They Were Right

by Daniel Mihm

Pie Day was always the most celebrated day among all the woodland animals right next to Christmas and the day Mr. Hodgkins finally realized that his shadow had no effect on how long winter would last. That lazy Groundhog never left his silly little house on Acorn Street. I do not know what he did for work and neither did I care. I had can openers to sell and today was the day we sold the most. Before I left the office this morning my boss, Bengie, an old tired looking badger sent me off with some words of wisdom.  

“Septimus,” he muttered without looking up from a stack of messy papers on his oak desk, “don’t come back tonight until that case is empty, ya hear?” 

He was right. I should not give up until all my can openers are sold. Five hours and what feels like 50 doors being slammed in my face later I am still lugging around a briefcase full of brand-new can openers in the cold fall air. One would think that only a week before Thanksgiving and in the middle of Pie Day every animal in town would be throwing their money at me. Either I must be a really bad sales bear, or everyone is still using the can openers I sold them last year.  

Stopping by one of the houses in the middle of town I confidently marched up to the door and knocked, knowing that at the very least I had memorized my lines. The door opened and Judith, a tall cat greeted me with a smile.  

“Happy Pie Day, Septimus!” she said excitedly. “How are you doing this afternoon?”  

Ignoring her question I exclaimed, “Have I got a deal for you! Limited time. Just for you today, you buy five can openers and get the sixth one 3% off. What do you say?” 

“Why are you working today, Septimus? It’s Pie Day. After all, you should be saving those can openers for yourself,” She laughed while subtly closing the door.  

She was right. It was Pie Day. I should be going to the place where all pies are made. Pulling my orange corduroy coat across my chest to block the cold wind, I crossed the street and approached the town bakery. I don’t know why I didn’t think to go there first, Sharlet practically broke a can opener every other week in the process of making her world-famous pumpkin pie.  

“Good afternoon, Sharlet,” I confidently said as I, and a gust of leaves, strut through the front door.  

“Either you are making these can openers really cheap or I am getting stronger,” she said irritably gesturing to a surprising amount of broken can openers piled high on the countertop.  

“Well, you are a much bigger bear than me,” I said not realizing the clearly rude implications that went along with that statement. She crossed her flour covered arms, rolled her eyes and with an annoyed tinge in her voice asked to buy three can openers. I happily rummaged through my suitcase thinking of the commission I would get from this sale. 

“Septimus, after you are done here you should go home and bake some pies like everyone else.”  

She was right. Most folks took the day off and I was the only one that came into work today besides my boss who, like me, dedicated his life to the job. Besides, who wants to sit at home all alone twiddling their thumbs while watching pies bake all day? Not me.  

With a pocket filled with money and a slightly lighter suitcase I followed the dirt road out of town and decided I should try my luck at the farmer's market.  

“Lily!” my voice being carried by the wind all the way from the road to the front porch of the country store. “Glad I caught you as you were closing. Have I got a deal for you! Limited time as well. Just for you today, you buy five can openers and get the sixth one 10% off. What do say?” 

Looking up from a ring of 15 keys with a look of sorrowful annoyance on her face Lily said, “Listen, Septimus, I am closing early today. All 13 of my kits are waiting at home for me.” 

“Well, you're going to need a can opener to open all those cans of apple pie filling, aren’t you?” I said, waving my suitcase in the air.  

“I’m still using the one you sold me last year.” Her pink nose was turning red from the cold and empathetic embarrassment.  

“It's a new model!” I yelled! 

Ignoring my last-ditch effort to make a quick buck Lily locked the door and stuffed her large ears under a warm looking hand knitted beanie.  

“Good day Septimus,” she sighed, “It's getting late. You should go home and spend the rest of the day with your family.”  

She disappeared out of sight and then I was alone. She was right. It was getting late. I could not go back to the office with a suitcase full of products. I straightened out my green tie and headed off to Cedar Park, the side of town that I and many other animals lived in. Even though I never liked walking past my house during work I knew that I would be able to sell at least one more can opener there. 

The first house I came to was Mr. Hodgkin’s small brick cottage on the edge of Cedar Park. I could walk past it; he was always such a bother to talk to, but I think I could easily convince him that he needs more than four can openers. From the outside of his house the windows glowed a bright orange from the fire and candlelight inside and was a direct contrast to the dark, gray clouds on this late fall day. I knocked on the door and was surprised when it opened, and nobody stood before me. Well, at least not at my eye level. Only two feet off the ground was a smaller version of Mr. Hodgkins who looked confused as to why there was a large bear standing on the front porch.  

“Is Mr. Hodgkins home?” I asked like a true business-bear.  

Without turning around what I assume was Mr. Hodgkin’s son yelled, “Dad, there is a scary bear at the door that wants to talk to you!” 

I heard shuffling from inside the house and the door opened fully to reveal Mr. Hodgkins and the busy kitchen behind him. Three of Mr. Hodgkin’s kids and his wife were crowded around a kitchen table that held more than six pies, all of which appeared to be different flavors. Talking, laughter, and light all came from the inside of the house.  

“Um, can I help you, Septimus?” Mr. Hodgkins stated, realizing that I had been staring into his house for a little too long.  

“Do you want to buy a can opener?” I said halfheartedly, still looking past him.  

“Actually, yeah. I'm getting tired of opening cans with my teeth” Mr. Hodgkins laughed. “Come on in. I'll get your money.”  

I stepped into his small house and was instantly met with the smell of fresh baked blueberry and apple pie. I rubbed my paws together and tried to soak in as much warmth from the fireplace as possible.  

“There you are,” he said swapping me a hand full of cash for the can opener.  

“Would you like to stay for a while? Test this thing and have a couple slices of pie?” he exclaimed while patting his belly and proudly waving his new tool in the air. “It’s getting dark and cold outside. My family would love the company.” 

“That's kind of you but I still got a lot of these things to sell. Good night Mr. Hodgkins,” I muttered closing the door behind me.  

He was right. It was getting cold and dark outside. My fur was cold again. I walked down the dark street only lit by the light coming from the inside of every house. Also coming from every house was the sound of laughter and as I passed it felt like they were laughing at me and my suitcase that was still mostly filled with can openers. Then the light disappeared. I was in darkness. I looked up from the ground and realized that I was standing in front of my own house. 

Unlike every house I passed in Cedar Park my house was as cold and dark as the cloudy night sky. But unlike the sky full of clouds my house was empty. I used my suitcase as a seat and thought to myself this is what waits for me every day. I looked down the street and was reminded of the countless doors I still have not knocked on. My stomach growled and I said out loud into the cold night air, “I should eat something.” I was right. I should eat something. I stood up from where I sat and made my way back down Acorn Street to Mr. Hodgkin’s house empty-handed, ready to celebrate Pie Day.