Snap Decision

a short story

Photo by J Yeo on Unsplash

Ma barged through the door, promising astonishment, yelling over Saturday cartoons, demanding we stop being couch potatoes, willing us into motion like a fanatic aircraft marshaller—little Ty and I side-eyed each other, both of us young and weary of grandeur, two bodies, one mind: fifteen minutes ’til our favorite show?…why not see what the fuss is about… 

She giddily golf clapped as we slid off the couch, Get your shoes and get in the car!—we blinked in the sun and wondered what had her so worked up—the prickle of her latest effervescence always displeased me, like a stubborn hair in my mouth—we got in the car, It came back!, her knees bounced with adolescent glee, she threw it in drive, drove for thirty seconds and stopped, our little road was gridlocked, a dozen cars flashing hazards—Ma put it in park and leaned over grabbing a bushel of carrots from the passenger glove compartment, I recoiled as tepid carrot water dripped on my thigh. 

Ma’s knees clicked as she walked, the carrots book-like in her armpit; little Ty and I jogged to keep up—there was a crowd encircling something on the road, we heard laughter and guffaws, we saw our neighbors nursing cheap beers—Ma reached the circle and forced some space, she turned, flashing her toothy Cheshire and signaled us like taxis.

In the road was a massive snapping turtle, feisty and ancient, on guard with a wrinkly neck stretched to an absurd maximum, its mouth dumbly open, boasting a wormy tongue and hooked beak, eyes fixed on nothing—Sam, our day buzzed neighbor, nodded at me, he held a limp hotdog and approached the turtle, he got on his haunches and wriggled it near the turtle’s beak, ooh la la!—the turtle snapped down, the crowd hollered, hoisting their beers in a toast, Sam skittered back giggling. 

The turtle stood valiantly, smooshed strands of pig bits festooning its maw with pinkish stubble; a camera flashed, a car honked, the crowd flipped ‘em off, jeering in unison—Ma gave us each a slimy carrot and pushed us forward, Look at my little gladiators!—the crowed wooed and chanted Billy and Ty! Billy and Ty! Billy and Ty!—

We were too young to have watches, but when I looked at little Ty, the sadness on his face told me we were missing our cartoon.

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