"Rachel, go throw out the garbage!"

This is what my dad yells to me every Friday night when I get home. I always try to get out of it, but my dad says it is the least I can do since he is the one paying the bills around here. I tell him I’d rather scrub the toilet, but my older brother does that job, so I have no choice but to do as he says. I take the bags of trash out from underneath the bathroom and kitchen sinks and from each of the bedrooms. Then I shove them all into one garbage bag and walk out the door.
When I get to the dumpster, I hitch the garbage bag over my shoulder and catapult it into the box, all the while holding my breath against the horrible smell. Just as the bag hits the bottom, a raccoon flies out and attacks my face. I try to pull it off, but two more come out and begin to bite my legs.

After much frantic kicking and screaming, I somehow manage to throw the raccoon off my face and kick the remaining two away. I run into the house screaming, "Dad, dad, dad!"
My dad looks up from his newspaper and says with a smirk, "What happened to you?"

When I tell him what happened, he laughs and says, “Oh, the things you say to get out of doing something. Nice try, Rachel.” He looks back down at his newspaper.

“Dad, I’m being serious! This isn’t like that time I told you the dumpster caught on fire or that there were homeless people living in there. I actually have the evidence on my face to prove that this happened!”
My dad just sighs. “Rachel, can’t you see that I’m busy? Go bother your brother or something.”
I glare at my dad for a few seconds before I stomp off to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I see the damage isn’t so bad. I have a few scratches on my cheeks, but nothing too bad. I carefully clean them with anti-bacterial soap.
After that, I walk into my room and sit on my bed. The raccoons are still by the dumpster, eating the garbage off the ground. The one that attacked my face is larger than a cat. I name him Ralph. Ralph the Raccoon. He is the ring-leader. I name the other two Thing 1 and Thing 2. They are his minions.
My bedroom door bangs open, interrupting my thoughts. I look over and see my brother standing in the doorway. “What’s this I hear about you getting attacked by raccoons?”
I roll my eyes and say, “Go away”. I can tell by his voice that he’s teasing me.
“If you’re still trying to convince dad to give you my job, that’s just not going to happen.”
“Please trade with me,” I beg.
“No! You’re like what? Ten?”

“I’m twelve.”
“Whatever. Someone your age shouldn’t be hanging around chemicals like that. I’m seventeen, almost an adult. And besides, cleaning the bathroom clears my mind.”
I happen to know for a fact that the only reason he likes cleaning the bathroom is so he can get high. I mean who cleans the bathroom with the fan off and the door closed? But I don’t say anything about that. I just sit there until he leaves.
I spend the rest of the weekend in my room finishing my homework.
On Monday, my friend Anthony comments on the scratches on my face. He is the only one who has noticed.

“Dude, your family sucks,” he says after I tell him what happened. Words of wisdom, I know.
“How am I going to convince them that it actually happened?” I ask Anthony.
“No clue. All I know is if I came home with battle wounds on my face, then my family would have gone all exterminator on those rats!”

Twelve-year-old boys are never good at giving advice.
At home, Ralph the Raccoon and his minions have been hanging around like guards by the dumpster, but mysteriously disappear every time I bring my dad out to show him. He tells me that as my punishment for bothering him I would not only have to throw out the trash for the rest of my life, but also hand-wash the dishes for two weeks. This is what I get for telling the truth.

When Friday arrives, I take my time packing my stuff into my backpack. I even miss the bus that takes me home. Looks like I will have to walk.
As soon as I open the door my dad yells, “Go throw out the garbage! The house is starting to stink!”

Since I know there is no getting out of this, I gather up all the garbage and drag myself out the door. I don’t even have time to release the garbage before I’m sky-bombed by three gray balls of fur. I fall to the ground and I scream in pain as I feel teeth tearing into my skin.
“How embarrassing,” I think. “You are going to die getting attacked by raccoons.”

Just as I am about to give up, I hear my name and the raccoons are kicked off of me.

“You weren’t kidding when you said that these things were attacking you!” Anthony says.

I give him my hand and he helps me up.
“You saw the whole thing, right?”

Anthony nods his head.
“Why didn’t you help me before they started biting me?”

“Well, I was hiding in the bushes and then I got bored waiting for you, so I fell asleep. It wasn’t until you started screaming that I woke up.” He smiles in embarrassment.

I roll my eyes at him. At least he was here to save me, unlike my dad.
I look down at the little bite marks on my arms. “I think I need a rabies shot.”
“Wouldn’t it be cool if you started frothing in the mouth like a crazy rabid dog?” Anthony asks in excitement. I don’t even bother answering.
After Anthony helps me to my house and explains what happened to my dad, we go to the hospital. It turns out that I do need a shot and a few stiches, but other than that I’m fine. My dad says nothing the entire time.
On the way home, after my dad drops Anthony off at his house, my dad turns to me and says, “Rachel, I’m sorry. I should’ve believed you when you said a raccoon attacked you.”

“Actually, it was a gaze of raccoons,” I say, using the correct term for more than one raccoon.
“Whatever, but you have to admit” he says, laughing, “it was pretty funny.”
I didn’t see how, but I gave up questioning my dad’s humor a while ago.

“And guess what?” My dad says.

I look at him expectantly.

“You’re not grounded anymore and you have to take out the garbage. I’m going to let you vacuum from now on. I think you’re old enough for that, right?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah, so I’ll be tossing out the garbage from now on.”

The next day, pest control comes and takes the raccoons away in small metal cages. Ralph the Raccoon hisses at me as they put him in van. Then the van drives away.