A Short Short Story

“Mom, I want a crocodile for Christmas!”

My mom was not very surprised. She knew that I was just having some momentary thoughts. She knew that I am the person that always change my mind. I mean, I was yelling to have a dinosaur neighbor merely two months ago. So she told me, “Don’t worry, mommy will buy you one next month. Just let mommy finish my work, ok? Go and watch some TV.”

I know my mom quickly forgot this in just a couple of days, and I know she thought I was never serious. But what she didn't know is that I am serious this time. The dream about a crocodile became a secret I decided to keep.

We moved away to Florida six months later. In a small town near Tampa, my mom found a small house by a tiny swamp. She moved everything with her in her tiny car and drove me all the way from Virginia to this tiny house. Now, I don’t have to worry about waking up at midnight and hear my daddy and mommy breaking bowls and glasses anymore. I am glad. Once in a while, I still miss my dad’s super cute crocodile costume and its long, white and fluffy tail. But I know I will never be able to see it again. Last Halloween eve, I didn’t know why, but I just couldn’t fall asleep. So I finally decided to sneak out of the room and find daddy’s crocodile costume. The lights of the living room were not on; broken glass was all over the floor. And dad’s car was gone.

Life is much quieter in our new home. Mom finds a job in Kissimmee. Every morning, she wakes up early and drives an hour to her new job. For me, my new school doesn’t start until September. Most days, when I get tired of watching TV, I walk to my backyard and spend hours sitting on an old wooden swing.

One afternoon, when the heavy wind driving against the palm trees makes the swamp prematurely dark, I see a baby crocodile. My mom warns me I should never approach a crocodile, and I always listen to her. But that summer afternoon, driven by a mysterious force, I decide to walk across the swamp and approached this baby crocodile. Then I try to touch him. I know he would not bite. And he doesn’t.

I still can’t explain why my crocodile never bit me or attacked me. I really don’t know why. But I know he is special. At the end of the summer, when my mom asks me if I find any friends in our new neighborhood, I nod. And I never tell her the name.