It doesn’t matter if you’re a grown man or woman, fear is fear. It’s real. I never remember being afraid of the dark as a kid. I owned a night-light for a little bit of my childhood and that was solely for decoration. Even though I wasn’t fond of the figures my imagination created in pitch black, I knew they weren’t real. I was never an avid horror movie watcher; not necessarily because of fear, but because I hated gruesome fright stories. Freddy Kruger was the only scary movie character that really terrorized me. The others just made me sick. Conceptual things like rejection rarely give me cold feet; no, I don’t like it, but I try not to let it stop me. But what does stop me? Just as any other person my bravery has its limits. My courage can be halted and compromised by a perturbing experience. And for me, that fear is of mice.
Yes, those little guys. I hate them. Unfortunately they provoke the worst discomposure out of me. The sound of their scurrying makes me tremble and the sight of their flight gives me anxiety. I’ve been living in my space for two years and I’ve never had to deal with these creatures. I remember asking the property agent about rodents as I looked at the apartment. I expressed my legit fear to him and demanded that he be honest about rodents. He told me sincerely that there were none. And his word has been held up with truth since, but as of this week, his word was broken.
When I grew up in Providence, our lovely green home on Pavilion was infested with roaches. I could deal. They were annoying but you could step on them, crush them, spray them, and look at that, with one squeeze of a tissue they were gone. I can look back and laugh at times my grandmother would “bomb” the house with little warning. Suddenly a hissing sound jolted you out of your own home as grandma would prepare to battle the roaches. After a few battles, she won the war. No more roaches. No more double checking your backpack for creepy crawlers before school. No more shaking your clothes before a sleepover. That hot mess was over. However, the war on creatures would soon terrorize us again.
We were haunted with a mouse. I remember seeing the first one. I thought I created the incident in my mind, especially because it’s dash was incredibly fast. But it wasn’t a dream. One soon became a few and then there were some, and then some more. The plague of mice never amounted to the infestation of roaches, but their presence pestered me more than any bug could. They besieged us during our most vulnerable moments — you noticed them sprint during commercial breaks of your favorite show or interrupted dreams with their hasting. When we finally left Pavilion in 2006, it was bittersweet. Most of the fear that the mice had over me escaped my thoughts when I recollected great memories that I had in that house. Yet all in the same, I was looking forward to a peaceful slumber and a day of undisturbed television marathons.
Years later, I’ve avoided my fear. I’ve been blessed to have a humble abode and not have to confront creepy crawlers. But, somehow, someway, a little guy has made its way into my quarters. It’s managed to scurry its boneless body into MY territory. So now, I have to put matters into my own hands. I have fear but I also have guts. My aunt has assisted me and we’ve presumed a shaky poise but are challenging the audacity of this mouse. Long story short, poison is in full effect. The battle has begun and the strife is real. All I can do is wait for the fray to overcome this ordeal. May the best man win.