This essay was published in Prose Ax, Spring 2002.
"What's wrong with me, Doc?" I ask, sprawled out on the couch, one leg
dangling to the floor. The dark, oak-paneled room filled with books and magazines
is quiet, except for the hum of the fan overhead.
"I'm fifty-eight, Doc. I should have messed up my life by now. I mean at
the very least I should be having an affair with a woman younger than some of
the shirts in my closet. My children from previous marriages should hate me and
my blood pressure should be higher than Dubya in college. Instead, I'm
hopelessly in love with my own wife after thirty-seven years and, as far as I know,
my son doesn't hate me. Instead, he and his wife find me mildly amusing."
"And I like my shirts."
Doc, a turtle, hisses and jerks his head into his shell.
"We're very much alike, aren't we, Doc?" I rise from the couch, exuding an
obligatory middle age, "Uhhh," as my joints snap and pop to attention. I walk
to the turtle tank and look in. "You spend a little time looking around,
exploring your limited environment, but at the first sign of risk you withdraw to
your shell." I tap on the glass. Doc hisses and retreats deeper into his
world.
"It would be sad if you weren't so content."
I take a few floating fish logs from the can beside the tank, drop them in,
and watch Doc snap at them with the gusto of a teenager attacking a Big Mac.
"I bet it wasn't always like that with you, was it, Doc? I bet you had
dreams of living off nature, frolicking with other turtles, venturing wherever the
creeks and rivers of life took you." Doc finishes his appetizer and signals
for more by sticking his neck out. I oblige by dropping a few more logs into
the water.
"Did you settle, Doc? I remember when I first got you, you used to stand on
your back legs, leaning against the glass. You'd reach out as high as you
could as if you were trying to escape or test your space to see how far you could
stretch it. Now you seem content to just climb out of your water, sun
yourself on a rock, or just stare out at the green plant on the ledge beside your
tank."
I bend down to look into Doc's tank and see my own reflection.
"Have you gotten lazy, Doc? Do you have everything you need, so you don't
try for more? Is that it, Doc? Have you lost your ability to imagine?"
"Or are you simply content?"
Suddenly, I hear a noise coming from the front of the house. "Honey, are you
home?"
"Hey Syd. I'm glad you're home."
"How's the life of the newly retired?"
"Great day. I took a good walk, worked in the garden, wrote the first draft
of an interesting story and had a good talk with Doc."
"You did what?"
"Never mind. You don't really want to know."
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