The Turtle Pond
by Adele Bender
It was 1931 in the days when times were simpler; when the world was black and white. When the rush of the Roanoke could be heard from your North Carolina and beyond. When you’d look outside your window at rising dawn and see that plum Plymouth coupe from next door shakily scamper by. When you’d come home from school that day, opening the back kitchen door and seeing no one— only the apples left on the counter in a crumpled paper bag from the market, a cream-colored post-it from Ma apologizing that she had to work late again. Sometimes it was a dreary existence.
So you’d leave. Out the back door again. The world was sepia, an aged photograph from the setting sun. You passed cars stuck in standstill traffic ‘neath a stoplight, cars of black and blue and red; colors that made you shudder from their familiarity. They made you grip your bruised arm. You took the long way to the turtle pond that day. You had time to spare.
At last you would reach the sign on the corner of Amboy Road. Carrier Park. You would turn and greet the toddlers on the playground. It was castle-shaped with five spires, all built of wood and smelling of pine. Parents waved to you from the benches. You waved back. And by the time the sun was almost set, you had reached the turtle pond.
There was a spot you liked. By the rock pile. The turtles would gather around it. There were four in all, all friendly except the snapping turtle you nicknamed Bo. You were careful around him. You would sit next to the rock pile and gently stroke the other turtles’ shells. They didn’t mind, not with you. You would keep them company, watching them swim and talking and singing to them. They were your friends. You would stay with them, even when the sun disappeared and the sky was black. It would be maybe four hours until Ma came to find you. You never wanted to leave. But she always assured you that Pa had passed out tipsy. So you would say goodbye to the turtles. And you’d be sure not to forget Bo.
Two years later the river flooded. When you went to the turtle pond your friends were gone. And so went your spirit.
It was 1931 in the days when times were simpler; when the world was black and white. When the rush of the Roanoke could be heard from your North Carolina and beyond. When you’d look outside your window at rising dawn and see that plum Plymouth coupe from next door shakily scamper by. When you’d come home from school that day, opening the back kitchen door and seeing no one— only the apples left on the counter in a crumpled paper bag from the market, a cream-colored post-it from Ma apologizing that she had to work late again. Sometimes it was a dreary existence.
So you’d leave. Out the back door again. The world was sepia, an aged photograph from the setting sun. You passed cars stuck in standstill traffic ‘neath a stoplight, cars of black and blue and red; colors that made you shudder from their familiarity. They made you grip your bruised arm. You took the long way to the turtle pond that day. You had time to spare.
At last you would reach the sign on the corner of Amboy Road. Carrier Park. You would turn and greet the toddlers on the playground. It was castle-shaped with five spires, all built of wood and smelling of pine. Parents waved to you from the benches. You waved back. And by the time the sun was almost set, you had reached the turtle pond.
There was a spot you liked. By the rock pile. The turtles would gather around it. There were four in all, all friendly except the snapping turtle you nicknamed Bo. You were careful around him. You would sit next to the rock pile and gently stroke the other turtles’ shells. They didn’t mind, not with you. You would keep them company, watching them swim and talking and singing to them. They were your friends. You would stay with them, even when the sun disappeared and the sky was black. It would be maybe four hours until Ma came to find you. You never wanted to leave. But she always assured you that Pa had passed out tipsy. So you would say goodbye to the turtles. And you’d be sure not to forget Bo.
Two years later the river flooded. When you went to the turtle pond your friends were gone. And so went your spirit.
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