For the Crime of Being Small

I am spending the week with my extended family, and it leads to piling into a packed car, surrounded by relatives. Today the car ride consisted of my uncle, grandfather, aunt, mother, and two young cousins.

You can imagine the commotion when a fly was discovered in the car. The cousins began to scream, ducking as the insect zipped from row to row, much to the dismay of the adults. This was to be the entirety of the 20 minute car ride.

Until it landed on the ceiling for a moment. Amidst the adults admonishing the kids, amidst the unfettered screams, I took the book I was reading and quickly slapped the fly.

The car quieted. The cousins' mouths dropped open. "Sparrow, did you just hit that fly?" my aunt asked, watching as I carefully peeled the crumpled carcass from the ceiling.

"Yeah, she did. She's got weird fly-killing abilities," my mother responded.

A couple admiring breaths from my cousins. "That's so cool," one of them said.

I rolled down my window. "It's a curse, not a blessing."

My cousin shook his 10 year old head. "I would hit every fly if I could."

"I would hate," I said absent-mindedly, repeating a quote I have read many times online, "to be killed for the crime of being small." I dropped the fly's little body on the pavement and rolled up the window.

My cousin was silent for a moment. "But it was bothering us," he said softly.

I do not cry when killing flies that attack meals. This is the way of the world, and if they do not leave my siblings' meals alone, I will take action. But this fly was simply unfortunate enough to be locked in a car with us, and for that, faced death. I held my mother's hand and cried, hiding the tears from others.

"Oh sweetie," she whispered. "It's okay. They don't know the difference between death for touching food and death for flying in a car."

I shook my head. "But I do."

I feel silly crying for a fly. Childish, not understanding of how the world works. Not understanding that things are only unjust, only unfair in my own mind. Not understanding that things are not unfair or fair, but that they simply are. Finding dramatics in something as insignificant as a fly.

And in other moments, I keep this feeling and love it like God. This is the only truth I know. My grief in dealing the sentence shows who I am, a reluctant executioner, a mindful jury. I will weep for a creature whose only crime was being small, and I take pride in that.

I squeezed my mother's hand and she rubbed my arm. There was nothing more to say. She let me cry in silence, in respect, and it was okay.