight again in my life. I put the quarters in my pocket along with a marker and a few rubber bands to tie back my hair.
There were three clocks on the wall, but they didn’t help me any. Like my watch, the birds, the butterflies, and my life, they were frozen in time and space.