Kari Hartbauer Creative Writing A Rat I love my family; I really do.

But there are some people you can only take in small doses. You know who Im talking about. That aunt who never shuts up and thinks she knows everything about everything and therefore must give you her input, even if youre all the way across the room having a private conversation which she definitely wasnt invited into. That aunt. Well, guess who just moved in. My uncle lost his job in Altoona, but thankfully found another in Pittsburgh. Without a house in the area to call his own, we gladly took him in. We werent so zealous about what he dragged in with him. My Aunt Tara in all her crude, belching glory might as well be my Uncle Tara. My Dad, upon discovering the backwards spelling of her name, started referring to her as A Rat. Old glory day tales of beating out every boy in the lunchroom in burping contests replaced dinnertime stories. Dinner then remained untouched by A Rat; the rest of the family cleaned. Instead of mingling about the kitchen, the family dispersed to far away corners, out of sight of beady rodent eyes, in hopes of remaining safe from conversation. I took reprieve in my room on a small mattress covered in Winnie the Pooh sheetsmy own beloved bed offered as a sacrifice and held hostage in the basement where A Rat lived. My family suffered. My mother, cornered into endless pointless conversations. My father, subject to witless jokes and unsought advice. My sisters, the victims of snarky reprimands. My brother, the only one to stand up and say Stop talking, or Wow, great story, can you tell it again? who resorted to physically smashing his head against the nearest object whenever she spoke. We all reached our breaking point, but A Rat, completely clueless, made no progress towards finding a nest of her own.

With a week left until college, my Mom and I sat outside peacefully enjoying the cracks, pops, smell and sight of a bonfire. The sound of shuffling feet floated down from the driveway. My mom urgently muttered, Please dont come down here, please dont come down here, please dont come down here. She clutched at my arm; A rat appeared. Hoping to lead by example, we simply stared into the fire. No luck. About five minutes into A Rats fifteen minute spiel on her junk mail, my Mom dug her nails into my arm. I looked to her. Her eyes widened. She took up her chair and moved it to the other side of the fire. When A Rat finally exhausted the ins and outs of her junk mail and returned inside, I moved to sit by my Mom. Still gazing into the fire she declared, One day, at Penn State.youll hear about a murder. I looked towards her. Theres only so much you can take of some people, and, well, they say overdoses kill.