Written on November 14, 2012
George took one last swig from his bottle as Slim ordered him another. Sirens sounded in the distance outside the dimly-lit old bar, and George wondered who for. Were those sirens, or Lennie’s whining? The sound of men playing pool in the corner filled George’s ears. Was that pool, or Lennie kicking rocks on the side of the road as they made their way to their next ranch?
Slim tried to comfort him. “You’ll get over it. You had to, you know it. Here,” he remarked, as he handed George another beer.
“Wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that, Slim.” George took a sip out of the bottle. They could hear the soft thumps of people making their way through the halls overhead. Were those just people walking through a hotel, or was that Lennie’s heavy tread?
Slim couldn’t think of a thing to say. He had been astounded at George and Lennie’s friendship. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. Which is why he hadn’t believed it at all when he had seen what George had done, and couldn’t think of a thing to say. He tried to put himself in George’s shoes, but he couldn’t. Slim had never had a friendship like that, and couldn’t imagine being so close to someone. So as much as he wanted to, he didn’t say anything.
George gave up. He knew what he had to do. He still had the gun in his coat. “I… gotta use the john.”
Slim believed him. “Okay, ya want another beer?”
“Nah, I better not.”
George made his way back to the lobby. To the left was the door, straight ahead was the bathroom, to his right was a door leading to a flight of stairs. He turned right and headed up the stairs, looking for an open door to an unoccupied room. Once he had found one, he did his best to barricade the door with what little furniture there was. He could hear the police break into the lobby. They would do their best to find George, probably, if they knew it was him.
Had they found Curly’s wife, or Lennie? Maybe neither. Maybe both. It didn’t make any difference to George at this point. Nothing would change what he was about to do.
Lennie Small was dead. Nothing would change that. Nobody could replace him. Nothing could be done. At this point, George could spend life in prison or he could end it all. He knew which he wanted. So why was he so hesitant? Police were shouting downstairs. Looking for George, no doubt.
George paced about the room. There was nothing left for him. He had nothing to live for now. Lennie was dead, and it was at his hand. He was about to be arrested. He could give in to the police or not have to deal with anyone or anything again.
George pulled the gun from his coat. Police pounded up the stairs. Didn’t they know they couldn’t ever make it in time? George put the gun to his head. Police hacked at the door. “Hey! Open up, we know you’re in there!”
George pulled the trigger.
Just like that. Just with one tiny, slight movement of a finger, it was all over.
It was so painfully simple.
Slim tried to comfort him. “You’ll get over it. You had to, you know it. Here,” he remarked, as he handed George another beer.
“Wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that, Slim.” George took a sip out of the bottle. They could hear the soft thumps of people making their way through the halls overhead. Were those just people walking through a hotel, or was that Lennie’s heavy tread?
Slim couldn’t think of a thing to say. He had been astounded at George and Lennie’s friendship. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. Which is why he hadn’t believed it at all when he had seen what George had done, and couldn’t think of a thing to say. He tried to put himself in George’s shoes, but he couldn’t. Slim had never had a friendship like that, and couldn’t imagine being so close to someone. So as much as he wanted to, he didn’t say anything.
George gave up. He knew what he had to do. He still had the gun in his coat. “I… gotta use the john.”
Slim believed him. “Okay, ya want another beer?”
“Nah, I better not.”
George made his way back to the lobby. To the left was the door, straight ahead was the bathroom, to his right was a door leading to a flight of stairs. He turned right and headed up the stairs, looking for an open door to an unoccupied room. Once he had found one, he did his best to barricade the door with what little furniture there was. He could hear the police break into the lobby. They would do their best to find George, probably, if they knew it was him.
Had they found Curly’s wife, or Lennie? Maybe neither. Maybe both. It didn’t make any difference to George at this point. Nothing would change what he was about to do.
Lennie Small was dead. Nothing would change that. Nobody could replace him. Nothing could be done. At this point, George could spend life in prison or he could end it all. He knew which he wanted. So why was he so hesitant? Police were shouting downstairs. Looking for George, no doubt.
George paced about the room. There was nothing left for him. He had nothing to live for now. Lennie was dead, and it was at his hand. He was about to be arrested. He could give in to the police or not have to deal with anyone or anything again.
George pulled the gun from his coat. Police pounded up the stairs. Didn’t they know they couldn’t ever make it in time? George put the gun to his head. Police hacked at the door. “Hey! Open up, we know you’re in there!”
George pulled the trigger.
Just like that. Just with one tiny, slight movement of a finger, it was all over.
It was so painfully simple.