Fandom: Of Mice and Men (the glorious Steinbeck novel we were all forced to read for GCSE)
Author’s note: So, i’m back. This quarantine is really giving me the time to write so here’s a piece about everyone’s favourite prince of the ranch. Enjoy :)
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Living on the road isn’t easy. The constant moving around, never staying in one place for more than a month, that is my reality. We live hand to mouth, always wondering where the next meal will come from. Hell, I can’t even afford a new, clean work apron. A life of comings and goings that come like an onslaught. There is always, however, one constant: Slim.
Though we are known as the loneliest people in the world, we have each other, our little mismatched family. Of course, it’s sometimes difficult, especially with those who don’t understand this little setup, but hey that’s the bitch of living; I do what I must to survive. While the boys carry straw in the fields, I cook, clean and help in the boss’ house until it’s time to move on to another field, another house. I work and earn my keep alongside the men and though I don’t get to see them while they work most the day, except occasionally through the window, I eat every meal and spend my free evenings with my boys before I have to go back to the house. And as much as I love them all, I look forward to spending time with one of them in particular.
After a long day of cleaning windows and preparing chicken casserole, to say I’m exhausted would be the understatement of the century and I’m ready to spend a nice evening playing poker with a side dish of whisky as I exit that hell hole I call my current workplace. But as I approach the rickety bunk house, I spot a familiar figure sitting alone on one of the old rocking chairs, recognisable by the worn-out Stetson hat crowning his head. I pick up the speed, as fast as my mules allow me, ecstatic to finally be able to relax and leave the day behind.
Out on the porch, Slim gazes around the fields surrounding their temporary ‘home’, lost in thought and unaware of his surroundings. He’s been working all day and has chosen to switch out card games with the men for some quiet reflection as he watched the sunset. I don’t blame him. A man with the weight of the world on his shoulders deserves to forget about it once in a while.
I try to walk quietly down the length of the porch so as not to disrupt the peace, and I nearly reached the door, but the old wood deceived me as one step causes it to moan out in pain. I winced as Slim’s head spun around, breaking his thought process.
“I’m sorry” I say dumbly.
“It’s ok.” A warm smile graces his handsome face as he gestures me over to him.
I always liked Slim best. It was him who found me hungry and penniless on the streets of some lousy nameless town and him who let me join him and his band of men. It wasn’t easy getting past the mix of sexist comments and hungry stares, and it’d be foolish for me to say I wasn’t expecting it, but Slim was always kind to me; protected me; treated me like a person first. Eventually, after weeks of trying to prove myself, they finally accepted me into their ranks as an equal (though I think it might have been the fact that survival cooking is one of my specialties). But I never broke that bond with Slim, the one formed during our lowest moments, the one based on nothing but respect and understanding for one another.
I walk over to him swiftly, crouching beside the chair, his face lit up by the pale sunlight. From far away, he may look like another hard-headed ranch worker, but one close look can uncover emotions so personal and yet well-known by many. His smile is always warm and inviting, the kind that has seen many a frowned face pointed in its direction. His stormy blue eyes, at the bottom of which lay years of loss and disappointment, are illuminated, glistening in the falling sun, framed by the wrinkled skin around them, sunburnt and old before its time. His brow is always so weighed down with worry, yet now the harsh ridges lay like soft crevices against the smoothness of his forehead. He was content.
“Same as always” Slim replies, his smile faltering so softly you’d miss it in a blink. Water pools in his eyes as he yawns and gestures me up. I stand up for a second, before nestling myself on his lap and against his chest. As he puts his arms around me to make himself more comfortable, I feel every toned muscle shift slightly beneath his shirt. The years of lifting hay bales definitely left their mark. Slim turns his head in the direction of the sun, basking in its fleeting warmth, as I lay my head on his. “How was yours?”
“Same as always,” I mimic his tone, “Hard. But, hey what’s the alternative?”
A pause. A moment of silence. Thoughtful silence.
“It’s not fair.” The peace is broken by Slim’s voice, barely a whisper but very audible in the silence.
I lift my head to look at him. His face is hardened, eyes peppered with an unreadable sadness. My heart pangs with pain seeing him like this. “What’s not fair?”
He looks up at me. “This is not the life I promised you,” he says softly as he looks down, his calloused hand gripping my thigh that bit harder. “When I took you with us, I told you we were going to work for a while and then we’ll get an apartment in the big city. Our own little place. With a dog.” We both smile at the thought of us in a house chasing around a dog. A big one, we decided long ago. A small smile graces Slim’s lips before it falls into a more sorrowful one. “I promised you all this and yet we’re still taking on these piece of shit jobs, me in the fields and you cooking and cleaning for these pompous assholes, when you should living the high life with some rich man who loves you and you don’t have to work a day in your life,” he takes my hand, “You deserve better than this.”
So that’s what’s been eating him up: he doesn’t think this is good enough. I smile gently as I use one hand to tilt his chin up so that our eyes meet, his still slightly dampened by his spillage of thoughts. I brush a stray strand of chestnut hair out of his face before speaking. “The world’s not fair, Slim. But this, this I wouldn’t trade for the world.” His expression turns to mild confusion. “I’ve learned so much more travelling with you than I ever would in some big city house as a trophy wife. I’ve met so many great people, so many friends, you.” A pause. “A hovel could be my palace as long as I’m with you.”
Slim stays silent but his eyes give away everything I need to know, a feeling of relief washing over them. He places a million words upon my forehead in the form of a delicate kiss, before I lay my head on his shoulder.
And so, we are sitting there, two fools with dreams bigger than them, witnessing the burning sky turn darker by the minute. And we sit there not as lonely people, not as societal outcasts, not as workers for the highest bidder. No, we sit there as a man with a million worries and as a woman with a million dreams.
Watching the world around us melt away, as sleep takes its toll.
