The Gorko Gazette

Little People

Ma said the little people had invaded her house again. Fucking dementia, I thought.

I’d learned to go with it. No use arguing. It just pissed her off, escalated things, and made my life harder.

‘Oh, Ma…that’s awful. What are they up to?’

‘They are stealing my stuff. Messing up the house. They move my favorite things so I can’t find them. The green ones are mean, and the blue ones love mischief,’ she said.

‘What do they look like?’ I asked.

‘They are the size of a rat with little mouse ears…kinda cute…Oh, and they wear little tweed suits. You know, like English country gentlemen,’ she said.

Fuck me.

 ‘Ok, Ma. I’m on it. I’ll do some research on the Internet and see if I can figure out how to get rid of them for you,’ I said, patting her arm.

‘You are such a good son! Not like your bitch sisters who think I’m lying,’ she said.

She screwed her face up tightly, grim, then shook her head.

Time for the locked unit…

##

Later that day, I group-chatted with my sisters and explained Ma was off her rocker again. My younger sister told me to ignore her. Of course, she’d ignore cancer. Denial is her most powerful survival tool. My older sister—a psych nurse, type A pain in my ass—wanted me to call Ma’s shrink, change her meds, and go back over there to do some ‘reality testing.’

Fuck that. There’s no fixing this. Ma is 88 years old and daffy.

I replied: ‘On it.’

I did nothing.

##

A week of non-stop calls about the little people from Ma and my older sister finally had me drinking by noon instead of my usual 4:00 p.m. fuck-my-life start time. I knew I had to do something, or I’d be joining Ma in the looney bin. I called Ma.

‘Ma, I’ll be over later to set some traps…you know, to catch those little bastards,’ I said.

‘You have to drown them, or they’ll come back,’ she said.

‘I’ll take them out on my boat and dump them in the ocean,’ I said, hoping she didn’t ask me when I bought a boat.

‘You’re my favorite sonny! Good boy!’

##

Having no freaking idea of how I’d trick Ma, I went to Home Depot and started walking the aisles. I ended up buying three of those industrial black box rat traps you see outside fast food places. This should do the trick.

Back home, I took a white Sharpie and labeled the boxes, Little People Removal Trap and headed to Ma’s nursing home.

Ma and I chatted as I readied the traps. I put a couple pennies in each one as I set them, thinking I’d rattle them to show her the traps worked.

‘Put one under that chair. They hide under it.’

‘Sure, Ma.’

As I set the traps, I noticed a Ring camera by the TV.

‘Ma, do you know where this came from?’ I asked.

‘Your older sister put that there to spy on me.’

Great. I’ll take some serious shit for this.

‘I’ll come back tomorrow and see if we caught them. Don’t touch these, Ma.’

##

I got the call around 6:30 a.m. the next morning, my older sister chirping loudly through the speaker, knocking me out of my bourbon-induced coma.

‘Very cute. So, so clever. You asshole. I’ll give you this. You got computer skills. How’d you make those little people so realistic? I mean…the little tweed suites, nice touch. If you put that much effort into actually helping…’

I didn’t hear anything after that…I hit end and closed my eyes hoping this entire shitshow was just a bad booze dream. But I knew it wasn’t. Still groggy, I started to panic…what if? No…. My mind raced for a minute. Shit…I got to check those fucking traps…then I got to find a fucking boat. My phone buzzed a text notification. It was my older sister again.

‘Fucking idiot. You do know I could see and hear everything you and mom were talking about and doing. Now stop fucking around and call her shrink like I asked!’

I turned off the phone and closed my eyes. Fuck my life.

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Image from Mr. Tony Sarg’s production, the Rose and the Ring; collage by Raddy