Free The Life and Times of Benny Alvarez by Peter Johnson Page B

the mouse left.”
    â€œOr maybe I should’ve tried to reason with him, like Crash.”
    â€œLike Crash?”
    â€œYeah,” my father says. “He saw me come in with the mousetraps, so he’s downstairs and says he won’t let anyone kill it.”
    â€œHe’s watching too much of that Animal Planet channel,” I say.
    â€œBingo,” my father says, spreading on more peanut butter.
    â€œWhy peanut butter?” I ask.
    â€œThe smart ones can steal cheese,” my father says, “but they’ve got to stick their heads in the trap to get the peanut butter, and then,” and he lets one of the traps snap shut.
    â€œIsn’t there another way?” my mother says.
    â€œWhy don’t you ask the mouse whisperer?” my father says, meaning Crash.
    â€œIt’s nature,” I say. “Dad gave it enough chances.”
    â€œI certainly tried to warn it.”
    â€œYes,” my mother says. “He put on those heavy boots, and every time he went downstairs, he stomped hard and growled like a bear.”
    I wish I had been home to hear that.
    â€œAnd the varmint still walked right past me like we were of the same species. And let me tell you about mice, Benny, they aren’t cute.”
    â€œHow do you plan to get Crash up here?” I ask.
    â€œAn idea that’s still percolating,” my father says, finishing his job.
    My mother is shaking her head at the traps. “You’re wasting your time with those. Crash won’t allow it.”
    â€œCrash is nine years old,” my father says.
    â€œThen I won’t allow it. He has a right to his beliefs. He’s a sensitive soul.”
    â€œYour ‘sensitive soul’ is going to give his father a heart attack. I’m too old for this, Margaret.”
    â€œNot appropriate, Colin,” she says. “His beliefs are important.”
    â€œWhat if he believes he should add rat poison to our scrambled eggs?” I offer.
    â€œApt comparison, Benny,” my father says.
    â€œCompletely exaggerated,” my mother says.
    â€œThen what if he decides homework should no longer be part of school?”
    â€œDon’t start, Benny.”
    â€œI’m just saying, Mom, that he’s a kid and has to learn he’s not the boss.”
    â€œThat’s one way of looking at it, but it’s not the choice we’re making.”
    At this point, it’s clear that the garbage will be the next location of the mousetraps. Here’s the thing I’ve never understood about the Alvarez boys. We’ll battle to the death if we believe in something, yet we always end up doing what my mother or Irene wants. It’s like some Alvarez wimp five centuries ago passed on a defective gene.
    â€œSo what do we do?” my father asks. “I’m not putting on these boots every time I go downstairs.” I guess he’s afraid the mouse is going to bite his big toe.
    â€œLet me talk to Crash,” I say, and head toward the basement. When I open the door, I see him sitting on the bottom step.
    â€œDon’t you think you should move up a few?” I say.
    â€œHe won’t hurt me.”
    â€œHow do you know it’s a he?”
    â€œDon’t start, Benny Alvarez.”
    â€œOkay, Mom.”
    â€œYou know what I mean,” he says.
    I take a few steps at a time, and when I reach the bottom, I sit behind him, peering around the corner. Finally, I locate the mouse, sniffing around the leg of our large pool table. I thought mice ran fast, but this little hairy thing kind of waddles toward the wall. Then he creeps alongside it, turns, and retraces his steps.
    â€œDoes he have a name?”
    â€œHector.”
    Might as well destroy those traps, Dad. The mouse has now become a human being.
    â€œYou want to talk?”
    â€œNo, I’ve been listening to you all babble upstairs. Call Aldo.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCall