Lenny

Dear friend, 

      My family believes that I might be going crazy. This is not at all a bad thing, it's actually somewhat amusing. My youngest sister seems to be the only one who believes me, but she's seven and rarely questions the stories that I tell her. It's a humbling experience, seeing one thing and being told that what I saw was something else. I guess I'm trying my best not to take it personally, after all everyone has their own set of beliefs and inner conscience. 

     Anyhow, I'll explain to you why my family believes my mind is turning inside out, and my vision's filter has been replaced by something non-existent. Last night, as I was playing video games with my friends and calling them on the phone, I noticed that the curtains hanging from my ceiling behind my cabinet and bookcase and concealing the stairs and front door, began to gently move as if there was an autumn wind trapped inside my house; pulling the grey cloth back and forth. 

      At first, I paid no attention, continued to play my game and push the thought in the back of my mind. The curtains continued to sway. After dying in the game, I picked up my phone to scroll through social media, that's when I heard the tiny steps. A light tapping against the wooden floor, moving in accordance with the dancing curtains. I thought it was my sister but I called her and she didn't pick up, so I assumed she was sleeping. At this point, I grew suspicious and kept an eye and an ear to that side of the room, blocked from my vision because of the hanging grey curtains. 

      I continued to play, eventually forgetting about the movement and quiet noises that still remained in the environment of my house floor. Midnight became one o'clock and one o'clock became two, I was beginning to accept the situation. 

      Nearing the conclusion of our fourth session, my friends and I were on the verge of winning, finding ourselves among the top ten. The tapping grew louder and the curtains moved fervently, a mouse with a body the size of a lightbulb wearing a coat of fading brown revealed itself for a few seconds, before retreating into the darkness behind the curtain. My eyes shifted quickly from the ground to the television screen, placing myself back into the game. 

     "Bro, I think there's a mouse in my house," I told my friends on the call. I don't remember their response because we were all focused on trying to survive the game, seventh, fifth, fourth, third. We came in third place two times in a row. But we were getting tired so we called it a night. I remained on the call with a friend. By now, the sounds of tapping, the movement of the curtain, and the brief sight of the mouse were all enough to keep me awake. 

        I still had to go upstairs to dispose of a plate and a glass on my desk so I did, opening all of the lights on my way to the kitchen. The creature was nowhere to be seen. I sat at the dinner table by myself, comforted by the voice of my friend but unnerved by the idea of a rodent roaming my family's townhouse. How did a mouse even get in? I sat there for a few minutes, basking in the white light from above and around, hoping to discourage the mouse from venturing out. 

      Looking back at it now, I definitely should have taken a picture, for the sake of my family and their perception of my current mental state. However, I didn't, so the only ones who know and somewhat believe are me and perhaps my youngest sister. I called my friend until just after three o'clock, before ending the call and finding myself alone and awake. I tried to sleep but it was difficult, still hearing the light tapping going up and down the stairs, as if the mouse was doing exercise. I managed to nap for a few minutes but never fell into anything deeper and restful. I accepted that I probably wouldn't be able to find the escape I was looking for so I waited until sunrise. 

       My mom woke up and left for work, she didn't see the mouse. My dad came home from work and I finally fell asleep to the sound of the garage opening and the cold air that rushed into my room, gently carrying me to a dreamless sleep. My dad didn't see the mouse either. I woke up a few hours later. The night had felt like a different reality, the soundtrack being the subtle sound of short claws against wood, the scene being the perpetual movement of the grey curtains swaying back and forth in a windless room.          Writing about it now, perhaps I was going crazy. Maybe I even found myself in another space of reality, one where invisible rodents exist yet move around with the same fluidity, accompanying the same sounds and scampered movement. Maybe that mouse is still here, maybe it's left. I'll try to let you know if I hear it again tonight, this time I'll take a picture. 

         It's hard to believe that I pulled an all-nighter on a Friday in October because of reasons not related to school. My senses were alive and engaging so that's a positive. Most importantly, I was able to write you this so I hope I described it well, and that you won't experience this. Thanks for listening anyways. I was going to keep writing about something deep and meaningful but I won't, that story was lengthy. 

        I have trouble finding the right words and most of the time, the words I say or write are never the right ones. This is an odd sensation but it's better than silence. I'm comfortable with the words I write and the emotions that drive the words onto the page, imperfect as they may be. These are my stories and I've told them to you. We owe it to ourselves and those around us to share our stories, it keeps conversations going and enriches our relationships; even if at times our stories don't make sense or reach the people we want them to reach, they're our lives nonetheless and nothing could be more precious. 

       Also, it was John Lennon's birthday yesterday, the hippie skinny Beatle with the cool glasses and songs about peace, long hair flowing down to his shoulders. The title of this letter is in tribute of him, and my name for the mouse, who I hope leaves my home soon. 

         Love always,

Rave

John Lennon, John Lennon