The First

There it was - the first of its kind. Lonnie had told me it wouldn’t work but I knew it would. “This is going to be big,” I’d told him. No one had believed me and now they were all going to be missing out. I was going to be credited with its discovery - hell, they might even name it after me! I crept silently forward, careful not to disturb the sewer water in puddles next to my feet. Thanks to a legendarily dry New York summer, the tunnels underground were easy to traverse, if you could stomach the stench. Which, if I had to put it into words, I would describe as the inside of a cockroach’s urethra. Do cockroaches even have urethrae? It doesn’t matter, that’s what the tunnels smelled like. And now that I’d been roaming for several days, it was probably what I smelled like, too. It was too late to turn back now, though; just a few more steps and my whole future would turn around. I opened the lid to the rat trap with a silent pop - it was little more than a jar with breathing holes, honestly, and certainly not worth the $26 I’d spent for it, but if it caught the little fellow, $26 would be a drop in the bucket. Just one… more… step… and BAM! I trapped the little wriggling body in the container before it even heard me coming. I let out an accidental whoop in delight and looked the thing dead in the eyes - the first ever seen winged New York rat. I knew I’d find him, ever since I first spotted him, hovering just above a trash can in Tompkins Square last April. As I peered in on him now, I saw his little gray wings flutter, unable to fully extend in the, admittedly, too small trap. His beady little eyes met mine and I felt… sympathy for him. He was so tiny he would’ve fit in my hand. Granted, he probably carried 8 diseases and radiation poisoning, not to mention whatever mutation had made him sprout the wings, but still, I had to resist the urge to unscrew the lid and scratch him between the ears. “Don’t lose your nerve now, May,” I muttered to myself. I set the trap down on the ground to snap a picture, and then texted it to Lonnie. The rat looked up at me still, with what I interpreted as both fear and curiosity. Could rats be curious? Surely. Anyone who regularly dives into New York’s sewers has at least a tiny piece of adventure in them. “Like me,” I thought. And then, out loud, “Oh, no. No, nononononono don’t do this, May! This was our shot to be something!” Even as I scolded myself, I reached down, unscrewed the lid to the trap, and tipped it sideways for the tiny furry beast to escape. I snapped one last picture as he slunk out of the container, and hesitated for a moment, sniffing the air. I gave him a wink and backed away down the tunnel. At least Lonnie would believe me. He’d have to. So, I wouldn’t be rich, or credited with the scientific discovery of the millennia. But Lonnie had bet me $50 I wouldn’t find anything, and that was enough for drinks tonight.