Mikey Comes Homes

Mikey Comes Home Karla Cordero

When I was eight my father told me Mikey our pet turtle ran away from home. I dusted the aquarium for fingerprints. Made reward posters out of construction paper and outlined Mikey’s smile with jungle green crayon. I interviewed all three of my sisters and checked under each of their beds.

A week later I found Mikey in the backyard. His body was a murder scene on fresh cut grass. An explosion of pink and purple organs from an unknown violence. A shell split into tiny fruit bowls soaked in fresh blood. Flies paraded on a face I could no longer identify.

I buried my first body under the lemon tree with a beach shovel. I hosed down the rest of the carcass and watched a piece of intestine slide down a single blade of grass. Dad came outside with whiskey on his breath. He smiled and said what kind of an animal runs away from a home that gives you everything?