Ezra and I are in his bedroom watching Bob try to right himself in his tank. This has me pondering some pretty deep concepts. I need some space in order to process my thoughts better…and maybe some tea.
My choice of action here is not what most people think of as normal for a twelve-year-old kid, but the thoughts that need the deeper pondering are a little overwhelming, and I ponder better with tea.
Bob is the box turtle I won at the fair last week tossing rings around pegs. I must be pretty good at it, or more likely, given my lack of athletic prowess, the fair folk were just eager to unload an unpopular prize before it died.
I had depleted my monetary assets on my new cowboy hat as tradition dictates – a new one every year at fair time. The expenditure left me with no funds for Ezra’s birthday present. After some quick thinking I taped a Christmas bow on Bob’s shell and sang “I had a little turtle, and Toby was his name…” It should be noted here that I did not know for a fact that Toby was his name, or that he was a “he” for that matter. These were merely assumptions on my part.
My brother was pleased, and as god of Toby’s new universe, Ezra felt it his right to rename the little guy, and proceeded to exercise his holy god-ness. I’m sure Ezra didn’t know the turtle’s gender either, but “Bob” suited the creature and was an appropriate male name in Ezra’s ordered mind. So, Toby became Bob. Turns out, Bob is very Bob-like…short, strong, solid… dare I say slow? Not every Bob is slow, I know, but every Bob I know, is slow, so…
This morning Bob lands on his back after failing to negotiate sure footing while climbing his private Mount Everest, the resin rock in his tank. His tiny clawed feet at the end of his stubby legs slowly paddle the air. As god of Bob’s glass enclosed universe, Ezra reaches in and using only his fingertips, returns the little guy to the upright position, thereby granting Bob a longer life I’m sure, because turtles die if left on their back too long, right?
This is what started my serious pondering. I am sure that Ezra’s well-intentioned actions, regardless of his god-of-the-tank status, fall into the category of messing with Bob’s destiny. What if Bob is supposed to die today? As Dad always says, “Each of us has an expiration date, it’s just not printed on our neck like it is on a ketchup bottle. When your day comes, there’s not a thing you can do to escape it, so just sit back and enjoy the trip.” Even gods have to respect destiny, Ezra included, right?
I know I don’t want to mess with mother nature or father god, but Ezra doesn’t always share my cautious proclivities. Would his actions short-circuit mother nature/big father-god and reorder the universe’s timeline causing this hard shell to continue a life path he was technically not entitled to? Or…is changing a person’s/turtle’s life course just an already-dictated detour of that person/turtle’s manifest destiny? What if it’s all in the plan? Like I said, serious pondering was in order.
My mind pulls on the emergency brake and I veer hard right full throttle into my own detour, planned or otherwise… the path often traveled, where my mind races itself in circles. Deep questions emerge. Does the turtle know he is wavering on the brink of crossing over the infamous rainbow bridge to the great reptile tank in the sky? What is turtle heaven like? Is there a turtle hell? And what could Bob have ever done to warrant such damnation? Is there another level to go through before… before what?
Just like that I entered the next level of progressive self replicating thought formations, aka The Rabbit Hole that is my mind. Suddenly I am of the age that contemplates what’s next, what am I here for, and what are the ramifications of our life choices… All this deep thinking makes me want to run back to Ezra’s room, to reach in and undo Ezra’s misplaced act of kindness, return Bob to his back and to his true destiny, to just let nature take its course. But undoing Ezra’s actions are not my responsibility, not my call, not my turtle since I gave Bob to Ezra. My head spins as I run from the room. The day’s first trip to my private land of angst begins with my new mission– find answers to life’s hard questions. And a cup of tea.
My life is filled with missions, some big, most not so much. While this one falls into the latter category it feels like it was leading me on a quest for knowledge I may need in later years; it deserves my undivided focus.
I dunk the tea bag (licorice-flavor, my favorite) for the seventh and final time (I am a creature of personal rituals). I pull it from my favorite mug (the Laurel Birch one with sphinx-like cats on it, also part of the ritual) and almost miss it. I almost miss what might be the most important message the universe has ever tried to send me. It is there on the counter flittering in the invisible breeze coming through the kitchen window, screaming silently from the tea bag label…like the missive from a fortune cookie. When did they start putting messages on tea bag strings? No matter, there it is…
“Make the right choices, reap the benefits of your wisdom.”
Definitely a sign… but what are my choices? How do I know they are right, and how do they relate to tea – hot? iced? lemon? sugar? milk? Wait! Is this even about tea? Is it somehow related to Bob and his destiny?
I know my wisdom is too limited, too unproven to discern the true meanings buried just beneath the surface of cognition. I often need help. Today, I need to use my lifeline, so I lift the beige dinosaur from his beige plastic nest on the counter next to the bread box, and punch in speed dial number 2, because number 1 is reserved for “real emergencies…” like this isn’t a real emergency… I mean, my future sanity, my future success and ability to reap benefits is teetering on the precipice.
Then, Dad’s voice. Yes, but not dad.
“Can’t get to this retched device. It rules my life most of the time, but by god, not right now. Rest assured I will be back in gear, subjugating myself to modern technology before the next dawn, and that is when I will return your call. Meanwhile, picture me standing in my garden while you wait for it…the sound that rules our lives. Brace yourself, it is as obnoxious as hell.”
B-E-E-E-E-E-P.
I hang up. He is not in his office at his desk, and I do not want to leave a message. I cannot wait till he gets “back in gear.” I want an answer… no, I need an answer now, because, as the fraught tweener I am, I live in the NOW; my crisis is NOW. Which makes the next step obvious. If he is not at work, I will have to assault him in his happy place. Next stop, canyon land.
I grab the giant plastic glass of iced tea sitting on the kitchen counter. Obviously he prepared it for travel but forgot it in his haste to escape to his sanctuary, his happy place that lies continents away in the world below. I will offer up the tea, now sporting half-melted ice cubes, as a token of good will to the other god in our family.
Juggling some, I push the heavy glass patio door open and step out. The dogs think I have come out to play with them, and normally this would be true, but as I have embarked on a mission that cannot wait, I proceed barefoot past them and across the gray patio concrete, all the while thinking to myself, “Why didn’t I wear my goddammit shoes?”
In the short 10 feet before the patio gives way to stubbly grass, I manage to gather stones, tiny sharp ones that have been sprayed there by the dogs whilst digging for bones or chasing nonexistent beasties into the ground surrounding the patio. Recognizing an easy target, the bastards embed themselves into my tender foot-skin… the pebbles, not the dogs or beasties. I make my way the short distance to the patio edge and brush them off. Again, the pebbles, not the dogs or beasties.
I advance into the stubbly grass, yellowish and stiff, oddly like the Mohawk on Ezra’s partially shaved head. Somehow the stubbly stuff is worse than the pebbles. Can’t brush it off, just have to keep moving on to the next obstacle, a short strip redwood bark chunks now grayed out by the relentless SoCal sun. Not sharp or stubbly, but one must remain alert and pick a path carefully as the chunks are not flat, and rolling an ankle is not out of the realm of possibility (again noting my lack of athletic prowess.)
Finally, only the lower steps lie between me and the man with the answers, the god of canyon land, Dad. His visage shimmers in the heat, probably something to do with hot air molecules… I’m not sure, and I am not prepared to tackle two life-altering questions at one time. I only need the answer to my urgent question, the one for which I have launched this mission. My urgent question… urgent question was…
“Holy crap, no!” Dodging pebbles, pups, plants, and turned ankles has drawn my focus down yet another rabbit hole. I lost focus just long enough to lose my grip on the issue. Now I have to retrace my journey mentally since I am not at all willing to make the physical trip again. What is the urgent question that brings me to this place at this time? Back, back, try to remember…
The universe raised her head and spoke to me through the label on a licorice tea bag, declaring that somehow I can make wise choices and thereby reap benefits. But somewhere along the way, has this epiphany morphed into something entirely different here in the canyon land nether regions of Dad’s happy place?
Looking down at my bare feet I experience sensory overload. I see it all pass before my cinematic brain screen and I have to grab onto something, anything, to steady myself, to regain my equilibrium. I manage to reach out and grab the wood stair railing sticking out of the ground. Over our years together I have wondered if Ezra, being the curious soul that he is, flipped the world over, because he is always flipping things over like rocks and turtles… anyway, I have always wondered… would there be bugs on the other side?
I have no delusions of becoming one of the Avengers or any hero figure for that matter. I will never be able to perform such a brazen feat of world manipulation. But Ezra, I’m not so sure about him. What if he could…what if he did…would there be…?
And there it was, what came out of my mouth, my urgent question…
Dad, if you flip the world over, will there be bugs on the other side?
Never at a loss for words... 