CPR, Stat!

“Hey Maaahhhmmm! I’m home!”
Crash! The door slammed behind me. I stopped long enough to throw my jacket and bag onto the floor. Hmmm…I wonder where mom is. “Mom?” No answer still. Maybe she was out back. I didn’t want to wait. I had things I needed and wanted to do. I wanted to go downstairs to see our new bunnies. The day before, our family acquired a cute black rabbit that we name Licorice and a gray Rex rabbit appropriately named Bugs. Their home was temporarily located in a huge diaper box in the unfinished basement family room. Bugs and Licorice were just too cuddly to leave alone; I needed to hold them. No one was around, so I figured I could go visit.
Without much thought, I clattered down the uncarpeted stairs, slammed the basement door open, and ran headlong into the family room. I had been waiting for this moment all day; I could barely restrain my energy. Still running, I flipped on the light and raced toward the box like a speeding bullet. I accidentally kicked the bottom of the box in my excitement to hold those warm, furry, oh-so-cute bodies. As I reached in to pick up Licorice, he fell over and didn’t move. Oh no!
I poked and prodded at the lifeless little body. Oh, if I only knew CPR, maybe I could resuscitate him. At that point I didn’t know what I had to lose, so I figured CPR was worth a try. Taking Licorice out of the box, I sat on the floor and nestled him in my lap. I turned the poor, pitiful, floppy creature onto his back. I had seen this procedure done on television once or twice and thought I remembered the doctors pushing on the patient’s chest. I pressed two fingers down over the spot that I hoped was Licorice’s heart. Slowly, I pushed in on his body like the doctor did on t.v.
In…out…in…out… I found myself mentally encouraging him, Come on little guy. You can do it! In…out…in…out…
“Please get up,” I sobbed. In…out…in…out… I continued pushing.
I had a sudden recollection of those same t.v. doctors breathing into the bodies that they were trying to revive. In…out…in…out… Let’s see, how exactly did that work? Hold the nose and put my mouth on Licorice’s? Oh, I guess I’ll have to try it. In…out…in…out… Quickly, I lowered my head to Licorice’s as I pried open his mouth at the same time. This was too gross, but I had to try. Mom would be home any second. Here went nothing.
Covering the rabbit’s mouth with mine, I blew air into the little lungs. Nothing. I blew again. Still nothing. I tried a combination of breathing and pushing on his heart.
Breathe…in…out…in…out…Breathe…in…out…
I continued this for a few more seconds before I finally conceded—I had lost. Licorice was dead. Bam! Reality struck me full force in the face. I was dead meat too!
Vaguely, the remnants of my mother’s warnings from the day before began filtering through my feeble 10-year-old brain.
Ok, you guys. These rabbits need to get used to us,” my mother had patiently explained. “I need you to not go downstairs without permission, and then when you do, please be careful to not hit the box. You don’t want to scare Bugs and Licorice, do you?
“No Mom,” Bobby and I said together, shaking our heads in fervent determination to be good children.
Oh dear, what was I going to do?
Gently, but quickly, I placed Licorice back into the box with Bugs. I even made a few half0hearted attempts to stand him up, just on the off chance that rigor mortis might set in fast enough to make him seem alive. No such luck! In desperation I backed quietly away from the box and out of the room. Quickly, I turned off the light and tip-toed up the stairs, praying that Mom would stay wherever she was.
I reached the top step and peeked around the banister wall. My luck was holding so far. No sign of Mom. My jacket and bag were still on the landing where I’d thrown them. The tension inside of me was twisting and tightening to the point that if someone had touched me, I would have launched to the moon.
Quietly, I picked up my jacket and bag, eased the front door open, and uttered a silent, thankful prayer that Mom was still missing. Without another glance back, I stepped out onto the front porch and into the bright, spring sun. I shut the door carefully and began to breathe again. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. My luck had held! Mom hadn’t caught me!
A few moments of painful reality passed as I waited for the adrenaline rush to slow down. My hands and knees were shaking; my poor heart racing. (I think there must be some kind of irony here somewhere.) Finally, I felt calm enough to face the music. With a deep breathe, I turned around, opened the door and “came home from school” for the second time that day.
“Maaahhhmmm! I’m home!”
Mom came out of the kitchen, removing her gardening gloves as she walked. So that’s where she’d been, I thought. “Hi honey, how was your day?” She said as she kissed me on the top of my head. “Why are you so late?” I could hear a small degree of concern in her voice.
“Umm, it was great! I was just out with Cindy talking about stuff for a few minutes,” I lied. “Can I go downstairs to see the rabbits?” With both dread at what I’d find and excitement that all was going so well, I held my breath while I waited for her answer.
“Sure, just be careful. Remember what I told you yesterday? Don’t make lots of noise and move slowly. You don’t want to scare the little guys.” I noticed she emphasized ‘slowly’.
“Ok Mom, I’ll be careful,” I promised solemnly. I turned and slowly started down the stairs, tiptoeing to soften my steps.
“Oh, and Barb?” She stopped me cold in my tracks.
“Yeah?” I called back up to her, knowing I was caught.
“Be sure you don’t hit the box, ok?”
Gulp! “Ok Mom! I won’t.” Guilt coursed through me like electricity surging through a person in the electric chair. With leaden feet, I continued my long trek down the stairs. I had to act this part just right, but my excitement was not at the peak level it had been earlier.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, made the left turn into the hall, and watched the room suddenly zoom out into the distance like halls do in the movies when someone’s taking the long walk to the gas chamber. With a heavy heart, I made the walk through the mile-long hallway and flicked the light on when I reached the family room. I was trying desperately to remain calm and hold my trembling hands still as I cautiously approached the box. Part of me hoped that Licorice would be up and about while the other part muttered, “Get out while you still can!”
Timidly, I peered over the edge of the box. A sob caught in my throat as I realized that Licorice was still a little, black, dead fur ball. Ok. The time had come to put my acting talents to use.
I ran to the bottom of the stairs. “Maaahhhmmm!” I hollered up to her.
She looked over the banister. “What’s wrong?”
“Something’s wrong with Licorice. He won’t move,” I told her. Inwardly, I was amazed at how calm I was. Mom hurried down the stairs.
“When I walked up to the box,” I began quickly, “he was just laying there like this.” I thrust my arms and one leg out straight and stuck out my tongue to show her Licorice’s position in the box.
“Did you scare him at all? Make loud noises? Run too fast?” She interrogated.
“No, I was super careful,” I replied half-truthfully while shaking my head. In my mind’s eye I rehearsed my second visit to the rabbits. I had been so extra careful to do everything right. I guess I must have done a pretty good job – Mom never guessed. Whew!
Life continued on normally, what was considered “normal” for our family, anyway. I would like to say that I learned the supreme lesson in obedience, but let’s not add insult to injury. Somehow, though, I made my way through the growing years and tried to become a decent human being, always carrying my guilty secret with me.
Many years later, when I was grown and had children of my own, my family was gathered together for a hot game of Pictionary and true confessions. Bobby was in the midst of confessing some of his more heinous teenage crimes, so I thought I could bear to reveal one my only childhood indiscretions.
Sitting with my family around me, I began with, “Remember when I was little and our rabbit Licorice died…?”
“Yes…” Mom replied with a horrified look on her face at the realization that a revelation of traumatic proportions was about to come forth. I wasn’t sure whether or not to continue since Bobby had already sent her into cardiac arrest with his tales of adventure and deceit.
“Well,” I continued, twisting my hair around my finger and sheepishly looking my mother in the face, “I scared him to death.”
“You what?!” Mom exclaimed. I then let the entire, guilt-ridden story pour out of my lips. When I had finished, I looked into her kind and gentle face. With tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks, she forgave her disobedient daughter for long ago transgressions.
Unfortunately for me, forgiving is not forgetting. As only mothers can do, I am occasionally reminded of my folly at the most inopportune moments—usually beginning with the words, “Remember when you were little, and you killed the rabbit?”