Slugs

I cannot think of anything worse than being born into this world as a slug.  It’s because of this that I kill any slugs I see.  Life didn’t give them a chance.  Slugs crawl around on their bellies, trailing goop and constantly sloshing around in their own mucus.  Who wants to live like that?  Plus, they’ll probably get reincarnated as something better anyway.

                Hi, my name is Caroline.  I’m nine.  I’m fat.  These are just facts.  Don’t think I’m self-loathing or something.  I think more people should follow my lead and put those poor slugs out of their misery.

                Mrs. Friedrich (that’s my teacher’s name) seemed to think my concern for the slugs was concerning.  All I did was grab all the salt shakers from the tables in the cafeteria and empty them into the tub of slugs my fourth grade class had collected for science class.  What I overheard Vince Levine planning to do with them, during science class, would only be adding insult to injury.

                But I’m not crazy.  Most days, if I’m not gazing out the window, waiting for the recess or lunch bell, I’m gazing at Tommy Dietrich, waiting for the recess or lunch bell.  There’s just something about the ruffled black hair on the back of Tommy’s head that just helps the hours go faster.

                Finally, the end of day bell rings.  I pick up my Hello Kitty backpack (I hate it) and slip on my Power Rangers boots (I love them).  As I’m walking down the sidewalk towards my house Vince Levine comes up behind me with his group of friends.  They do this almost every day now.

                Vince shoves me down into the grass, laughing, and reminds me not to jump off of anything too high.  I’m so fat I might cause an earthquake when I hit the ground.  I’m fat.  It’s just a fact.  It can’t hurt me.  Soon their laughing ends and they keep walking, leaving me alone.

                Lying there on the ground, with my face in the grass and specks of dirt lodged in my nose, I spot a slug.  A stupid, insignificant, mucus coated, slug.  I slowly get up, brush myself off, and lift my foot over the goopy slug.

                “Caroline?”

                The sound of Tommy’s voice catches me by surprise, freezing me with one foot poised above the slug.  He’s standing there, soft faced and with his wide blue eyes.  I’m so caught up in those deep lakes that I don’t even notice what he’s holding in his hands.

                Gripped by the stems as if he’s afraid they might float away, he holds two dandelions.  Their yellow heads seem overly vibrant, as if coated with paint.  Tommy thrusts the dandelions towards me.

                I take the flowers from his hand and for the briefest moment our fingers brush each other’s.  He suddenly lights up red like a traffic light and thrusts his hands in his pockets.

                “Those guys should leave you alone.  They’re…” Tommy struggles to find the word.

                I’m right there to save the day.  “Jerks.”

                “Yeah,” Tommy nodded.  “Jerks.”

                Then Tommy starts walking again, leaving me there with legs that feel like jelly.  I’m still clutching the dandelions.  My mom will tell me they’re weeds and that I shouldn’t keep them in my room.  But she’s wrong.  They’re the most beautiful flowers in the world.

                I look down to where the slug has left a gooey trail of slime across the grass, sliding its way along.  I consider lifting my foot again and putting it out of its misery.

                But somehow, today, I don’t really feel like it.