Monday, period 2 – by Madison Hovey

ISLAND | ONLINE ONLY

Curley’s wife is the subject of study  

in class today. Not on purpose—the young  

boys in the second row thought it wise to  

review the scene in the barn where Lennie  

handles Mrs. Curley as she thrashes  

under him. The screams don’t seem to bother 

anyone—but we all hear them—fuzzy 

and uneven through the speakers of a  

school laptop on loan. The young man’s real 

laptop had been beat, smashed against the flat 

of his foot because his mates thought it was  

funny. It was all very amusing,  

the screams of Curley’s wife. ‘That’s nothing like 

what it was in the book.’ Not that the boy has  

read the novel, but best believe this fine  

gentleman skimmed it, toughed a papercut  

to find this scene. The smaller lad next to  

him makes it visual, brings it to life: 

arms wrapped around his neck—choking, coughing,  

hooting in the second row. The teacher 

hovers overhead, notes the commotion. 

All excuses take flight: ‘Just looking for 

quotes on inequality and misog—’  

People would applaud him if the words had 

not been placed in his mouth. The girls in the  

third row are armoured and on guard. ‘Looks like  

you don’t want them to do the work then, Miss.’ 

Hisses sharpen in the young man’s throat as 

Miss watches him close every tab on his 

loan computer: Port Arthur Massacre. 

Semi-automatic rifle. Curley’s—

‘Hands up if you brought your novel to class.’  

Two hands rise among a sea of steady,  

blue-lit faces, all eyes lowered toward  

something that has far more authority 

than a prison guard or prime minister. ▼

Image: Ryutaro Tsukata - Pexels

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