FlashFiction.Net

The Hamster
Tara Laskowski
As printed in SmokeLong Quarterly

Louie the hamster escaped from his fish tank cage two days ago, and I can hear him scratching behind the walls in the kitchen after everyone else has gone up to bed. It is a desperate grasping, tiny rodent paws against drywall, and I believe there are only a few more days before we will be unable to tell the kids he’s going to turn up.

Earlier tonight after dinner my husband pushed back the stove from the wall, hoping to find the hole where Louie crawled through, but eventually felt that was enough effort and went up to fall asleep to the Orioles game, leaving me to this guilt. Unlike him, I am afraid if I nod off I will have horrible dreams about the poor little guy meeting spiders and beetles and other lurking insects that built their own cities inside the walls and don’t want unexpected tourists. I pull out all of the cleaning bottles we’ve accumulated under the sink in the past 13 years—three bottles of Windex, Drano, leather conditioner for an old chair from my husband’s bachelor days, Clorox, plant food, dried and twisted sponges, silver polish for a tray my mother bought us when we were married (a tray we never use), baby wipes, crusted superglue, inexplicably one of Samantha’s tiny pink flip flops—and sweep a flashlight to the back panel where the sink pipe disappears through the wall, leaving enough space for a hamster to squeeze in, fall to the floor and realize too late that he can’t clamber back up.

Now I find Samantha’s school ruler and Damien’s twine and popsicle stick building set and I jury-rig a ramp worthy of Evel Knievel, all the while popping slivers of carrot down that hole as in the news story I read a few months ago where a little girl trapped in a mine survived for days eating scraps of food they were able to send down to her in a sawed-off plastic soda bottle. Louie scratches in rhythm to my breathing, reminding me he is there.

There are several moments after I maneuver the ramp down behind the sink that I believe I have failed; the hamster is chewing on his own escape route and I realize I am counting on the logic of an animal with a brain the size of a pea, and in these moments I think not of the hamster’s limitations but of my own, and that I must’ve failed as a parent, that this shoddy ramp would get a “C” at best in Mrs. Thomas’s arts and crafts, that I shouldn’t have let Louie escape, and that I should never, ever be the cause of such a crestfallen look on Damien’s face. Because Damien especially is a fragile kid—Samantha is more headstrong, confident, parading on stage at the fourth grade winter play like a Broadway star with a paper crown—but Damien is more internal, more sensitive and thoughtful (more like me, I think with its own kind of guilt) and one day the both of them will grow up to be their own people, and I will have to let them scurry in their own dark spaces. And just about that time, the hamster stops eating his safety net and perches just at the bottom; I can feel his weight as he tests the ramp, imagine his pink nose quivering upward, and I hold my breath as we both wait, wondering if we can trust it.

We are all Tara Laskowski’s “hamsters,” as she leads us as readers through a carefully constructed flash fiction piece where we crawl and grasp for hope in a world filled with parental fear, anxiety and guilt. Laskowski’s “The Hamster” is a powerful piece written in less than 600 words, but packing enough punch to linger with the reader long after its words have left the page.

In the beginning of the piece, Louie the hamster has escaped his cage and is trapped behind the kitchen walls. Louie’s scratching can be heard as he desperately tries to find a way back to civilization and the knowing comfort of his cage. From the first person point of view of a mother, our narrator takes us into her world of parental uncertainty, as she tries to save Louie from certain doom behind the walls. But our narrator’s plight is a harrowing one that she braves alone as she hears Louie “scratching behind the walls in the kitchen after everyone else has gone up to bed,” mirroring the worry and anxiety that only a mother can feel trying to raise her children in what can be a dark and dangerous world.

What draws me into this piece as a reader is Laskowski’s building of anticipation throughout the piece. From the first sentence, I am hooked. Laskowski shows me where to go and I follow, experiencing all the anxiety of a parent who begins to frighteningly recognize his or her own limitations in a flawed world. Will I ever escape?

Like breadcrumbs being dropped on a path (or carrots down a hole), I find myself following the narrator as she diligently constructs a ramp out of twine, a ruler, and popsicle sticks. Wondering if she’ll be able to lead Louie to safety or if he’s already succumb to an untimely death, she introduces us to her children and the physical and emotional connections of mother and child. While her daughter Samantha exerts a headstrong and confident persona, her son Damien seems more of a sensitive soul, young and vulnerable. And at this point, our narrator presents us with the most powerful line of this piece: “One day the both of them will grow up to be their own people, and I will have to let them scurry in their own dark places.” This is flash. This is the emotional punch to the stomach that flash is known for (And that I as a beginner in the flash world am just starting to recognize and fall in love with).

And it is here that our narrator leaves us at the perfect point. Just as Louie may or may not learn to trust the steadiness of our narrator’s ramp to survival, we as parents (and readers) must hold our breath and wait, wondering if we can trust our young to survive among the many.

About the Author

Carrie Hollinshead Capili is currently an MFA in Creative Writing candidate at Rosemont College. She works full time as the Publications Director for a small publishing company in Upper Chichester, Pa, and also moonlights as a freelance writer. In her free time, Carrie enjoys reading, writing fiction, snowboarding, and watching horror movies. She currently lives in West Chester with her husband, Lawrence, two dogs, Maliit and Wickett, and cat, Jo-Jo.

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