Self-Styled Musings

Hello and good afternoon.

My good friend Adam made a blog (http://surrealistblog.blogspot.com/) and I decided to follow suit. I haven't really decided what I'm going to write about but theoretically it will be amusing and distracting. For now, anyone reading this will have to make do with a ridiculous story I wrote for a college essay, but turned out to be too long:

The King and I

It was a bright morning in Andover Massachusetts, and I was excited. Today I was meeting my friends at the high school to play Frisbee. Since my father refuses to drive anyone anywhere within biking distance on days above freezing, I hopped on my red mountain bike and ventured forth. I donned my silver helmet and pulled out of the driveway, awkwardly pedaling my bike with my cleats on. As I turned the corner to Abbot Bridge (which I had to cross to get to the school), a long line of cars greeted me.

As I neared the center of the bridge, I was startled to find that two young women were the cause of the traffic jam. Perhaps 25 years of age and both bleached blond, they had left their silver convertible running in the middle of the street. To my utter astonishment, they had left their car in order to coax an enormous snapping turtle from the road. They were calling to it as if it was a dog, but fearing for their lives would venture no closer. One of them turned to me and asked, “Could you help?”, then promptly thanked me, and drove off. Now left with the company of the turtle, I felt the gaze of a hundred eyes upon me, waiting to see my next move.

I circled the enormous beast as a hunter circles its prey, seeking an opportunity. The turtle watched me wistfully from the black pools that were his eyes. I shuddered as I imagined the awesome strength of those monster jaws. Its mottled shell dulled from years of battle shone in the sun. I began to perspire under my helmet; a trickle of sweat ran down my forehead. Time stood still. I realized I must get this turtle off the bridge. But the beast was immovable, the size of myself, and thickly armored. He was angry too; I could sense it, frustrated and trapped in a world he did not understand. In a flash, I knew what needed to be done.

I slipped off my helmet as the honking dulled to a roar, deadened by the sound of my beating heart. My cleats made a clicking noise as I approached the snapping turtle. I began to tap the guardrail of the bridge with my silver helmet, first softly, then as I walked closer, progressively louder. I was five feet from the animal when the clattering crescendo grew too much. The beast charged!

My eyes narrowed, the turtle approached at its top speed of about 2. I thought I could feel the ground shaking as it approached. I resumed banging as I backed up. I stared into its eyes, willing it to follow, trying to replace its fear with anger. One step, then two, the yellow line of the road slowly passed under our feet. Man and beast locked in a frantic dance. The path to the river was close; I could feel the mist of the water at the back of my neck. I felt gravel crunch under my feet and realized I had left the road. I paused and waited. Nothing. I could only see the wall of the bridge. I was shocked. I had failed, the turtle had given up. My heart sunk.

Suddenly a head, a neck, tentative at first then relaxed the turtle emerged from the bridge, off the road onto the path. I backed reverently out the river king’s way. Watching his slow descent into the river. Above us, cars began to move again, harmony returned. The majestic animal stepped into his domain, and for a moment seemed to turn and looked back at me. Ours eyes met for what would be the last time. His gaze seemed to say “Well done, young one, well done.” At once, he was gone; I looked at the water for a long time. Then as quietly as he, I left that place, only to return in dream.