set free
when I was six years old I had a pet turtle. he was my prized possession, the thing I loved the most, what I would put above all else when the other kids were saving their mothers and stuffed animals from these theoretical fires.
every night I’d take him out of his cage, and tell him that one day— one day, I’d set him free.
when I was eight years old I told my parents my prized pet turtle had escaped. what actually happened was I took him to school, under my jacket, and stopped at the park that morning to place him on the grass by my favorite tree.
have a good life, I told my pet turtle. I was eight— how was I to know that a domesticated turtle, vulnerable and dependent, could never survive alone?
I was eight, and I cried even though I knew I hadn’t lost him.
I was ten, twelve, sixteen, when I knew it was my own fault that he was gone.
