Clara’s Roll

Well, neither Michael nor Dewey had texted her, so they must not have needed her help.

Seraphina texted Colin instead and asked him if he’d heard from Dewey, but he was away for winter break and hadn’t.

She decided she’d just go over to his office and see how things were going.

The crawl through the air ducts smelled sweet as always. She was glad that she had not eaten before going over, as her tummy craved a little something sweet just about then. As she made her way through the passage, a red, laminated, neatly-lettered sign blocked the way. It read: “Warning to those with peanut allergies: crawl back out today and retreat until tomorrow.” Seraphina lifted the sign and crawled under it. She could see a kid’s sized Star Wars glass of milk and a peanut butter cookie with chocolate chips. After gobbling that up, she crawled farther down the duct work and found another plate of chocolate peanut butter chip cookies which were equally divine.

Clara’s portion sizing skills were perfect. Seraphina never got too full on cookies, but always had that just right, content feeling after finishing. Plus, her knees and elbows never hurt because of the cushioned material along the way.

She slid into the office expecting to find Dewey and Clara. Instead, she found Michael sitting there, waiting with a plate of mint chip cookies—homemade, of course, no Girl Scouts here—and a book under his nose.

“Where is everyone?” asked Seraphina.

“Don’t ask me,” replied Michael. “He told me to get here thirty minutes ago, and I’m still waiting. Kind of annoying. Anything new with you?” he asked.

“Well, my dog died.” Seraphina hadn’t planned on blurting that out, but for some reason it had just come out unexpectedly.

“Oh,” replied Michael, taking his nose out of his book and looking concerned. “What happened?”

“He was old. He’s been part of the family since before I was born.” Seraphina could feel that weird lump that felt like a marble in her throat. There was no way she was going to cry in front of Michael, but she couldn’t control that lump of sadness.

“I lost my cat last year,” said Michael with compassion. “She got hit by a car. We had to make her an outdoor cat because she kept peeing all over the house because she really wanted to go outside.”

“I don’t think my parents want any more pets, but I hope they’ll change their minds,” replied Seraphina, and then she immediately felt like a louse for not saying anything about his cat. But before she could, he continued.

“Totally different animal when she was out there . . . hunting, playing. We knew she wouldn’t live as long, though. It sucked when she died. I wanted to bury her in the yard, but my mom said that’s not how it’s done. Plus, you know . . . germs.”

Seraphina nodded. Why couldn’t she find any words?

“We buried her collar there, though.”

“Where?” asked Seraphina.

“In the yard.”

“Oh. Right. That’s sad about your cat,” she said, her eyes watering. “He slept with me at night and sat on my lap when I did my homework,” she continued, but not too quietly because she didn’t want to sound as upset as she felt inside.

“Yeah,” replied Michael. “It’s still so weird not having Cabbage—that was my cat’s name—around now.”

An awkward silence followed, and neither of them knew what to talk about next. Seraphina felt her face flush. She couldn’t figure out why because she didn’t feel embarrassed, really.

“Did you get the joke?” asked Michael. “Retreat?”

“Huh?” Seraphina felt totally confused.

“Before that first batch of cookies. It said to ‘retreat.’ Come back tomorrow. Get it? Go back and then they’ll re-treat . . .”

“No, you think that was intentional?”

“Sure! Why not?”

Just then, Dewey came upstairs, and Clara came shooting down the slide. They both had a pile of books three heads high in their hands, titled things like Dirt and Germs; Are We Too Clean?; A Germy World Survival Guide; Should Parents Expose Kids to Germs?; Mysophobia: a Pathological Fear of Contamination and Germs; et cetera.

“Oooof,” Dewey blew out air as he set the books down on his desk. “Sorry. We’ve been up all night researching. We’ve got the plan.”

“Oh, hi, Seraphina. Michael, is it OK if Seraphina’s here?”

“Sure. Why not?” he replied.

It never occurred to her it might not be OK to be there, but she tried not to let on and just stood there, not quite sure what to do with her hands to look casual, like it wasn’t an awkward moment. She folded them in front of her chest, quickly decided that wasn’t right, and clasped them behind her back instead. Then they seemed to have a mind of their own, and she found them twisting her curly ponytail.

“I think, as you’ve likely surmised,” Dewey began, “your mom was traumatized by the whole eating cat poop thing.”

“Ha!” laughed Michael. “That makes two of us. These are confidential services, right, Dewey? I mean, I don’t need the whole world knowing I ate cat doodie! Geez!”

“Of course. Always confidential!” reassured Dewey.

Seraphina was beginning to see why Dewey had asked if it was OK if she was here now and she nodded her head in agreement at the word “confidential” to show her commitment as well.

“I’ve done a lot of reading,” Dewey continued. “We need a two-step plan. First, we have your mom face her original fear. Then, we have her work through how her fear is being acted out, ‘manifested’ the professionals call it. That’s it.”

“So what do I need to do?”

“First, my friend, you’ll need this.” Dewey reached into a bag on his desk and pulled out a Tootsie Roll.

“You need to relive the original scene of the crime. Yes, that’s right. You’ll need to eat poop. Well, a Tootsie Roll.”

“Ewww! No way!” exclaimed Michael and Seraphina in unison.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” added Michael.

“Clara. Tell them I never kid.”

“He never kids,” Clara said.

“Oh boy,” said Michael.

“Ohh boy,” said Seraphina.

Dewey pulled out a few more Tootsie Rolls of differing sizes and handed them to Michael as he went on to explain. “After your Mom’s shock and complete freak out, we’re going to let her down nice and easy. You’re going to tell her it’s OK. They’re just Tootsie Rolls.

“Then, when she calms down, remind her that you survived eating the cat poo, and you’ll tell her you need her to work on this whole germ thing before she kills you.”

“Ironically,” Michael added dryly.

“Sure. Nice touch,” said Dewey. “The books say gradual exposure is best, but you’re in a hurry, so we’ll just do that part fast.

“Then we move onto phase two. After she faces her original fear, it’s a brainstorming session. She lists all the things she’s afraid you’ll get germs from—doorknobs, elevators, other kids’ hands, whatever. Then she has to rank them from one to ten in terms of how scared she is of them, and what the fear is; one being she’s just a bit scared that a doorbell will give you a cold, for example, while a ten is fearing you’ll drink from a water fountain and get Yellow Fever. That kind of thing. Make sure she lists at least twenty things so you have enough small ones to work on first.

“Tell her to say this: ‘Germs are good. They help my son’s immunity.’ Then you’ll ask her if she agrees with that statement—do you think she will?” Dewey paused for Michael’s feedback.

“Yeah. She’ll agree. She’s not an idiot. She’s just gone psycho on me.”

“Great. So from there, help her see how many things on her list she needs to calm down about. Remind her that you’re not eating poop in real life nor are you going to die from a cold. Tell her to repeat this exercise each day when she wants to tell you to avoid germs. Then report back to me in one week. Got it?”

“I think so. That was a lot of info!”

“Oh, don’t worry. Clara and I are going to go over it with you step by step as you go.”

“How’s he supposed to do the whole eating the Tootsie Roll thing?” asked Seraphina. She was completely intrigued by just how sophisticated Dewey had become since his early days with her mom.

“Any way he’d like, as long as she walks in and thinks it’s real and has enough time to freak out about it. I’d stop it short of her calling Poison Control or 911 or something to save yourself some grief. Perhaps the bathroom is your best venue if you don’t want to be seen as a complete freak of nature.”

“Yeah. I think I’d like to just be seen as the kid who eats his ‘Tootsie Dookie’ in the bathroom, not at the kitchen table, thank you very much.

“OK. I’ll do it tonight. I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible.”

“Great. Hey! Tootsie Roll fun fact: the guy who invented the Tootsie Roll named it after his daughter, whose nickname was Tootsie. Guess what her real name was?”

“What?” asked Michael and Seraphina on cue.

“Clara!”

That brought big laughs all around.

Then Michael picked up his Tootsie Roll and sighed, “Well, Clara. It’s good to know at least you’ll be there with me in spirit.”