Ingrid and the Iguana

 

It was important for Ingrid that she keep Jabba. Unfortunately, she never learned how to properly care for an iguana, and just the sight of him scared her.

The scratching noises from the kitchen resonated in her head. They reminded her of the dried up scabs that lined her arms. It was wrong to lock him up, but it was all she could do to restrain the monster. She could see Jake's face; he would have been devastated by how she treated Jabba.

Jabba the Behemoth was about as long as Ingrid was tall. His claws had dug into her forearms several times over the last month. Beyond that, a girl can only take so many tail whippings across the face before it is time to move on. She was looking to make iguana ownership part of her past.

Ingrid heard a knock. Answering the door, she saw an old foreign couple. They were in their mid fifties. They both were short and had dark brown skin. The woman spoke with a heavy Spanish accent and broken English.

“You…sell iguana?” the woman asked.

“Yes. Well, I’m not really selling it, I'm just trying to find it a good home. Come in.”

As soon as the couple stepped in, Ingrid saw their faces recoil. They brought their hands to their mouths, shielding themselves from the smell Ingrid had long gotten used to.

Jake had trained Jabba to take care of his business in the bathtub. He knew Jabba’s routine, and Jabba knew Jake’s. Ingrid did not have the same commitment to habit. The stain on her living room carpet was a reminder of her inconsistency. After scrubbing the stain, which only spread it further, she hid it under a layer dryer sheets and a cheap rug.

“Where is iguana?” the woman said. The man didn’t seem to know English.

“It’s in the kitchen.”

“En la cocina,” the woman said. She looked at the man and they both chuckled. They then said something outside Ingrid’s understanding, chuckling more.

“What country are you from?”

“Costa Rica. We live in America, ten years.”

The man and woman said more things to each other. Although Ingrid did not understand, she knew that they had no intention of keeping Jabba as a pet. The woman kept licking her lips, and the man's smirk never left his face.

“I’ve changed my mind. He’s not for sale. I’m sorry to waste your time.”

“What? No. We take taxi, very far, very ‘spensive.” The woman looked very annoyed. Ingrid felt guilty for wasting their time and money. She paid for their cab ride home.

The next suitor for Jabba was an eleven year old boy and his father. They stepped out of her house as fast as they stepped in. Ingrid had not put down enough dryer sheets.

She made sure to spray some air deodorizer before answering the door for the third visitor. He was a man in his early twenties. He reminded her a lot of Jake when he was that age.

“It’s in the kitchen.”

The man was horrified when he realized where she was keeping Jabba. The man opened up the kitchen cabinet, and proceeded to lecture her about how wrong she was for treating a living creature which such disrespect.

“How would you like to be locked up in a closet?”

“I did what I had to do,” she said, flipping her forearms over. She showed him the scars she felt justified Jabba’s imprisonment. The man remained unconvinced.

“You know, the reason for that smell is probably a protozoan infection in his digestive tract. It was probably brought on by the stress you’ve been putting him through.”

Ingrid felt it was her under duress, but she understood his point. The man seemed to be the perfect fit for Jabba.

“Please, you seem to know what you're doing. Can you take him?”

“Yes, I’ll take him. I’ll take him to save him from you.” He said this without even looking at her, his eyes focused on Jabba.

Ingrid let his jab go. She knew Jabba would be going to a better home.

She was sad to see Jabba go, but she would finally be able to move on with her life. Jabba was the last piece of Jake she had left.

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