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Of Mice & Men

Spider webs hung from the ceiling and gray lint bunnies floated in the air. The darkness reached into the window’s tiny crawl space from outside. Crickets sleeplessly hummed in the window well. I felt the damp muggy air fill my lungs. The hot light bulb flickered above me. I cranked the plastic knob to “wash”; it clicked. Warm water began to pour into the washer drum as I pulled piles of clothing from baskets and dropped them inside. I shut the washer and it knocked around the clothing. I closed my eyes. The clothing banged and shook the old staircase, held together by loose boards and bent rusty nails. The “bangs” grew louder until I heard nothing. The crickets’ hum was gone. The muggy air was cool.

A noise, the bang, brought me to a gray desk covered in soft fluorescent light. To the nauseating smell of white board cleaner that forced me to cough. To my classroom’s clock ticking while I got lost in the story. I turned the dry wrinkled pages. I breathed in the book’s age. I caught onto the story and held onto until the “bang.”

When I read it, the word,

“Bang”

Tears fell from my cheeks.

When I read that George pulled the trigger.

That Lenny’s smiling face hit the dirt

And his blood mixed with the earth.

When George killed Lenny to spare him from hurt.

I thought what was his life worth?

What would be worse

Lenny suffering, or being killed to be spared from the worst?

If society thought this,

Why didn’t they kill him at birth?

In their eyes, what would be worse?

Suffering life with hope, or dying with nothing?

But “bang” is the answer.

A noise, the bang, brought me back to the washer knocking around the clothing. To the crickets’ sleepless hum. To the muggy air that filled my lungs. I opened my eyes to insulation crumbling down into my hair. The ceiling above me was caving in. The sky was falling and a mouse trap came from it. The room filled with screams: my own and the mouse’s screeching. It flopped around hanging from the trap by the ceiling. It twisted its arm in circles and cried.

My younger brother rushed down the stairs. He ripped open the door and searched with wild eyes for the cause of my screams. His eyes followed my line of vision and we both stared. He quickly shuffled away. He rushed back with an empty tin decorated with Christmas trees and a piece of cardboard. I balanced on a stool holding the tin under the trap. My brother reached above me and unclamped the mouse's broken arm. It gently plopped into the tin and I slid the cardboard over it. We solemnly and silently marched up the stairs with our heads hanging. My brother grabbed my arm when I reached for the patio door. He lifted up the edge of the cardboard and his eyes watered.

“Should we kill it?” his voice sounded shaky. I looked down into the tin at an innocent creature. Her eyes were big and round. They seemed to be filled with tears of pain and fear. Her arm was limp. “I can’t do it. If you can, then you can, but I can’t do it.” I felt salt water at the brim of my eyes. He shook his head.

The darkness reached into our hearts. The crickets sang an excruciating sympathy. I felt the damp muggy air suffocating me. I kneeled down and set the mouse free. I watched it move slowly toward the grass for a few seconds, but tears threatened to leave my eyes. So, I turned away and opened the patio door.

When I saw him run out the door,

My cat

Tears fell from my cheeks.

When I saw him start to pounce

I dived, but he sped up

And I hit the concrete.

My knees were skinned

My finger was fractured

I couldn’t get up to view the image I would capture

I didn’t want to see

Her eyes lifeless, while she lied in the dirt

And her innocent blood mixed with the earth.

Maybe it happened to spare her from the worst?

I didn’t look up. I cried on the concrete.

But my brother returned from retreat.

He held my cat relieved.

She escaped into the darkness safely.

Suffering life with hope

Because “bang” wasn’t my answer.

What is worse?