My First Cerberus

by Charles C. Cole

My housemate, Kinya, was having a seance. My girlfriend had just moved to Florida for college, and there would be homemade pizza. Kinya once taught me how to make ketchup from scratch.

I worked at a “cable box” distribution warehouse a mile away, to which I rode my bicycle and got paid little, but the guys said I reminded them of Tom Baker’s “Dr. Who,” so it was worth it.

Kinya knew I was a cynic, but she also knew that I knew I was getting my room for below-market prices in part because she had been friends with my sister in high school.

Kinya had two women housemates and me. She had been afraid an all-female house would get catty. She’d lived in a sorority at college, and I guess it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

A newlywed couple had dropped out at the last minute, and Kinya needed the energy of a full house. Housemate Bailey was a flight attendant and away a lot. She let Kinya borrow her hats.

Our little town outside of Boston had a city ordinance, perhaps to keep the rental community out, that no more than three unrelated people could reside together. We often felt watched.

Kinya met the psychic at a “chem-free” dance in Watertown. He’d said she could be a model. She liked his permed hair and said he out-danced most of the people there. He was “really alive.”

The psychic, Rhet, brought his own candles. Before we started, he walked through the entire house, “smudging” sage, so that we could have a clean start. No alarms went off, thankfully.

We gathered on big throw pillows in a circle on the living room floor. I sat far enough back to support my spine against the wall. It helped that most of the common rooms were small.

Rhet played a CD of famous Baroque instrumentals which he had recorded backwards. He said it was to clear our minds and open our receptivity. I hoped the dog wasn’t eating the leftover pizza.

We extended our arms to the side and locked fingers with the other people. Kinya was to my right and her boyfriend Barclay to my left. Kinya’s hand was freezing. Barclay’s trembled.

Rhet looked around the room at us, one at a time, making eye contact, lips pursed solicitously, sometimes humming and nodding like he was responding to telepathic concerns.

Right away, I was feeling sleepy. It could have been the joint I’d smoked when I got home from work. Or maybe it was the pint of name-brand ice cream. My body was not a temple.

Rhett intoned: “We ask our loved ones to connect. We ask you to share your light. We are not afraid of the truth. We seek wisdom from those who walked before us. We seek closure.”

I wanted, surreptitiously, to pull the hair on my ankles to give myself a little adrenaline rush. Instead, I opened my eyes wide, overcompensating, I know now.

Rhett noticed something in the dim room that I couldn’t see. He was pleased, satisfied. Our eyes locked. I was pretty sure he was nonverbally asking if I’d ever slept with Kinya. I had not.

He spoke directly to me: “Someone waits in the lobby of the spirit world. Do you accept this transdimensional invitation? Are you willing to meet our long-distance traveler halfway?”

“I am.” I was surprised. I noticed everyone was looking at me like I’d just won the lottery; they were wondering if I would share my good fortune. I felt what I was supposed to do. “I do.”

I felt a warmth in my chest, my cheeks. Not scary, like I was being loved. And then I smelled onions, like I had peeled ones in my lap. I could tell from the smiles nobody else smelled this.

Rhett continued: “Welcome your lost friend. She says she’s not hurt any longer, and she looks forward to being together again. These things happen. And now she’s gone. Sorry.”

Afterwards, Rhett took a long time saying goodbye to Kinya. He held one of her hands in both of his. Barclay, only a step away and behind, held Kinya’s other hand.

At breakfast, Kinya asked for details. I was oblivious. I had not been “a player” in high school. I didn’t start dating until after graduation. Kinya thought I was keeping a secret.

The next night, I called my sister. She thought I was asking to borrow money, then laughed. She told me: “If anyone has the answers to life’s riddles, it’s Mom. She’ll know.”

Mom always wanted to give me dating tips or other motherly advice. She thought because I didn’t date in high school, I was destined to be a priest. This time, she listened.

“I don’t remember any crushes; that was your sister’s department. You were shy. You liked videogames and plants and animals. Onions, you say? That was Cerberus, your first cat.

“You grew up together. She hated you when we first brought you home, but then we caught her on the baby-cam in your crib, protecting you through the night, every night.

“People talk about the ‘terrible twos.’ For you, it was three, almost four. Nothing was right enough or clean enough or pretty enough or tasty enough. Cerberus learned the hard way.

“She found scallions on the back deck. Thought it was catnip, I suppose. Went to town. You were playing with toys on the kitchen floor when she came in. You shoved her away. She was hurt.

“After that, you acted like she always smelled, but she didn’t. Then, you were chalking on the driveway and a stray dog showed up out of nowhere. I had just gone inside.

“Cerberus was in charge. The screaming. Cerberus chased him away. But it cost her all nine lives. That was a very long time ago, but just yesterday for me.”

So, to Cerberus, if you’re somehow reading this, you were my first love. I’m sorry.