Thursdays, Four O’Clockish: Ode to the Hamster in My Head

By Stacey Knowlton

Teressa Diane Curtiss is seventeen years old, and her therapist thinks she has issues. People say she “used to be all right,” but that was before both her grandparents died within months of each other. Teressa really loses it, though, when the new girl at school walks right up to her lunch table and tells Teressa that she has taken her boyfriend. Teressa has no choice but to punch the girl, right?

Her therapist says she should express herself more. Her best friend Helen says she’s reckless, doesn’t follow the rules, and takes advantage of God’s forgiveness. In response to all this, Teressa makes a decision. She tells her pastor and her therapist that she’s mad at God and waits for lightning to strike.

When she isn’t immediately struck down, something insane happens. God chooses Teressa—the trouble-making, bad-boy-liking, disrespecting, and conflicted girl—to help someone. That someone is the new girl Teressa just punched. Things are about to get really interesting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664218918

Stacey Knowlton

Stacey Knowlton is an enthusiastic Christian leader of children and youth. She has also worked with non-profit youth organizations most of her adult life. She is currently a mentor and leader in her church and works with the local Boy Scouts. When not writing, she’s probably clean sweeping a closet, out mowing the grass, or trekking around in the wilderness.

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PART 1

Issues

1

Fight, Fight, Fight

M y therapist tells me I have issues and should express myself more. Well, I did that. A bit too much, I’m afraid. The hamster ran on his little wheel faster and faster. He was dressed like a little furry boxer, and he was sweating to the tune of Eye of the Tiger.

The new girl in school walked right up to my table in the middle of my lunch and stood there and told me that my boyfriend was now hers. I lost it.

The whole time I was hurting her, I told myself it was wrong to express myself in that fashion. Helen finally pulled me off her, and two of the new girl’s songbird friends came running to drag her away from me. Roxy just went right on with her lunch. Helen had an arm around my middle and a hand over my mouth, trying to catch all the fire that was pouring out onto the new girl.

Helen, my best friend since kindergarten, was the only person who’d been able to get within five feet of me in the last five years without being punched. She was mad at me most of the time. You’re reckless, she’d say. "You don’t follow the rules. You take advantage of God’s forgiveness. You like to punch people."

I would roll my eyes. But she was always right by my side, ready to cover my mouth and hold me back. I knew she was right as much as I knew I was wrong. I was embarrassed to be called out on it. The hamster tripped on his tiny shoestring and fell, spinning round and round and upside down on his little wheel.

My name is Teressa Diane Curtiss. I am seventeen years old, and my therapist says I have issues. "More issues than Life magazine," he says.

I say that it’s like this: my best friend, my pawpaw, went off and died on me as I was ready to embark on a new adventure called junior high—the worst years of my life!—and as if that weren’t bad enough, my granny decided to follow Pawpaw to heaven just a few months later.

So yeah, I got into fights wherever and whenever I felt the urge to punch, which was often. I could not control myself. Windows got smashed, and about five years ago, I got set up with a therapist to see every Thursday for the rest of my life, typically around four o’clock.

Back to the fight. Helen pulled me off the new girl; the songbirds helped the new girl up from the floor and got her away from me. And that is how I made us all friends—the new girl; the songbirds, Emily and Jennifer, or JJ, as most called her; Helen; and Roxy. I found out the new girl’s name only after Vice Principal Flottenswize marched into the cafeteria and, with everyone watching, pulled me out by my ear. Her name was Kate.

We were all dragged—kicking and screaming in my case—to in-school suspension for the rest of the day and two days following. Even Roxy, Helen, and the songbirds were taken. Roxy was led down the hall with her eyes squinted and mouth twisted, carrying two pimento cheese sandwiches (one was mine) and a bag of Munchos (mine), all for sitting at the wrong table (mine).

We were given three whole days to get to know one another. At first, that was not something any of us wanted. The new girl, Kate, was whining and crying, and her new friends told her, It’s okay, I know she’s mean (this was whispered), and She used to be all right. Helen and I sat in the opposite corner of the room with Roxy, who was sleeping on her desk.

The hamster had to hold my tongue while I sat and listened to the new girl cry. Self-control, Teressa. Self-control.

I had about given up on trying to restrain myself, when out of the corner of my eye, Sleeping Beauty awoke from her slumber and huffed louder than the Big Bad Wolf. Roxy stood up tall, two inches taller than I was, and marched right up to the new girl. Then she turned toward the door with her eyes still half closed, a huff escaped her pursed lips, and she casually slipped out of the room. We didn’t see her for the rest of the day. I was pretty sure she went straight to my car to sleep in the backseat, because that was where I found her that afternoon.

After Roxy left the room, the new girl waltzed over to me. She looked at me with her big green eyes, which were still wet with tears, and said, I’m sorry.

Okay, me too, I guess, I huffed, crossing my arms and chewing my bottom lip, a bad habit that required strawberry lip balm 24-7.

I did not know if I was really sorry at that point, but I said it, and after that, Kate sat down at the desk next to me and started talking. I had no idea anyone could talk so much. Helen got up and walked across the room to sit with the songbirds, leaving me there to control myself with Kate. I had to listen to her, and by the end of day one, I learned that Kate was Scotch Irish, and her full name was Katrina Angelina Teresa Elizabeth McDuffie. I did not ask for all of that information. She went on and on and on, telling me everything about why she and Paddy—whoever that was—had to move to Morgan City. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard witness protection in there somewhere.

My ears were hot from listening when I reached my car to go home. Roxy popped up in the backseat and climbed into the front. I’m about frozen solid. She shivered.

Melba Roxanne Pello, aka Roxy, was more or less like a sister to me. You’re wondering if I ever punched Roxy, right, because I mentioned earlier that Helen was the only one I hadn’t punched in the last few years? Well, for one thing, Helen was the sweetest person on the planet. Roxy? Not so much. For another thing, Roxy punched back.

Roxy’s mom didn’t want her around, and her dad had vanished years earlier, so my mom, being the go-to mom in town, had put it upon herself to sort of see after Roxy. Roxy went home every now and again when her mom was in a good mood, which wasn’t often. I always wondered what went on at her house when she stayed there, but I was sure she’d just tell me it was none of my business, so I decided to keep ignoring the problem for a bit longer.

I had my own problems. The fact that my boyfriend (ha) had had the new girl tell me we were through (ha) kept the hamster in my head spinning his little wheel. Why hadn’t he just come up and told me himself? Why had he sent Kate into the storm alone? He must have known what would happen. Was he just that big of a troublemaker? Well, that last question I could answer—yes, he was that big of a troublemaker. It really didn’t matter to me if I ever saw him again, but it made me mad that he’d had a stranger do his dirty work and not broken up with me himself.

Are you the least bit curious why I am telling you this story? Did you ever think that maybe you are one of the reasons this story came about? Did it cross your mind while Mr. Flottenswize was dragging me kicking and screaming into the room without a view by my ear that you might be one of us? Maybe you’re one of the songbirds; maybe you are Kate, the little new girl; or maybe you’re Helen, the one friend designated to use her brain and rescue the others from peril. Or maybe you are the mysterious Roxy Pello.

You could also be me, the one with all the issues. More issues than Life magazine. Maybe you are telling this story. Maybe you know how this story ends. Do you? You could be one of many characters. I have changed all of their names, some more than once, to protect the innocent—me. You have to keep reading, unless you are me and know the ending already.

But if you’re not me and you happen to be my troublemaking boyfriend, then read on, mister!

2

The Interrogation

T he last two days of in-school suspension dragged by. The hamster in my head sat gnawing on his fruit snack, which was my brain stem. I sat making doodles in my comp book, trying to keep myself busy. I’m an avid doodler, so I filled two whole composition books during my stay in the room without a view. Helen would say, looking over my shoulder at the scribbles and doodles, Those are funny. Roxy spent most of her time sleeping with her head under her jacket. Kate sat in the opposite corner of the room without a view, listening to and occasionally joining in on the songbirds’ singsong sessions. They were actually pretty good. I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe I wanted them to keep singing. Emily sounded like an angel. Kate looked over at me and smiled every now and then. What was her deal anyway?

She started to come over a few times, but Roxy would turn quickly every time and scare her away. I didn’t blame her. If I hadn’t known Roxy, I’d have been afraid of her too. Who wouldn’t have been afraid of a girl who stood six foot two, dressed like an Iroquois, wore a green Mohawk and dark eye makeup, and had broom straw stuck through the piercings in her ears? If I had been a bigger person, I would have gone over to the new girl and said, Kate, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have jumped on you and beat you up. I’m sorry. I put us all in here, but I sat there chewing my lip, pretending I’d done nothing wrong. Everyone in the room knew that my issues and I had sent us all up the river. One guilty party and five fall guys—or, rather, fall girls—and I called my boyfriend a troublemaker.

I know, I know. You can already tell that my parents were right to stick me with a therapist. Just keep reading, and hopefully you will change your mind about me. Maybe you will give me a chance. I pray you will.

Maybe five girls thrown to the wolves would give me a chance.

Following the interruption of the squealing loudspeaker, we were all taken one at a time to a dark room with a lamp hanging over a table in the middle of the room. Not! We were all taken one at a time to Mr. Flottenswize’s office to be interrogated. I was the first to be escorted down the hall. I held my hands in front of me as if they were cuffed and shuffled my feet as if they were shackled.

Pick up the pace, Miss Curtiss. Mr. Flottenswize grabbed me by the sleeve of my orange jumpsuit—I mean gray hoodie.

With a nervous smile on my face, I sat down in the big wooden chair in front of his desk.

This is no laughing matter, Miss Curtiss. Do you realize this is the sixth fight you’ve gotten into this year? And it’s only January.

I did mention something about fights earlier, right?

Miss Curtiss, I need you to focus. Tell me your side of the story. And remember, there are five other girls back in that room who will be speaking to me later.

I don’t know what happened, I said. I really didn’t. Roxy said I’d blanked out, as usual, and gone to town on the new girl. I couldn’t remember. It happened every time.

Who started the fight? Can you tell me that? Mr. Flottenswize asked.

Well, that new girl started it. I must have just finished it. She came up to me out of nowhere and started mouthing off—in my face. She had a wild and frazzled look about her. I remember I didn’t like it. The next thing I remember, I was being dragged down the hall by my ear by you, I said, pointing across the desk at old Flottenswize.

Well, Kate, a.k.a. the new girl, is not pressing charges, or you would be downtown talking to police, and they are not as lenient as I am. I don’t know what else to say except that if this behavior does not stop, you will be sent across town.

Across town meant I would be going to juvey.

Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I will try harder to keep myself under control. The hamster doubted that.

I’m counting on it. Now, please send in JJ and Emily. Old Mr. Flottenswize watched as I exited his office and disappeared down the hall.

After everyone had been questioned, all but two of us were released back into the general population. I was left with Kate for the remainder of the day to sit in silence in the room without a view and think about what I had done. I supposed the idea was to stick us together so we could talk it out. Talk out what I had no idea. But I was not the only stubborn one in the room that afternoon. Kate sat in a corner, writing in her spiral notebook and looking over at me. I had a feeling she was trying to start something else. I tried to make myself get up, go over, and say, I’m sorry. Really. But I wasn’t sure I was sorry.

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Thursday, four o’clockish, after the fight

So how do you feel about causing problems for others? Brother Ernest bluntly asked.

Oh, did I fail to mention that my therapist is a preacher? Bam! My therapist is a preacher—now you’ve been informed. Brother Ernest Kyle is not only a preacher, therapist, and life coach; he is my preacher, therapist, and life coach. The one and only Brother Ernest Kyle who talks right to you from the pulpits on Sunday mornings, calls you out in the middle of the sermon if he sees your eyes shut and your head bob, and points in your direction when you make faces at your friends up in the choir.

We started that Thursday four o’clockish session the same as every other Thursday. I entered the living room to greet Mrs. Kyle and then sat in the big green reading chair next to the front window. I always sat and looked around as if I’d never been there before. Brother Ernest always started with Would you like a drink?

I would say, Yes, thank you, and Mrs. Kyle would arrive with lemonade, iced tea, soda, or hot chocolate. I always took whatever she offered and said, Thank you.

Then came the big questions: How was school? What’s new? Did you see anyone perform a good deed today? Did you perform a good deed? What is positive in your life today? I always waited for the last question: What was not so positive in your life today, Teressa?

I rarely had any answers for the first questions. I would say, It was all right. Nothing. No. Hmm. My parents haven’t kicked me out yet. But when he asked the last question, I could find all sorts of things to complain about.

That particular Thursday, he asked me a direct question about my day. He knew what had happened at school. He always knew. When he asked me, How do you feel about causing problems for others? I froze for a minute, and then I decided to tell the truth. For once, I decided to talk to him like he wanted me to. It was what the professionals would call a turning point.

I guess it makes me mad, I answered.

Who does it make you mad at? Does it make you mad at Kate?

No, mad at me. The whole time I was hurting her, I was telling myself she didn’t do anything wrong, but I couldn’t stop. Yeah, I know you see a big difference in my personality in sessions with Brother Ernest.

Are you mad because you didn’t want to stop? he asked.

Lack of self-control was a problem and had been for years. I got into a fight every time someone looked at me wrong. What was wrong with me? I’d heard people say behind my back that I had a chip on my shoulder. I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. I had no chip. I tried to remember a time when I didn’t like punching things. The hamster ran faster and faster on his little wheel. I could hear the clean spinning, and I got a headache. All of my emotions always turned to anger. If I did have a chip on my shoulder, you’d think someone would have knocked