My Spring Break Fiasco

Chapter Four - Attacked (EDITED)

“Open your heart to me, Darling

I’ll never let you down.

We’ll dare to fly when no one thinks

we’ll make it off the ground.”

From “Wings”

Originally performed by Kyle King.

           

            After a quick shower and some serious time making sure my hair and makeup was halfway decent, I strolled down the stairs once more and looked around for Levi and Grandpa. Peeking out the tinted window of the Florida room, I stepped over Abe’s drooling form and found them digging flowerbeds around the back patio. My grandparents were obsessed with flowers.

            Maybe that was the reason they had moved, I realized, or at least a part of it. In Maine the growing season had been short and most of my grandparents’ plants had remained indoors, where they could be watered and pruned in safety.

            Here, beautiful flowers bloomed all around their property. Bushes of Birds-of-Paradise, my grandmother’s favorite flower, flanked the house and a lush lawn of soft, springy grass, (none of that prickly Florida crabgrass,) carpeted the lawn. They even had a fairly good-sized pond in their backyard. It was like living in a tropical paradise.

            As I watched the two of them working out the window, I couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized, as Levi’s tanned face broke into a wide grin, no doubt in response to one of my grandfather’s corny jokes...I also might have noticed the way his fresh t-shirt just barely skimmed his back, fainitly outlining the bunch and movement of muscle.

            Self-consciously, I looked over my outfit, trying to shake the feeling that a grape-juice stain or a hole in the fabric was probably lurking somewhere. I didn’t see anything to concern myself though, just a pair of olive shorts and a sparkly grey t-shirt. I had my silver flip-flops on, showing off the teal pedicure Mom and I had gotten just before I came.

            Taking a deep breath, (why was I so nervous?), I opened the glass door and stepped onto the stone path, lined with blooming bushes of birds-of-paradise. Grandpa saw me immediately and waved me over to join them. Taking a deep breath, I mustered my courage and walked over, my eyes fixed straight ahead.

            Unfortunately, when one’s eyes are fixed straight ahead one tends to miss what is directly underfoot. Out of nowhere I heard a sudden hiss, and a rustle in the bush directly beside me. A long snout poked its way out of the shrub and I found myself looking into the eyes of an angry baby alligator.

            Now, in situations like this, there are two ways to react. If you’re the crocodile-hunter-type you slowly back away while your assistant gets the camera ready to watch you capture the alligator one-handed. If you’re a seventeen-year-old-girl from upstate New York you scream shrilly and run away as fast as you can. I happen to fit into the second category.

            The sound of my scream ringing in my ears, I darted off the path, leapt over the bush on the other side, and pelted across the lawn, my flip-flops loudly smacking the bottoms of my feet. As I fled I happened to glance over at the other two people witnesses of my humiliation. Grandpa had quickly pulled his large-button cell phone from his shirt pocket and was, no doubt, calling the alligator removal people. Levi just stood on the patio in shock, a dirt-encrusted spade in his hand.

            Once I was a safe distance away from the ferocious animal I sank onto the thick grass and covered my face in my hands, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. Levi probably thought I was the most unpredictable numbskull he had ever seen. First I had thrown a pitcher of milk on him. Now I was terrified of a tiny little alligator.