Of Boys and Mice
Dylan Gillespie
I remember the dryness in the air that morning, and how well the trip had been going. Camping with the family, almost always an enjoyable departure from regular life. Not that regular life was really that difficult for a four-year-old. Even then, I was admittedly a rather hyper aware child, which would come to shortly become a problem.
It only did what thousands of years of evolution had taught it to do: nest. But that little mouse had chewed too many wires to just be ignored, so on this morning it was decided to end the reign of terror. The whole family was enlisted into the hunt, scouring every crevice for a paw print or corner for a food stash. We found the little saboteur in the hub-cap, and my dad fetched the longest knife he could. This happened to be a bread knife, which anyone who has seen one knows aren’t exactly Ginsu, but that didn’t stop him.
Over and over he stabbed into the little gap of the wheel, while all the while the mouse ran from maxim to maxim in his wheel of destruction. The whole time it squeaked, but higher than a squeak, shriller than a squeak. It squeaked against the knife, it squeaked against the two little onlookers incredulously watching their father. We stood there smiling, watching this brutal samba before us. We desperately awaited the mouse to tire or the knife to make contact; never having had any real experience with death made us want to see it more.
He did pin it with the edge of the blade, my father, and managed to flick it out onto the concrete. It lay there for mere moments before it spasmed like nothing I had seen before. Its desperation to get away pulled its body in every direction, preventing it from taking any. Then the knife came down, and its choice was made. The squeak of fear was replaced with a scream of horror and pain, one which was only slightly less disturbing than the jubilant cries of the two year old: “KILL IT!” I looked on, helpless but guilt filled as I saw and heard the life of this little creature be extinguished before my eyes. The blood just appeared below the small beast, and when at last its heart no longer beat, my father looked up with grin and said “That takes care of that.” I was sick to my stomach. Yet is was just a mouse, so I bucked up and spent the rest of the day doing what every four-year-old does, running around and causing mayhem.
But that night, sleep did not come quickly like usual. I was plagued by the memory of the dying mouse, and when I did fall asleep I recall feeling ill at ease. It had just been a mouse and I had just been a four-year-old, but somehow that made it all the more real. Unburdened with prior death experiences and unlucky enough not to share the world’s animosity towards vermin, the mouse’s demise struck and stuck with me. What is big and what is little? Who decides who is grand and who is miniscule? While the darkness of death had claimed the mouse, I had been claimed by the darkness of reality.
Yet from the dark is most complete, light shines all the brighter. Ten years have passed since the passing of the mouse, and he still scurries through my mind from time to time. The boy who idly watched his murder is gone though, replaced by a young man trying to bring light to those who need it. Thus a plan was imparted from a mouse to a man, one which will not go awry.
Youth are an important part of our community offering different viewpoints, perceptions and talents that should be recognized as a vital voice. The Coast News is excited to work with students within the Lucia Mar Unified School District showcasing generations to come.
