It started like any other evening with Emily bringing me tea. Cold with lemon, and just the right sweet, she handed it to me landing a kiss. She glanced at my blank notebook and yellow pencil silent on the page, questioning nothing.
She’d replaced the Bermuda two months ago with Buffalo grass, it bordered on a wilderness that we both tended to like at times, and so I questioned her, “Em, don’t you just love all this green?”
Pausing after refilling her jelly jar, she looked around, “Yes, I suppose it isn’t really what I’d intended, but at least it is that.” She frowned looking down in her glass-“It’s that old half empty half full routine. I can and will go drink, but when I get there, all I can think about is another refill.”
Her eyes pierced and she knew; she knew it was true and that for years I’d been thinking the same things: about grass, about life and most importantly, us. We’d done pretty well I thought. We raised three kids who weren’t behind bars and actually supported themselves. We followed our own paths while supporting each other’s. Her music and my writings hung there magically fulfilling artistic need. And loathed to admit it, our joke about not having enough lawn to plant the other on was a half-truth. We were rich in life, but our life was small, only enough to mow and not quite enough to put a dog on. A peach tree in the corner of the yard, the mailbox, and the porch on which we sat offered our only shade. The sun was warm, the light breeze cooling oddly embraced. Looking out she mentioned them first.
“Hey, look at that, we have company.”
I followed her line of sight and at the end saw a box turtle slowly crawling its way forward in our direction. Her grin proved infectious; we enjoyed nature and here it was making its presence known. My grin was instantly replaced by a question knotting my brow. “Hey, I wonder what the other wants?” From out of an adjacent field another turtle popped out catching our attention. “What the…” her voice trailed.
Quietly we watched as a few, then perpetual growing numbers of turtle’ crawl into our yard. In my head, I tried to remember if this was one of the Biblical plagues and I asked her, “Do you think we're both just dreaming? The turtles piled up I mean?”
We watched uncomfortably even though the turtles, at present, contented themselves upon the green, they were a less than khaki view. We kept shooting looks at each new arrival. Finally she gave up and reached for the phone. “C'mon c’mon, pick up,” I heard Em say after several minutes. “Blast it!” she exclaimed as a mosquito voiced, “You have reached the Department of Animal Control, if this is not an emergency, stay on the line, if it is call 911." None stop ringing ensued, hanging up, she called information. “C'mon, don't you have another number?”
“No, nothing other than 911 or that 311, extension 2 for animals.
She hit it and held a long time.
We later thought how amazing the number of creatures actually accrued while we sat, stars rising. Several dozen perhaps? We sat waiting.
A voice answers tired, “Yes, what is it?”
“It's that we have turtles. They're all over the lawn.”
“Where would you want turtles to be?” queried the voice.
“But you don't understand,” Emily persisted, “There are dozens and dozens and they keep coming.”
“Look Lady, they're turtles and not going to hurt a thing,”
“Yes, I suppose you are right, but can't you do something? There are so many,”
“I image they'll leave when they're ready,” the voice said flatly, “The best I can do is send someone around when they are in the area.”
“Fine and thanks,” Emily said between tightened eyes, and to me said, “You know, so much of what we do- we were never forced to do, but don't you think, maybe, it's all been worth it?”
“But what about them Em, the kids I mean, don't you think they should know?”
She stiffened her back a bit, and stood. After returning from filling the pitcher, and turning on the porch light she filled both of our glasses. “Lemon.” she asked, though knew the answer.
“What is it? I asked her pulling my chair closer. “What is it about a green lawn that does it?”
She looked with me to the little green left. Piles of turtles had filled in what was ours and started piling on top of each other. Still the walkway, remarkably, was clear for any one wishing to use it. I reached down over the rail, picking up an intruder. “What do you want?” I wavered, “Can't you let us alone?”
The face was expressionless as expected. Gray browns and yellows spotted the animal geometrically. It pawed at the air frantically after its initial retreat and not wanting to unduly alarm the creature, I placed it back near the area I'd retrieved it from.
We sat for what must have been hours. Darkness filled the air. The turtles were still gathering. We knew they were, even if we couldn't see them; the occasional scraping of shells, the smell, and their breathing felt.
Reaching over Emily took my hand. “We'll be fine. Some day understanding might not seem as important as it does right now. Why worry the kids? That we're together, at least a little longer, that's what counts.”
She got up and sat in my lap, bringing her kisses. I cried then, lost in my grief, holding her tight, a babe in the woods. I eventually wore down. A cricket stirred in the dark.
“Come on then-” she said.
My mind told itself to shut down. “But...” I said, peering into the night.
“No, no time for that, come on then.”
Helping me to my feet, Em stared into the darkness. “We'll deal with this like everything else, one day at a time.”
Taking me inside, she turned out the light. I knew then, that in the morning they'd be gone.
She’d replaced the Bermuda two months ago with Buffalo grass, it bordered on a wilderness that we both tended to like at times, and so I questioned her, “Em, don’t you just love all this green?”
Pausing after refilling her jelly jar, she looked around, “Yes, I suppose it isn’t really what I’d intended, but at least it is that.” She frowned looking down in her glass-“It’s that old half empty half full routine. I can and will go drink, but when I get there, all I can think about is another refill.”
Her eyes pierced and she knew; she knew it was true and that for years I’d been thinking the same things: about grass, about life and most importantly, us. We’d done pretty well I thought. We raised three kids who weren’t behind bars and actually supported themselves. We followed our own paths while supporting each other’s. Her music and my writings hung there magically fulfilling artistic need. And loathed to admit it, our joke about not having enough lawn to plant the other on was a half-truth. We were rich in life, but our life was small, only enough to mow and not quite enough to put a dog on. A peach tree in the corner of the yard, the mailbox, and the porch on which we sat offered our only shade. The sun was warm, the light breeze cooling oddly embraced. Looking out she mentioned them first.
“Hey, look at that, we have company.”
I followed her line of sight and at the end saw a box turtle slowly crawling its way forward in our direction. Her grin proved infectious; we enjoyed nature and here it was making its presence known. My grin was instantly replaced by a question knotting my brow. “Hey, I wonder what the other wants?” From out of an adjacent field another turtle popped out catching our attention. “What the…” her voice trailed.
Quietly we watched as a few, then perpetual growing numbers of turtle’ crawl into our yard. In my head, I tried to remember if this was one of the Biblical plagues and I asked her, “Do you think we're both just dreaming? The turtles piled up I mean?”
We watched uncomfortably even though the turtles, at present, contented themselves upon the green, they were a less than khaki view. We kept shooting looks at each new arrival. Finally she gave up and reached for the phone. “C'mon c’mon, pick up,” I heard Em say after several minutes. “Blast it!” she exclaimed as a mosquito voiced, “You have reached the Department of Animal Control, if this is not an emergency, stay on the line, if it is call 911." None stop ringing ensued, hanging up, she called information. “C'mon, don't you have another number?”
“No, nothing other than 911 or that 311, extension 2 for animals.
She hit it and held a long time.
We later thought how amazing the number of creatures actually accrued while we sat, stars rising. Several dozen perhaps? We sat waiting.
A voice answers tired, “Yes, what is it?”
“It's that we have turtles. They're all over the lawn.”
“Where would you want turtles to be?” queried the voice.
“But you don't understand,” Emily persisted, “There are dozens and dozens and they keep coming.”
“Look Lady, they're turtles and not going to hurt a thing,”
“Yes, I suppose you are right, but can't you do something? There are so many,”
“I image they'll leave when they're ready,” the voice said flatly, “The best I can do is send someone around when they are in the area.”
“Fine and thanks,” Emily said between tightened eyes, and to me said, “You know, so much of what we do- we were never forced to do, but don't you think, maybe, it's all been worth it?”
“But what about them Em, the kids I mean, don't you think they should know?”
She stiffened her back a bit, and stood. After returning from filling the pitcher, and turning on the porch light she filled both of our glasses. “Lemon.” she asked, though knew the answer.
“What is it? I asked her pulling my chair closer. “What is it about a green lawn that does it?”
She looked with me to the little green left. Piles of turtles had filled in what was ours and started piling on top of each other. Still the walkway, remarkably, was clear for any one wishing to use it. I reached down over the rail, picking up an intruder. “What do you want?” I wavered, “Can't you let us alone?”
The face was expressionless as expected. Gray browns and yellows spotted the animal geometrically. It pawed at the air frantically after its initial retreat and not wanting to unduly alarm the creature, I placed it back near the area I'd retrieved it from.
We sat for what must have been hours. Darkness filled the air. The turtles were still gathering. We knew they were, even if we couldn't see them; the occasional scraping of shells, the smell, and their breathing felt.
Reaching over Emily took my hand. “We'll be fine. Some day understanding might not seem as important as it does right now. Why worry the kids? That we're together, at least a little longer, that's what counts.”
She got up and sat in my lap, bringing her kisses. I cried then, lost in my grief, holding her tight, a babe in the woods. I eventually wore down. A cricket stirred in the dark.
“Come on then-” she said.
My mind told itself to shut down. “But...” I said, peering into the night.
“No, no time for that, come on then.”
Helping me to my feet, Em stared into the darkness. “We'll deal with this like everything else, one day at a time.”
Taking me inside, she turned out the light. I knew then, that in the morning they'd be gone.
1 comment:
I liked this one & will keep reading. Thanks for listing Authentic Writing Stories.
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