Of Mice and Grease

tell me more, tell me more, the musical didn’t get very far, first act, april, 1988, and i’m a freshman in high school, managed to avoid the senior crazies all year, the guys who threw all the parties, got into all the fights, the ones teachers feared, they are close to graduating, but not without one final senior prank, and this is where i come in, me and hundreds of other students watching grease, i don’t see the eight guys in the darkened auditorium, each with a sack of 50 mice, all 400 bought over several days before, details that come out later, the crazies release the rodents while danny zuko is crooning summer fling, don’t mean a thing, then that high pitch animal squeak screeches out from under every seat, an unnatural infestation, the screams begin, kids jump on seats, some run for the aisle, pure chaos, like the barf-o-rama scene in stand by me, i walk quickly to the exit, when i see slow-footed chris hagan, all 260-pounds of him laboring to get out too, i didn’t see the body of the crushed mouse under his reebok high tops, just splashes of scarlet blood splattered on his sneaker, for a second i lock eyes with chris, he’s visibly shaking, his jowls quivering, probably had never killed anything before in his life, a minute later i’m out of the theater, suddenly sad on a warm spring day.

Stand by Me

We wanted to follow
railroad tracks and sleep
under stars, maybe cook
up hot dogs without
a strict parent seeing
us wipe the grease
on our jeans. This
was 1986 when Polo
shirts were everything, not
following dreams or watching
morning deer, or thinking
about writing, or what
friendship could mean. But
Stand by Me let
in a little light
so we could remember
who we really are.