Turtle Story

He took her on a vacation to Charlotte.  She was happy; this was the first time he had shown an active movement toward the evolution of their relationship.  He smiled when she accepted and they left Ohio on the seven-hour car ride.

            Before they left, she told him that she wanted to help drive.  He told her no and that she should navigate.  She said that was fine.  Truly, he wanted her to stick to reading the map because he hated her driving, but if he said that she would have sulked and made the whole trip miserable.

            After several hours on the road, they were close to the Virginia border.  He was quiet; she made conversation in between playing with the dials on the radio and sleeping.

            “Hun,” he said, “where do we go next?”

            She smiled and pulled out the atlas that they purchased from Wal-Mart a week before.  She had the option to pay full price for this year’s edition or half price for last year’s version and as best as she could tell it was the same.  When she bought the old one and brought it home, he laughed and said, “an atlas is an atlas, isn’t it?”

            “Take Route 20 just over the state line.”

            He considered this for a moment, and then nodded.  It was a good thing that he asked because the state line was only two miles away.  “Are you sure?”

            She looked at him with the ‘do you think I’m an idiot’ look and answered, “Yes.”

            He nodded again and took the exit.

            The road had not been paved in a while and had several rough spots, even in August.  At the bottom of the exit ramp was a service station and beyond that the road twisted around the base of a mountain.  He politely asked if she wanted to stop and she said no.  He started around the bend and the road immediately became narrow.  The car hugged the white line that separated it from the soft earthen shoulder.  The road took him up, toward where the mountain shook hands with the clouds.  He looked at her, his right eye squinted, and they continued to wind and climb up the side of the mountain.  The speed limit was fifty-five, though the car seemed to hazardly slip through the turns at half that velocity.

            She seemed uneasy about the twisting pavement and opened the atlas again.  He looked over at her, then at the road that narrowed down to what seemed like one lane.  She dropped the atlas down from in front of her eyes and yelled, “Stop!”

            He slammed on the brakes.  The car came to a halt a few feet short of what looked like a large rock in the road.  The car dragged over the road like a small child who fell off a bicycle.

            “What is that?” he asked.

            “I’m – I’m not sure.”

            He worked to catch his breath and she reached for the door handle.  She opened the door and stepped out, walking quietly toward the obstacle.  She bent down and picked it up.  He expected her to toss it to the side of the road.  But she did not.  She walked, carrying the thing toward the car and as she did she held it up.

            “You had me slam on my brakes for a turtle?”

            She ducked her head inside and set it on the dashboard.  “Yeah.”

            “Get that thing out of here.”

            “It’s cute.”

            “No, and don’t they carry germs?  Salmonella or something?”

            The two of them watched as the turtle scraped its feet, pulling itself methodically across the passenger’s side of the car’s dash.

            “What are you going to do with that thing?” he asked.

            She shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know, keep it?”

            “Where are you going to put it?”

            She leaned over the center console and reached into the backseat, searching for something.  He shook his head and watched as the turtle plodded toward him.  She slipped back against her seat and had an empty shoebox in her hands, the contents of which were dumped on the seat.  She opened the door and went over to the side of the road, grabbing a handful of grass and ripping it up.  She walked back, dropped the grass into the box, lifted the turtle by the sides of its shell and placed it into the box.

            He watched as the turtle cocked its head and looked around, sizing up its new environment.  It seemed content to sit still and do nothing.

            “We can’t just keep that thing.”

            “Why not?”

            “For one thing, the hotel doesn’t allow pets.”

            He laughed but she did not seem to appreciate his humor.

            “We just won’t tell them.”

            He laid his head against the rest and rubbed his eyes.  “Ok, whatever.  Are we going the right way?”

            She seemed not to hear him.

            “Are we?”

            “What?”

            He took the map from her.  She focused on the turtle’s minimal movement.  “Do you think he’s ever been in a box before?”  She did not raise her head when she asked, and her voice sounded concerned, like a mother who watched her child with a steady eye.

            “No.”

            She looked up from the box and watched his eyes search the atlas.  When he said, “No,” she believed him.  He sighed loudly and snapped the atlas shut.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “When I asked you what the next direction was, you told me to get off at Route 20.”

            “Yeah, and?”

            “Route 20 was right, but the state was wrong.  We’re in Virginia not North Carolina!”

            She took a deep breath.  “Oh.”

            He jammed the car into reverse and turned around, careful not to hit the guardrail or go off the road.  They rode silently down the mountain.  He stared directly ahead and she watched the turtle.  When the car rounded the final bend before the service station, he swerved off the road and put the car into park.

            “Get rid of it.”

            She looked at him and shook her head.

            “You don’t even know what it eats.  Just put it back so we don’t have to worry about it.”

            She could feel her face getting red.  “The turtle didn’t get us lost, I did.  Leave him out of it.”

            He stared at her, sighed, and rubbed his temples.  She looked at the box, reached her hand over and opened the door.  She walked the turtle and its box down a slight embankment and placed the box on its side.  At first, she didn’t think the turtle would leave, but finally it scraped its clawed feet on the cardboard and wandered out, inching toward a small stream a few feet away.

He came up behind her, placing his right arm around her shoulder and carefully kissed her cheek.  They watched the turtle as it picked up speed and waded into the shallow water where it carelessly swam away.

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    Ed Buchanan writes fiction and one-act plays that often blend comedy and
tragedy. Ed's play "Graveyard Shift" was the 2008 University of Akron
Theater Guild's contest winner and was fully produced. Ed loves writing and
teaches at The University of Akron.

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