I'm a Stranger Here Myself

François doesn’t like the picture—but the important thing is he thought about it, I guess. Charlotte thought it was nice, but she always does. Maybe it’s pretty good anyway?1

I always have my camera these days. I think I’m getting it. Like, I figured out the backlight thing by myself. But I still wish the camera had come with better instructions; took me half a day to figure out the date and time thing. I was a little obsessed because I like keeping track of my pictures.2

Anyway, I took it out this morning, just after the sun came up. I was standing by the lake because I needed to pee really bad (I have this infection), and the outhouse is dirty so I don’t like using it—I’ll wash it when I want to. François can use the lake like the rest of us. Like me. Anyway, I’m there peeing and I see this turtle. He’s this little guy, with a red spot on his shell.3

He has these neat blue eyes and he starts looking at me, kind of intense.4

“Hello there,” he says.5

“Hey,” I say, and zip my fly.6

“Where might I find the closest downstream river?” he asks after a minute. He’s eyeing me. Maybe he was suspicious…we had turtle soup last week. Well, I had soup. François made fun of me and hucked it all into the outhouse. I’ll clean it up when I want to.
“I’m quite late for an appointment. Professional responsibilities, you see…” he said after a minute.
I don’t like his snobby way of talking, so I didn’t pay attention when he went on. But I do know where the river is. See, Charlotte showed it to me the other day. She wanted me to play again. But it always gets me sick, and I puke. It’s too rough. Since she turned fifteen she’s no fun to roughhouse with. But she says I need exercise because I’m getting thick. François says I’m getting thick too, but I know he means my head. Jerk.7

“I dunno. I’m new here,” I finally say to the turtle.8

“I’m a stranger here myself,” he says, and sort of glances down, “C’est la vie. I’m sure if I look hard enough that elusive waterway shall present itself. Thank you for your help, young man.”9

“Sure. Have a good day,” I say, and as he’s swimming off he gives me this smile. I grab my camera real quick. All summer I’ve been taking pictures of smiles, so I do it without thinking. Like a Polaroid makes those instant pictures. I’m fast like that.
Anyway, the turtle swims off and I start to go back inside, but Charlotte’s coming out and says hi.10

“Hey kiddo, what are you doing out here?”
I show her my turtle picture with the display thing.11

“Oh, this is very good. That little guy’s cute!” she says, and looks at the picture a little longer. “Hey, you should show Dad.” I don’t call him that. François’s her dad. I’m cold and want to go back to my bed. “Are we going to play later, pal?” she asks as she gives back my camera. I do like that she wants to play, even though she’s my stepsister. Especially since François’s such a jerk to me. But it’s just no fun. She’s the only one who enjoys it.12

“Sure, I guess so, Lotty,” I say. She’d tease me if I didn’t say yes.13

“Great! Well, scoot off back to bed before Dad gets up, or you’ll be in for it!” she says, winks, and walks off to the outhouse (she’s got the same infection). Great, I think, more puking. So I go back to bed and sleep ‘til noon, when François yells at me to get up.14

But yeah, the turtle wasn’t such a bad guy. Maybe I should have told him about the river?15