Trapped

When does an animal stop struggling once it's been trapped?

I was about ten years old, watching The Price is Right, just as Bob was calling up the lucky guesser onto the stage. SMACK!!! Oh no, it was that sound. The sound that first made my heart jump then it would send chills up my spine, every doggone time. My stepdad would set up mouse traps just about under every piece of large furniture or appliance in that old farmhouse of ours. It was just a quick smack and then silence. He would go around checking the traps in the evening for something he might have caught, that was that and I wouldn't dare look. I thought it was wrong to kill something that was not doing any harm.

Back to my show then.

Meep meep!

"Oh Lord, please just take him home to be with you," I spoke out looking up at our tiled ceiling.

I turned up the volume.

MEEP!

Butterflies were fluttering all through my belly. Curiosity was getting the best of my little brain. So I got up and slowly crept to the kitchen to peek.

Meep!

The sound was coming from under the kitchen table. I could barely see anything, just a dark silhouette of a puffball and the rectangular trap. I tiptoed over to the table and crawled on top to pull the cord to turn on the lights above it.

I must have startled it with the lights because it had started to move in a circle dragging the trap on top of him.

"Is this a sign Jesus?"

"It isn't my fault my folks are such cold-blooded killers!"

The trap had a hold of him by his hind legs, leaving the rest of him free but too hurt to move much. I knew this was my chance to set things right. How could anyone be so offended by such a small creature? Yeah, he and his friends may have chewed through some of my moms' pantyhose and my stepdad's socks. What can you expect when your feet smell like cheese and you leave them in warm cozy drawers fit enough to bed and house Mickey Mouse's pals?

"I am going to get you out of there little buddy," I whispered to him.

I went over to the sink and grabbed my mom's yellow rubber gloves, a spoon, and one chopstick.

I put gloves on and held my tools the best I could with the fingertips of the gloves bent every which way around them.

Okay, I will hold down the wood part of the trap and use the chopstick to lift the metal part. But whatever you do, stay clear of the mouth. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to take a bite out of me. It was my family trying to assassinate him.

With caution, I crawled under the table and scooted to a safe distance, close enough to free him but far enough to escape if he tries to attack. I could see his little grey body shaking and shivering, his eyes like little bitty beads looking up at me.

"It's going to be okay."

Hey laid still, without a sound, without any struggling let me move in to do what I needed to.

I pressed down with the spoon onto the trap and then slowly pried the metal piece off of him.

Barely even lifting a centimeter did he shoot right out. I jumped up so fast smacking my coconut under that table. I looked like a stray dog that had been peppered in the tale whimpering out of that kitchen.

Even though the mouse didn't seem so grateful for my heroic act, I felt proud.

I visit this memory quite often and always feeling proud of what I had done that day. The pride a felt every time had dissolved the day I replayed it in my mind when I sat in my room at a mental health facility. For the first time, I had played this memory in my mind from the mouse's perspective.

Trapped, alone, numb, and helpless. No matter what way I turned, things were uncertain. I couldn't trust anyone. I couldn't even trust the ones who had sworn to protect and rescue all who are in need.

I wasn't there because I did anything wrong. I wasn't a threat to myself or anyone around me. To be honest, I was trying to be happier and better in my life. My plan just didn't align with some and they set up a trap to end it.

This story took a turn, didn't it? You may understand later if you stick with me. Perspective can change the meaning of a story to someone. For so long you can read a story over and over and receive the same message or lesson. The main character may turn out to be a hero and goes on to live his happy ending, but what about the other guy? The villain, the antagonist, the little guy doesn't usually live happily ever after. Hey, and why were they so angry in the first place? Or, how did that one who was rescued go on to live after that?

I was losing my will to fight and stand up for myself. What was the use? I am going to be still, stop struggling, let them hear what they need to hear and at the first sign of an escape, I was going to fly right out and never look back.