The Other White Meat

The red sun casts a shadow over the river, seeping through the vines nearby. I didn’t want to go, but I was so thirsty. Mother always told me to stay away until night. Even then, there was danger. The silted water flows over my tongue. This isn’t a good place to drink, Mother had scolded me once. It’s the closest to home and my mouth is dry. The sharp red berries I ate last night tasted fine. Not quite as sweet as the others, but I like to try new things. Maybe not like so much as need. I don’t know the forest well, I admit, but I’m learning. Just two suns ago I came across a big shiny ant scowling. I asked why so glum and he stung me. My welt is just now faded. If ever I come across him again I’ll know what to do. Why so flat, squashed ant? Sometimes I wish I could sting like a bullet, but Mother has me forget those thoughts. Use your ears, your nose, not that little brain. Concentrate. It was always concentrate with her. Now look at me, doing fine. I’ve never loved water this much.

The current is faster today, nearly drowning those spindly bugs. I splash a little and one goes under. The rain would have got it anyway. It’s darker now, thick clouds overhead. I shouldn’t have splashed; maybe that was a mommy bug. Now poor baby bug will be alone like me. My only friend in the world, and I just killed his mother. I say how sorry I am, write a eulogy on the spot. Mommy bug was only eight suns old when she died. We will remember her always in spirit. It doesn’t help, and baby bug floats away without a goodbye.

I notice a log that wasn’t there before, peeking out through the brown water. My front feet slide on the clay river bank, as I lean in for another drink. Mother would be proud. I miss her of course, but I’m on my own now. I still wonder how she is, on the other side. That day was all growls and fright. She told me to run and I did, passing large paws freckled gold and black. I’d seen its prints before, but never with the beast, and I hoped never again.

My stomach is full now. As the sun finally sets I wonder what the moon will bring tonight. Maybe the singing toad will befriend me. Perhaps from that very log ahead. No, toads don’t like spiny logs, I imagine. There I go, thinking again. Just then the log bubbles. It snaps up through the water, grinning ivory. At least Mother will be happy to see me.