Ugly

I gazed at my new room, frowned, and absorbed the sight. It wasn’t much different than the old one. Window, white walls, closet, et cetera; just the arrangement was different. It felt different, too. The mood of the room was different than my old one, as it seemed to be a little more morose and a little more sullen than normal.

Maybe it was because of the gloomy weather outside.

I decided to start unpacking.

---

“Sophie? Is your room finished?” My mom called. I barely heard her.

“Yes!” I raised my voice so she could hear me. Or maybe to hear myself; I was blasting music through my earbuds as I was assembling the things on my desk. I placed my trusty camera on the small shelf beneath it and clicked off my music.

Mom was in the doorway. “Nice job, looks just like your old one,” she approved, and then added, “I think we’re going to like this neighborhood better than the old one. And this is better than our apartment too. I think we should get a pet.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. Mom had the I’ve-been-thinking-this-over-for-quite-some-while-and-I-believe-it-would-be-a-wonderful-experience-to-get-a-pet face. There was no point in arguing or saying that we couldn’t afford one. My little brother, however, would be ecstatic.

“Okay, just not a lizard or a snake,” I said. “Nothing gross, please.”

---

We got a rat.

A dumbo rat, to be specific. A beady-eyed, big-eared, gray-furred bundle of grossness. My brother loved it. But then again he loved boogers, slime, worms, and other obscene objects that disgusted me.

We adopted the critter from a local pet rescue organization. The rat used to be in bad shape, apparently coming from a family who never fed it or took care of it. It looked depressed. It huddled in the corner of its cage looking afraid and sad.

“What should we name it?” my brother asked.

“How ‘bout Ethan?” I said.

“But that’s my name!”

“Yeah, I thought it would suit the rat since it’s gross like you.”

Mom quieted the quarrel by opening the cage, which distracted Ethan from retorting. The rat cowered. “Well, it IS a boy,” she said and tried to pick it up. The rat refused and ran to the other side of the cage. "Come here, sweetie - so we should name it a boy name."

"How about Destroyer?" Ethan suggested. "Or Optimus Prime?"

Mom successfully had the rat and took it out, cuddling it. "How about something sweet, like Joseph or Frank?"

"How about Froseph the Optimus Destroyer? Ha ha," I said. I wasn't too enthusiastic about the rat.

"We'll decide on it later. We can make a list of names." Mom put the rodent back in the cage, and then went to go get it food.

---

I took the rest of the day hanging up photographs on my wall. Some I took myself, others were from my favorite photographers. My photographs looked bland compared to them, but it gave me inspiration that I'd someday take pictures like that.

The nameless rat stared at me from its cage. Mom put it in my room, probably sensing my dislike for the thing, and told me I should "bond with it". I didn't think I would ever like it. Maybe I would tolerate it, but I wouldn't ever like it.

"What are you looking at?" I asked. The rat looked away, seeming ashamed. I ignored it and went to my mirror, examining my face for acne or blemishes. I had almost perfect skin, a deep Italian tan, and I rarely got any pimples. But when I did, it was a disaster. When I did get an imperfection it just seemed to scream from my face like a siren.

I sighed, fluffed up my dark hair, and scrutinized myself. In the reflection I saw the rat looking at me again. I scowled. Then I went over to it, squatted, and stared back. The rat groomed itself.

"You're really ugly," I told it. "Look at your tail, it's like a giant worm. And you smell. I'm not happy with you."

It continued grooming.

I watched it for a while, and then announced, "I'm going to call you Ugly from now on. It doesn't matter what my mom calls you, you're Ugly to me."

The rat stopped, trembled a little, and moved to the end of the cage. It curled up in a ball and looked pitiful. I suddenly felt bad. But then I thought, It's a rat, it doesn't understand you.

But then I thought, Even if it doesn't understand you, it's had a bad life and doesn't need your crap.

But then I thought, It won't even understand you if you apologize, so what's the point?

But then I muttered, "Sorry, little guy." and moved on.