Fox in a Box

I wish my friends were here.

My eyes looked at the floor, ugly tiled blue, red and white. As if we were celebrating Fourth of July. But we weren’t. The show had ended, drinks having thrown up, the floor bleeding Fruit Punch and pink lemonade and pretzels, Ruffles potato chips and chocolate chip cookies all scattered like wood chips on a playground.

The confetti, like moss, owned the stage’s blackness, it either little hills or spread like the snacks’ crumbs and bits of food. How concert goers could sing and eat at the same time is beyond me, but they did somehow. I almost feared for their lives. I almost gagged as the saliva and crumbs fell from some guests’ mouths, their eyes closed or open with ecstasy, the singer’s almighty voice encapsulating not only the audience but also people from outside the concert arena.

Or maybe that’s just my imagination. I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts, much less others’ opinions of this place. The music boomed its boasted lyrics too loud for me to hear anything or anyone.

I sat down, my bottom squishing some unlucky confetti. At least it gave me a seat. I blinked, and shook my head. Yeah, I guess not. I guess they never liked me at all.

I remember sitting at the lunch table, their black leather jackets, spiked shoes and hats turned backwards was such a fad. I guess I was wrong. I came in wearing neon pink, thinking neon pink was the new black. That was yesterday. Today, they didn’t even invite me to the concert. I showed up, half an hour late, the singer ringing out his tunes. I tapped one of my friends on the shoulder. He looked back, but didn’t look down. I pursed my lips, going to someone else. She didn’t even acknowledge me. Inhaling, I finally took a stab to yell hello to my friend who had the neon orange hair and spiked jacket, but she didn’t even look away from the singer. Jumping up and down, she pumped her fists to the music and screamed out the lyrics. I walked away, my shoulders sagging.

“Maybe It’s better that you don’t.”

A voice startled me. I whizzed around. “Who said that?”

“Me.”

A fox appeared out of the confetti on which I sat. Glad I was standing, I half-smiled and apologized. “Oh, no worries.”

His appearance distracted me. A black and white striped fox? I mean, a black fox with white stripes coursing down the sides of his face? And a Presidential Blue top hat? What was this? I squinted.

“That’s the ugliest color I’ve seen on someone!”

The fox laughed. “Please. I don’t mean to be rude, but your—”

“Whatever you’re about to say,” I said, holding my hands up, palms out, “is rude.”

“I’m just saying.”

His voice was deep, but it wasn’t too much so. It was friendly, but one could never be too careful about a fox. A fox was a trickster, and one who had a fox would befriend that animal. I didn’t want to have anything to do with this creature. I backed away, and then I went for the double doors up some flights of stairs. I hurried, trying to get away from the deception. I pushed the door, but it wouldn’t budge. My mouth ran dry, my heart pounded and my face flushed. I blinked quickly, tears almost emerging from my eyes.

Just…relax.

I inhaled and exhaled, and then charged the fox, fists flying. But it neatly stepped out of the way.

“Stupid fox!”

I skidded to a halt. “What do you think you’re doing?” trying to attack him once more, I failed again, my open palms catching myself on a table. I stopped, catching my breath. “You better not attack me!”

“No, no.”

I stayed my distance, leering at the fox. “You better not attack me!”

“I heard you the first time.”

“No—you’re lying.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

The fox leaped up on to a table, and did a little dance. Then he told me a story about how his parents cast him aside. Then he started tearing up. I narrowed my eyes at him, but something pulled at me. His voice was so…truthful. Something else pulled at me to wake up from this nightmare and leave immediately. I stood there, calming hearing him. I looked down, my mouth shut. I even sighed.

“So sorry.”

“Yes, yes. Tragic.”

“Well, I may not be in a situation like yours, but I don’t have any friends. I tried befriending a group at our school—it’s very hard to belong in this group—but I tried my best. I even took them all on a hiking tour—”

“And they left you.”

“Kept walking with each other. I got stabbed in the heart.”

“No one leaves you alone.”

My face tightened, and my eyes grew hard. “No one has to befriend a tricky fox like you!”

“Yes.” His eyes were golden, like honey, but I felt I could trust him. I just didn’t want to. not another betrayal. Not another so-called friend from my high school. Our high school, Korea International School, accepts internationals all over the world. They’re slapped on the back, joked around with and rooted for at school all the time by the sports teams and bookworms alike. I even said to myself whether I was better off an international student. Would I feel better going to another country and becoming a resident and then returning to Korea with my residency?

I discussed this with the fox.

“No.” He laughed, shaking his head. “No.”

I focused on him, not on his appearance. I focused on his friendship, not on his words. I focused on leaving this concert, smiling as he led me to the door. I stopped, bending down and scratching him, or at least trying, behind the ears. He pawed my hand away, saying I had to take the hat off.

"No."

I attempted again, but he pawed me away again.

I sighed. "Fine!"

I had befriended an animal. And then I shapeshifted into one.

A vixen.