Crocodile and Caesar Chicken Wrap
Did we tell you of the time we
went to lunch with a crocodile –
well, it was lunch for him and we
don’t remember what it was for
us, perhaps a tea, and perhaps
nothing at all? Two things stand out
in our memory: the first is
our bubblegum-pink cardigan
and the second is the crocodile
himself, or, more precisely, the
way he ate his lunch: a chicken
Caesar wrap, which was placed in front
of him, and, as though time stood still,
he circled it, stared at it for
a good half-minute, bared his teeth
– Mississipiensis teeth, a
double row! – and bit into it,
still staring. Even as he chewed
and swallowed the first bite, he was
staring into the chicken wrap.
The rest of the luncheon we don’t
remember - if we split before
he did, and we like to think that
we did; we like to think that we
left him to settle up – and the
more we think of it, the more we
believe we didn’t order at
all, and we like to think that we
slipped out on the sly, even though
it was colder outside than we
had anticipated, and we
like to think that we ran down the
escalator, out the door, up
the street, running as fast as we
could, hugging the bubblegum-pink
cardigan close to us, running
without stopping until we were
home, safe, before we had time to
realise we were out of breath,
shutting the door behind us and
pushing our back up against it –
phew! – until we thought: home, we are
home. We have the fixings for hot
cocoa ready. We’ll bake cookies,
something charming and homey – with
smarties on top – because, you know,
we’re the best at this sort of thing.
Home. Safe. Mississipiensis
would take all of this away from
us if he could. We’d been focused
on the trappings of a life he
figured was luxury, but what
we think of every day is
the hot cocoa, the cookies with
smarties. What the f, – we’re still good
at living the cosy life and
we’re not sure if we’ll ever stop.
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