The Mickey Mouse Affair
Jennifer Lai
Sarah stood in line at the bank fretting over another fight she and Eric had gotten into that morning. As usual, the fight was about money. His unemployment benefits had run out, and they were three months behind on their rent. Eric told her he had a plan that would fix their financial situation, but she needed to be patient and trust him.
“Patient?” she yelled at him. They couldn’t afford to be patient. Not with an eighteen-month-old baby and mounting bills. “We can withdraw from Zoey’s account,” she said, tired of fighting about it, but dreading the thought of dipping into their daughter’s college tuition.
“Absolutely not.” he said. “I will fix this.”
Eric had been pushing this for days now, and Sarah was getting restless. So, once Eric left for an interview that morning, she headed to the bank.
“Excuse me, Miss, I think she dropped this.” An elderly man behind Sarah held Zoey’s stuffed giraffe in his hand. The man had robust features—large ears that stuck out and a Cheshire cat grin. She found it hard not to stare.
“Thank you.” She handed the giraffe to Zoey.
“Long line today, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” she said, grateful for the conversation to distract her, “I wonder what the hold up is.”
Three counters were open. A tall, bald man in a yellow shirt stood at the counter on the right, and a leggy blonde in an orange dress and heels leaned on the counter to the left. The teller at the front counter was open but appeared to be fidgeting with something in her lap. What’s taking so long?
Zoey waved the stuffed giraffe. Her diaper crinkled as she squirmed in Sarah’s arms. “Mee-maus.”
Sarah rubbed Zoey’s back; her face turned warm. “Shhhh. That’s not Mickey Mouse,” she whispered, hoping the man behind her wouldn’t understand that Zoey had mistaken him for one of her favorite cartoons.
“Mee-maus,” Zoey babbled louder.
Flushed, Sarah turned to apologize, but froze halfway. Something at the bank’s foyer caught her attention.
“Mee-maus—” Sarah choked back a scream and cupped her hand over Zoey’s mouth to keep her quiet.
“Everyone get on the floor!” A brawny figure dressed in black and wearing a Mickey Mouse mask waved a gun at the queue of patrons.
“Do what we say, and no one gets hurt.” Another voice, higher pitched than the first, hollered from the side where two more figures stood: one short and plump, the other thin and tall. Both were also dressed in black, wearing Mickey Mouse masks, and holding guns.
“Please don’t hurt us,” the old man behind her whimpered, shaking, as a dark spot formed on the front of his pants.
A young boy buried his face between his mother’s legs and wept. A stout woman behind the boy’s mother stumbled backward, knocking over a black metal stanchion. The clanging resonated across the room. Sarah flinched.
“Stop talking and move!” The short and plump Mickey Mouse figure motioned with the gun.
A mob of customers dropped to the floor then crawled towards the corner of the bank. Sarah cradled Zoey tightly, followed the crowd, then lowered herself onto the cold marble floor next to the leggy blonde, whose body heaved in waves of sobs. Sarah’s breath hitched.
“Mee-maus, Mee-maus—”
“Shhh,” Sarah whispered. Desperate, she grabbed her keys from her pocket and clicked them together in her palm, hoping to distract her. She hated the idea of Zoey sucking on dirty metal, but she was out of options. She leaned against a black metal desk and hugged Zoey as she kept a close eye on the robbers. Her mind circled back to that morning and her fight with Eric. “You only think of yourself,” she had said to him. But she hadn’t meant it; it had been the frustration talking. Now, those might be the last words he would hear from her.
The tall and skinny Mickey Mouse figure paced with the gun and kept his gaze steady on Sarah. Maybe the robbers will pity a woman with a baby and let us go. Sarah pinned her chin to her chest and twisted the ring on her finger, gasping in quick breaths. Please don’t hurt us. Please.
Sarah heard footsteps approach then come to a halt. A pair of dirty black boots stood in front of her. A scent of familiar aftershave wafted in the air. Sarah slowly lifted her head. Her insides shook as her lips stretched wide, exposing clenched teeth.
The figure knelt to meet Sarah’s eyes from beyond the mask. “I told you I had a plan.” His voice quavered, as if willing himself to calm down. “You should’ve trusted me.”
A chill raced up Sarah’s spine.
“Eric?”
Jennifer Lai
Sarah stood in line at the bank fretting over another fight she and Eric had gotten into that morning. As usual, the fight was about money. His unemployment benefits had run out, and they were three months behind on their rent. Eric told her he had a plan that would fix their financial situation, but she needed to be patient and trust him.
“Patient?” she yelled at him. They couldn’t afford to be patient. Not with an eighteen-month-old baby and mounting bills. “We can withdraw from Zoey’s account,” she said, tired of fighting about it, but dreading the thought of dipping into their daughter’s college tuition.
“Absolutely not.” he said. “I will fix this.”
Eric had been pushing this for days now, and Sarah was getting restless. So, once Eric left for an interview that morning, she headed to the bank.
“Excuse me, Miss, I think she dropped this.” An elderly man behind Sarah held Zoey’s stuffed giraffe in his hand. The man had robust features—large ears that stuck out and a Cheshire cat grin. She found it hard not to stare.
“Thank you.” She handed the giraffe to Zoey.
“Long line today, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” she said, grateful for the conversation to distract her, “I wonder what the hold up is.”
Three counters were open. A tall, bald man in a yellow shirt stood at the counter on the right, and a leggy blonde in an orange dress and heels leaned on the counter to the left. The teller at the front counter was open but appeared to be fidgeting with something in her lap. What’s taking so long?
Zoey waved the stuffed giraffe. Her diaper crinkled as she squirmed in Sarah’s arms. “Mee-maus.”
Sarah rubbed Zoey’s back; her face turned warm. “Shhhh. That’s not Mickey Mouse,” she whispered, hoping the man behind her wouldn’t understand that Zoey had mistaken him for one of her favorite cartoons.
“Mee-maus,” Zoey babbled louder.
Flushed, Sarah turned to apologize, but froze halfway. Something at the bank’s foyer caught her attention.
“Mee-maus—” Sarah choked back a scream and cupped her hand over Zoey’s mouth to keep her quiet.
“Everyone get on the floor!” A brawny figure dressed in black and wearing a Mickey Mouse mask waved a gun at the queue of patrons.
“Do what we say, and no one gets hurt.” Another voice, higher pitched than the first, hollered from the side where two more figures stood: one short and plump, the other thin and tall. Both were also dressed in black, wearing Mickey Mouse masks, and holding guns.
“Please don’t hurt us,” the old man behind her whimpered, shaking, as a dark spot formed on the front of his pants.
A young boy buried his face between his mother’s legs and wept. A stout woman behind the boy’s mother stumbled backward, knocking over a black metal stanchion. The clanging resonated across the room. Sarah flinched.
“Stop talking and move!” The short and plump Mickey Mouse figure motioned with the gun.
A mob of customers dropped to the floor then crawled towards the corner of the bank. Sarah cradled Zoey tightly, followed the crowd, then lowered herself onto the cold marble floor next to the leggy blonde, whose body heaved in waves of sobs. Sarah’s breath hitched.
“Mee-maus, Mee-maus—”
“Shhh,” Sarah whispered. Desperate, she grabbed her keys from her pocket and clicked them together in her palm, hoping to distract her. She hated the idea of Zoey sucking on dirty metal, but she was out of options. She leaned against a black metal desk and hugged Zoey as she kept a close eye on the robbers. Her mind circled back to that morning and her fight with Eric. “You only think of yourself,” she had said to him. But she hadn’t meant it; it had been the frustration talking. Now, those might be the last words he would hear from her.
The tall and skinny Mickey Mouse figure paced with the gun and kept his gaze steady on Sarah. Maybe the robbers will pity a woman with a baby and let us go. Sarah pinned her chin to her chest and twisted the ring on her finger, gasping in quick breaths. Please don’t hurt us. Please.
Sarah heard footsteps approach then come to a halt. A pair of dirty black boots stood in front of her. A scent of familiar aftershave wafted in the air. Sarah slowly lifted her head. Her insides shook as her lips stretched wide, exposing clenched teeth.
The figure knelt to meet Sarah’s eyes from beyond the mask. “I told you I had a plan.” His voice quavered, as if willing himself to calm down. “You should’ve trusted me.”
A chill raced up Sarah’s spine.
“Eric?”