Motherless Muppets
short story by Anne Matanis
content/trigger warnings: discussion of mental health, reference to parental death
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Beaker.”
“I’ll think of a better one when you stop calling me that.”
“Maybe if you didn’t look like a Muppet in the first place, we’d already ha—”
“Shut up.”
Beaker and I are crouching and whispering under a windowsill at his mom’s house trying to break in. We’re right next to the trash bins, and he’s been trying to hoist me up despite his arm injury from last month. The smell of garbage is making me nauseous.
His mom is a professor slash widow slash alcoholic. Beaker is an athlete slash orphan slash burglar. I am a dropout slash friend slash accomplice. Together, we are a bunch of losers.
“Why can’t you just ask her for money? You don’t have to steal.”
“I’m not stealing. If I still lived with her, this is the money she’d spend on me, anyway.”
“Really? Your mom made you wear duct-taped Skechers until two months ago. I mean, fuck, she took your own graduation pho—”
“Well, at least I have a mom!”
“Wow, Beaks.”
Finally, I manage to pull the latch. We slip inside. I ask Beaker for a high-five and he swats my hand away. I get a whiff of his cast B.O.
“You smell.”
The window is shut behind me while I walk around his mother’s home office and examine the picture frames displayed on the bookshelf. There’s a family portrait, a picture of his mom and dad at their wedding, and a picture of baby Beaker.
“Awww, little baby Beaker! You were only a Test Tube.”
I cradle the frame and hold it close to my chest. He snatches it from me and places it back on the bookshelf and I choke on dust.
“Be quiet.”
Test Tube, in his natural habitat, scours the drawers. I sit on the La-Z-Boy.
“Who puts a La-Z-Boy in an office?”
“OK, I found the key. Come here.”
“No, I’m comfy.”
“What the fuck?”
I come over, intrigued. I have never seen Beaker so caught off guard. Confused. Before I can ask what, my eyes lay on the open safe underneath the mahogany desk.
It’s empty.
***
Beaker and I emerge from the water with our sins absolved. We sit on the hood of his car and evaporate. We are overlooking a creamy, plum sunset. I get drunk in its guiltless bleeding.
“Sorry your mom didn’t have money in the safe, Beaker.”
“It’s fine. Sorry if I’m gonna stay longer at your place.”
“That’s alright. I’m not okay with the skid marks on your underwear, though.”
“THAT WAS ONE TIME! I WAS DEPRESSED!”
The sun has sunk. We sit here motherless on his Trooper, and if God lets me, I willburst into tears.
“You don’t have to move out, Beaks.”
“I thought you hated having a roommate?”
“I do. But I’d rather live with a Muppet tha—”
“I DO NOT LOOK LIKE BEAKER!”
“Quit cutting me off! Let me finish.”
“Fine, what?”
“Nothing. I don’t wanna talk to you anymore.”
“Do you think we’d be friends if your mom didn’t die?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I guess it’s one or the other.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad I met you, Dr. Bunsen.”
“YOU KNOW ABOUT THE MUPPETS???”
“Of course, I do! And I was trying to have a beautiful moment and you ruined it.”
“Wait, so you agree? You look like Beaker?”
***
I need a change of scenery. We are cramped in my living room watching an Italian movie called See Naples and Die. Much like Marisa, I, too, am a suffering woman. It’s all I know at the moment.
While Beaker’s in the toilet, I shove a meatball into my mouth and add to my travel guide:
places to stay
underneath a banana leaf (still attached)
your friend’s Isuzu Trooper
a speculative structure (e.g. wormhole)
behind a billboard
an omen
places to visit
tomb of an old pet lizard
hinged leaves of a Venus fly trap
a casino after hours
a stranger’s picnic
your local cheesemonger
places to explore
inside an open wound
the mouth of an arctic monkey
the town mayor’s home
dismal cave on a remote island
a loved one’s small intestine
Naples
“Hurry back, Beaks! I think she’s gonna kill Sanesi.”
My phone rings and it’s a FaceTime video call from him.
“Answer it!”
“I don’t appreciate being foisted off like this, Beaker!”
I pick up anyway.