The mud was slick and cool. It oozed into her mouth andnose. She pantedin small breaths, trying to avoid the sensation of fire in herlungs. She hadknocked the wind out of her lungs when she fell.
Night was above her, branches reached over her head, thecreek lay toher right, and her body was sinking gently in the mud. She feltanonymous.Completely anonymous. No one knew where she was. No one.Incredible. No boss,lover, friend, sister, ill-tempered brother, or sick mother. Not ateacher ora secretary or a nurse. No banker, lawyer, officer of the law,pedestrian. Nodog. No cat. No mouse. It was a great feeling.
Then she realized that a turtle was staring at her. Therewas just enoughmoonlight to see the shape of its shell and the shine of its eyes.It wasabout a foot from her face, and it seemed to be about the size ofher palm. Itdidn't run off. He gazed at her, slowly blinking his eyes as if hewere boredby the massive absurdity of her smooth, doughy face next to hissmall leatherygreen sausage face.
"Do you have salmonella?" Sheila whispered.
It lifted a leg and urinated.
"Great," Sheila said.
The mud released Sheila with the sound of wet kisses as sheslowly satup. She moved slowly so she wouldn't lose sight of the turtle orfrighten itaway. She wanted to keep it. Capture it. Keep it in a box, call itSimon, andwait for it to die of salmonella, like the tiny turtles fromWoolworth'salways did. And this was the real thing, a real crick turtle, nota punyWoolworth's turtle. She had never actually caught a real crickturtle. Andthis one was right under her nose, placid and dumb, as if it wantedto becaptured.
She needed something to carry it in. She didn't want it topee in herhand just in case it really was dying of salmonella. Buther purse was gone.She had no pockets in her pants. And she didn't care to slide Simoninto herbra. She thought for a while.
Simon would have to go in her sneaker.
Moving as slowly as she could, she maneuvered her left leguntil she wasable to pull off her left sneaker. She held it in her hand. Itwas heavywith mud. She leaned forward, reached over Simon with her otherhand, palmdown, as if blessing him, and then she hooked her fingertips overthe edges ofhis shell. He pulled his head in but he didn't fight. His shellfelt cool,wet, and angular. Sheila lifted Simon up to her face. He began tosquirm. Hisfour piddly feet wriggled. His sausage eyes blinked. Sheila sniffeddeeply.The smell of crick mud. The dirty fish-tank smell. The smell ofdomestic mudfor amphibians, dragonflies, and mosquitoes.
She lowered Simon from eye-level and proceeded to worrySimon's rear-endinto her sneaker. He vigorously pushed his legs against the wallsof thesneaker. It seemed that he didn't care for the smell of a muddysneaker. Thiswas going to be harder than she had expected.
Sheila heard footsteps behind her. Mud smuckingfootsteps. Shit, shemuttered. She held her breath and tightened her grip on Simon. Alight beambounced through the foliage. The light was followed by a voice:"Lady, whatare you doing?" She let out her breath. It was the tired,irritated voice ofa grown man, a serious, grown-up man, not one of those boys. Shewas havingtrouble hanging onto Simon, so she let the sneaker fall. The lightfell onSimon's shell, and its wet surface gleamed.
"Don't move," the man said abruptly.
"What's wrong?"
"What's that in your hand?"
"A turtle." She started to raise Simon in the air.
"DON'T MOVE!" he bellowed, sending a sonic shock wave throughSheila.She stopped moving.
The light beam bounced across the pale underside of Simon'sshell. Sheheard the man take a few steps forward, keeping the light on Simon.Sheilasquinted her eyes against the glare of the flashlight, trying tosee the formof the man, trying to make sure that she really was dealing with acop.
"Okay," The man said.
"Can I move?"
"Yes. But slowly." Sheila let out a slow breath and shecarefullylowered Simon so that she could cradle him in her lap.
"I thought your turtle was a gun, lady. What are you doing outhere?It's 2 o'clock."
Sheila raised her right hand in front of her face, tryingto shade hereyes. "Can you move that light some?" she asked. The man aimed thelight atthe ground and Sheila could see better. He was a cop. At least, hehad theoutline of one. And he was talking to her again -
"No one is supposed to be in the park after sundown, lady."
"Huh?"
"You're not supposed to be in this park."
"This isn't the park."
"Yes it is."
"It's the crick."
"The creek is part of the park."
"It is?"
"It is now. The township is cleaning it up"
"The kids hang out here."
"That's why the township is cleaning it up."
"But this has always been THE CRICK. You can't keep the kidsout. It'sthe CRICK!"
"Never mind the kids and the creek. What are you doing here?You beendrinking?"
She tilted her head and tried to make out the cop's face. Hehad asquare jaw. That was all she could see. She looked down andreturned to thebusiness of worrying Simon into her sneaker. After all, this was amuddy bankof the CRICK, and NO, she hadn't been drinking, this guy was aboutas dense asJason, and she could capture a turtle at 2 AM if she wanted, andshe couldshove the fucking turtle into her shoe if she wanted and Simon'shead bobbedin and out and his legs pumped frantically against the walls of hershoe.
"What are you doing to that turtle? the man asked.
"I'm packing it."
"Let it go, lady. I'm gonna take you down to the station."
Just her luck, Sheila thought. She was going to get arrestedfor packinga turtle. She continued to ram Simon into her shoe. The cop took afew stepstowards her and squatted. He shined the flashlight into her face.She didn'tlook at him. She looked at Simon who was finally packed into hershoe.
"Jesus, lady," the officer said, almost whining. "Whathappened to you?It looks like your head is bleeding--"
**********************************
"Could you please let go of the turtle?" Dr. Harkway, the ERdoctor,asked. His white lab coat was rumpled and too small for him. He wasbillowingout of it, like an over-yeasted cake. His dark eyes peered atSheila as if shewere from Mars and he was tired of Martians.
"Officer Denton said I could keep it."
"I don't think I can suture that cut while you're holding ontoa turtle,okay?"
"He's not going to stop you."
"The turtle smells."
"Well, you don't smell so great, either."
"I haven't been off duty in thirty hours."
"Then maybe you shouldn't be suturing my head."
He rolled his eyes and groaned.
A nurse walked over. She was about four feet tall. She wascrispy fraillike a saltine cracker. Her hair was milky yellow, and cut so shortit seemeddemolished. One eye was smaller than the other. She held aturquoise plasticbasin in her arms. There was water in the basin, making it look abit like achild's swimming pool.
"Simon goes in his pool," she said to Sheila.
The nurse had a lot of lines on her face. Fragile, river-likelines. Herskin looked like it would flake if Sheila touched it. She scaredSheila. "Allright," Sheila muttered. Sheila sat up on the stretcher and she putSimon inhis pool. He swam around in the cool water and he looked a lothappier. Sheilalay back down.
"All right. Do it," she said to Harkway. "But make sure youtell me whenthe needle is coming."
He shaved part of her scalp and washed it with a coolantiseptic. Thenhe covered her face and head with a white paper drape. Part of thepaper gotstuck to her lips. She could hear him moving things around,mutteringdirections to the nurse. He asked for lidocaine. He was breathingroughlythrough his nose. He muttered some more. Sheila gripped the sidesof thestretcher. She had never been sewn together before. It was going tohurt, sheknew it was going to hurt, damn it, stop breathing like a dragon,she knewthis was going to hurt -
She felt the jab of a needle and a hot burning sensation--
She jumped up and tried to bite Harkway.
After that, the crispy nurse was allowed to put her in fourpointleather restraints.
Sheila could hear the nurses playing with Simon. Now that hewas in aturquoise plastic pool, he was all of a sudden cute.
"My god, I haven't seen a turtle like that since I was a kid."
"We need a dead fly. He must be hungry."
"A fly? Do turtles eat flies?"
"I don't know. Maybe worms."
"No. Turtles don't eat worms!"
"I bought a turtle from Woolworth's when I was eight yearsold. It diedin two days."
"Probably had salmonella. Isn't that what turtles get?"
"Salmonella? Can you catch Salmonella from a turtle?"
The leather belts dug into her wrists and ankles when Sheilatried tomove. She was cleaned up, sewn up, and tied down. She felt likeFrankenstein.She needed to urinate. "Hey! Hey!" she called.
Sheila wrestled and writhed and yelled. It was fun towrestle and writheand yell. She had never done it before. "I want my turtle back!"she yelled."I want to urinate!" she yelled. She raised her head off thestretcher as muchas she could so she could see where the nurses were. She was aboutto let outanother yell when she saw Jason walking towards her. She collapsedback downon the stretcher and turned her head to the right as Jason's headloomed overher from the left.
"Sheila?"
"Hi."
"Are you okay?"
"Sure. I"m fine."
"You were yelling."
"Yeah."
"Sheila? Look at me."
"I'm okay. Go on home. I didn't tell them to call you."
His shadow moved. Sheila thought he had walked away. But thenhis facecame into view, like a passing moon. He had walked to the otherside of thestretcher and squatted so that his face was level with hers. Hiseyebrows weredrawn together and his lips were parted. He looked pale.
"Why did you run off like that?"
"I needed some air."
"One minute we're talking about chicken or pizza for dinner,and thenext thing I know, you're gone. I don't understand."
"I couldn't decide."
"Huh?"
"We never used to worry about eating together."
"But we were both hungry."
"Don't make me choose between chicken and pizza. It confusesme."
The harsh overhead light bounced off his dark hair. She couldsee thehidden colors in his hair, the flecks of gold, the strands thatwere a deep,gleaming purple, a few strands that looked almost pink. Hiseyebrows werestill pulled together. He looked like he was trying to figure outa chessmove.
"The doctor says you have a concussion. That's why you're, uh,confused."
"All right."
He looked away for a few seconds, as if he was trying to findsome sortof help, and then he looked back at her.
"You really scared me."
"I'm fine. You should go. I'm fine. Really."
"You could have been killed. I can't believe you went down toGordon'screek."
"I like it there."
"It's a hang out for teenagers and drunks--"
"And turtles, bull frogs, and dragon flies. Punks grow there.Did youever light the end of a punk, like it was a cigar? It keeps--"
"Sheila--"
"What?"
He closed his eyes and took a breath. He brought his facecloser tohers, pushing his forehead against the guard rail of the stretcher."They, uh,asked me to talk to you. The doctor needs to examine you. OfficerDenton iswaiting."
"There's no need. I told them that. They chased me, that'sall. I felland hit my head--"
"And you're confused--
"No. I'm fine!"
"You tried to bite that doctor."
"I had my reasons."
"You never act like this--"
"I have a temper you don't know about--"
"But what are you mad about?"
"I told you. I don't want to choose between chicken andpizza."
Jason's eyebrows were buckling with the weight of hisbewilderment.Sheila almost felt sorry for him. But she didn't. It was his fault.All of it.He came to her. He started it. Two weeks ago. Walked into her studywhile shewas working at her computer. Fell to his knees, put his head in herlap. Sodramatic. Jesus. She almost laughed. But all that beautiful hair inher lap.The comfortable weight of his head. She had put her hand in hishair. Andrealized she was trembling.
They had been doing fine. They had quietly danced around eachother likedragonflies on dry, hot summer days. Six months they had lived likethat,sharing the house and the bills and the chores. Their conversationwas politeand intelligent, a bit hushed and awkward, but not a big deal.Things werefine, just fine. Best housemate she ever had. Until Jason decidedto wanderinto her study.
Jason stood up and looked away, shoved his hands in hispockets,shuffled his feet.
"Should I call your mother or something, Sheila? I'm not surewhat--"
"No, godammit!" she yelled. "I'm ALL RIGHT."
"All right, all right--take it easy--"
"Please go. I'll take a cab home or something."
"I'll wait for you--"
"Don't wait for me!"
"No. I'll wait. But, uh, I'm going to go sit for a while.I'll, uh, beback."
Damn him, she thought. Damn him.
She loved the way his hair swayed in front of her face when heleanedover her. She loved the hidden colors in his hair. She loved thepeculiarintensity of his eyes, the small electrified pools of water peeringat her.She loved the way his mouth twisted into a strange, tight coil whenhe wasupset, like a turtle, like Simon--
Where was Simon? What had happened to Simon?
She decided to yell some more. "Where's Simon?!" she yelled."Where's myfucking turtle!"
The saltine nurse suddenly loomed over her. Sheila shut up.The nursesmiled gently with a little quiver of her lip. She held an emeraldliquid in asmall plastic cup.
"What's that?" Sheila asked.
"Dr. Harkway wants you to relax."
"He's not going to examine me."
"He wants you to stop yelling about turtles. He has aheadache."
"Oh."
The nurse held the little cup to Sheila's lips and let theliquid oozeinto her mouth. The green liquid burned as it went down. It burnedlike greendragons. The nurse walked away and Sheila closed her eyes.
Some time passed. She dozed. She wasn't sure how long.Jason's head wasover her again. He was asking her about the boys. He wanted to knowexactlywhat happened. Exactly -
"Wasn't a big deal," Sheila said. "They didn't hurt me.They chased me."
"Four of them," she said. Her mind felt wavy like hot air in anopenfield. "They were like angels," she said. "Heated up angels."
Jason turned his head, slowly and with repetitions, like animage seenthrough the turning spokes if a bicycle wheel. "What did you giveher?" heasked someone.
"Just a little vistoril. She'll be fine," a voice answered.
Jason looked back down at her. The many colors in his hairjostled infront of her face, flinging into tiny explosions like light wormsafter aflashbulb.
"Did they hurt you?" he asked.
"They couldn't catch me," Sheila said, watching the storm. "Iran."
"You ran?"
"Yeah. I ran. You know how I can run. They couldn't catch me."
"How did you get cut?"
"I fell. By the crick. A branch got me. BING! Like that. Itore open."
She twisted, leisurely, in the restraints. She was in a soft,flakysnowstorm. The branch had BING! made the hole, and now the worldwas drying upand silently billowing away. She dozed off again for a few minutes.When shewoke up, Jason's face was gone from over her head, but she couldhear him,vaguely, talking to a nurse or a doctor.
She didn't see them at first. The boys. They were standing bythecrumbling brick wall of the old bridge--the little one that cutthrough therotting, smelly meadow which was now, apparently, a park. The boysseemed tobe between thirteen and fourteen, and they were drinking from cans,sullenly,methodically, periodically laughing with low grunts. They werechildren, butthey seemed ancient.
"Hey, baby," one said, as Sheila passed, walking quickly, onher way tothe crick.
She should have ignored him. She knew that. Like she alwaysdid. Likeshe had been taught to do. Ignore the sneerers and mutterers andones who blewkisses from cars or bothered her at bus stops. But the energy ofher abruptflight had distorted her thinking and her fury at the boys wassuddenly blindand amorphous and pulled tight like a wire. She stopped short andstared fullface at the speaker: He had pimples and watery blue eyes.
"Don't call me baby you dim shit."
His watery blue eyes blinked for a few seconds with surprise.One of theothers--a boy with a round face and dark, greasy hair, laughed. Theother twosmirked. She turned, glared at the group of them, and then walkedquicklyaway.
A few seconds passed. Silence. Then she heard the footstepsbehind her.Breathless laughing. "Bitch," one muttered. They were close. Theywere runninghard.
But she had always been good at running. So she ran from theboys. Theswarm of adolescent testosterone. It was almost a joke. She lostthem in aminute. But then she was suddenly running too fast to ever stop,she wasrunning in a dark mass of foliage that was upon her like a sudden,inexplicable jungle, brisk things snapping in her face, vinesgrabbing herankles, thorns slicing her arms--she tore through the stuff untilone branchcaught on her scalp like a dagger, held it a split second and BINGreleasedit, tearing the flesh of her scalp open. She then exploded throughthe foliageand slid down a muddy bank, right to the rim of the crick, right tothe benignface of a turtle.
"Where's Simon?" she called, softly this time. She shiftedher wrist andankles in the restraints. The hospital gown slipped from hershoulder. Shefelt a bit of cool air against her breast.
Jason was back. He was leaning over her, frowning.
"Who is Simon, Sheila?"
"He's the turtle," she whined. "The nurses have him. I wanthim back."
"A turtle?"
"He's my turtle, I want him back."
Jason blew out a puff of air. "Sheila, why did you run off?And don'ttalk about chicken and pizza."
She bit her lower lip and glared at him. The sharpness of histonejarred her. She was alert now. The medication had worn off.
"I, uh. I, uh. I want you to leave my plants alone," she said.
"Huh?"
"Stop watering my plants, okay?"
"But they'll die!"
"Let them die. And stop opening my mail."
"I don't open your mail! I throw out the junk mail!"
"And, and--"
"What? What?"
"I want to leave."
His mouth opened.
"I think I want to leave. You're swallowing me up. I don'tlike it."
"What do you mean I'm swallowing you up? We've been sohappy--"
"You're happy, damn it. I don't know what I am."
Her heart was hammering against her chest. She didn't likemaking itclear just how much he affected her, affected her mind, her energy,heremotions, tears, laughter, sighs, and yawns. He wasn't like theothers, theones who had been like Simon, the ones who were a comfort for awhile,company, a voice in the hallway. But Jason's voice held her, andhis eyes heldher, and the many colors in his hair held her, and she didn't likeit--it madeher restless, crazy. It was an awful, awful place to be, especiallyforsomeone like her, someone who knew how to run.
"Please," she said. "I have to see that I can leave."
"But it's your place--"
"Not any more, damn it!"
"Do you want me to leave? Is that it? I'll go, if that's whatyou want--"
"Oh, jesus. Jesus." She pulled against the restraints. Shewanted to hithim. "You can't wander into my room and land your head in my lapand then ask me to chosebetween chicken and pizza and then tell me you'll leave if that'swhat I want--"
"But look at you. If I upset you this much, then maybe it wasall a mistake--"
"Shut UP!" she said. "SHUT UP!"
He shut up. He stepped back and looked down at her. Shewatched as his face relaxedand a faint smile crossed his lips. Damn him, she thought. Damn himto hell. He was gettingit. He was looking at her lying on her back, tied to a stretcher,her hair still bloody,stitches in her scalp, a twisted sheet over her legs, and ahospital gown that was slippingoff her shoulders. He was seeing her. Maybe for the first time.Bloody, torn, and tied up. Astrand of hair fell across his face and knocked gently against hisupper lip. She watchedthe strand bouncing off the lip like the pendulum of a clock. Sheswallowed.
He moved forward, close to the stretcher again. He touchedher shoulder.
"I don't want you to leave, Sheila," he said. "Or, I don'twant to leave--"
"It doesn't matter that much to you."
"Of course it matters to me." He gently touched the cloth ofher hospital gown, thepart that was slipping off her shoulder. But instead of pulling itup, he slowly pulled itdown, exposing part of her breast.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm nuts about you. You know that."
"Stop it, Jason."
"We'll get married."
"I don't WANT to get married."
"We'll have babies."
She moaned. "I Don't WANT to have babies!"
He brought his hand up, gently, to the side of her face. Shetwisted in therestraints.
"Stop it," she said. "Please."
He leaned down and kissed her ear. His hair fell into herface. He pulled thehospital gown down with a deliberate tug and slowly cupped a handover her left breast. Hislips were parted, his face was pale, and his eyes were glassy.
Jesus, she thought. He likes the restraints. He looks likehe's just been struck byGod.
Sheila wet her lips and swallowed. The fluorescent lightglowed more fiercely, andJason's hair became wisps of tremulous colors and Sheila thought well, maybe God HAD struckhim. Perhaps both of them.
"The turtle," she said, hoarsely. "I want my turtle."
"Okay," he whispered.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"Pull the curtains."
He stepped away from her, and pulled the curtains. That done,he examined the latchon the side rail of the stretcher. His hair dangled over her mouth,and then his mouth wason her neck and his chest over hers, and then she felt a knee, andJesus, he really wasclimbing onto her, he really was, the stretcher was beginning toslide--
And then the curtain flung open, a shadow fell over them, andthey both stiffened.
"Oh, for crying out loud," she heard Officer Denton say.
The cracked nurse came back. She clutched a syringe in herhand. There were morelines in her face than ever. Sheila stared and stared at her face,trying to understand allthe lines, until the nurse suddenly got mad at her.
"Your behavior is very bad," the nurse said.
"Excuse me?" Sheila asked. She shifted her weight off herright buttock. She wasstill in the restraints.
"You're very bad. Very, very bad," the nurse said.
"Don't say that. Please. You're making me sad."
"You're unbelievably bad."
"Where's Jason?"
"The policeman has him."
"Why?"
"Jason is very very VERY bad."
"I want my turtle. Jason promised he'd get my turtle!"
"I'm going to kill your turtle. I'm going to make him swim inbetadine. Kill all thesalmonella. Make him a clean, dead, turtle."
Sheila looked at the nurse's face. It was turning very red.The lines were becomingetched cracks. Her neck was twitching. Sheila felt concerned forher. She frowned and bither lip.
"Is that for me?"
"What?"
"That? The needle. Dr. Harkway said I had to get a tetanusshot."
The nurse suddenly shook herself a bit, like a bird settlingon a branch. The rednessdrained from her face. She looked around. She looked at her handholding the tetanus shot.She smiled.
"Just tell me when you're going to do it," Sheila said.
"Yes, of course," the nurse said. "Here it comes."
Sheila made a face as the dart entered her arm. The nursepushed the plunger, andthen pulled the syringe out. Her face was triumphant. She nodded atSheila and then walkedquickly away.
Dr. Harkway agreed to release Sheila from the four pointrestraints. Officer Dentonleft. No one cared about examining her anymore. They all said shecould go home.
Jason was in the waiting area. He sat in an orange plasticchair with metal legs. Hislegs were stretched out in front of him. He held the green plasticbasin in his lap. Helooked uncomfortable. He sat up, still holding the basin, when hesaw Sheila walking towardshim. He smiled.
She walked up to him and looked into the basin. Simon lookedup at her with hissausage eyes. His expression was one of benign pain.
"Let's go," she said.
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