a mouse ran behind the piano

while i was entertaining a new friend.

We both saw it.

Quickly she reassured me that 

she had seen many mice in her childhood home.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I said. “Is it ok?” 

It did seem ok. But it seemed strange 

to just move on. 

So I spoke on the mouse again. 

It was so cute.

I felt adrift with nerves.

Luckily my boyfriend came home just then.

My friend and I got to present him with our findings, as friends. 

He handled it well. 

I wasn’t so much embarrassed by the mouse as I was 

embarrassed that I did not know how to respond to seeing the little mouse,

who didn’t scare me. I felt nothing. I just watched her go behind the piano. 

And I had to tell myself. That’s a mouse.

I guess I don’t mind mice. 

But under the eye of my new friend

I suddenly wondered if I should.

How embarrassing. 

"I didn't feel anything," I confessed to her.

"You didn't feel anything?" she reflected. 

Why didn’t I feel anything?

What would excite me?

Violence? Danger?

Sex? Death?

Fear?

I have a weird longing to scare myself 

as a preventative measure,

like a self-taught class on horror. “never be surprised.” 

I used to think I was trying to prepare myself 

to always stay calm.

I still think that’s true.

But now I see

that I am totally nuts.

There's nothing wrong with screaming at the top of your lungs.

It gives you something to do

when something bad happens.