Curiously Strong Mints

Those "curiously strong mints" were lined up along the cabinet top, all in a very straight row. It happened again. Michael had gotten into his mother's pocketbook and took out the last box of mints she had. He never ate them because they were grown-up peppermint, to strong for his little palate. He liked to play the game of lining up those mints because it reminded him of soldiers in the pictures he had seen. Just at the right moment he would imaging the captain of the company calling, "ready, aim, fire," and no doubt the enemy was also firing because within a few seconds, Michael would push all the mints to the floor from the cabinet edge. Some of them rolled and some of them cracked into pieces. There was no doubt that this child just ate, drank and slept the anticipation and adventure of the war time soldier. What else was there to become when you grew up? He felt the rush of wearing a uniform in his mind and grasping the weapon; the mind of a 5-year-old so infatuated with the exhilaration of battle.

The gangs in the streets of his neighborhood were not for him. He knew the damage they created. He knew his little friend Randy was killed by a gang while sleeping in his bed near a window. It made him cry when his mommy told him Randy had gone to heaven. He used to listen to Randy's tales about big boy school, how you had to listen to the teacher and one day do homework after coming home from school, but no more now because the street gang sent Randy to heaven. Mostly Michael stayed by himself now, playing with the toys he loved. He had several GI Joes, a few tanks and camouflage trucks. He had lots of war toys. Yes, when he grew up he would be the soldier who killed the enemy in battle, not some bad kid from the neighborhood who killed little kids in bed.

All that killing…. only a few blocks away Mrs. Harper's grandson was killed walking home from school. Everyone said it was such a sadness. Mrs. Harper's grandson was going to be the v-a-l-i-d-i-c-t-ator or something like that at the high school graduation this year. One of those street gang boys shot him in the chest, right through his sweater with the long sleeves and the big "V" on it, as he was coming home from school. No, no, no … he would play with his trucks and tanks and GI Joes, his lined up little mints, his lined up anything that could create a battle line or a trench where the real soldiers hung out. He would kill the enemy. He knew the difference between the street gang boy and the soldier. The soldier got paid for one thing. The soldier got to wear those uniforms and ride in those cool trucks and tanks. He would be one of them. This way when he killed, he would be a military guy. He would be doing the right thing to kill, he would get a check like Daddy to kill, and he would make sure the enemy was really dead when he killed him because he was going to be a good soldier. He knew what being a soldier was.. just like on the video games. No he would not kill as a gang member, he would kill as a solider. That was better.

Alice Elizabeth Cagle July 22, 2010