The Reptilian Brain
After setting my partner straight about the money, I drove a few states over, holed up in a cheap motel.
Saturday, I ventured out with a bottle to sit by the pool, where she was sunning herself.
Got another one, she asked–and I threw her a cigarette.
She said her name was Gilda.
Johnny, I said.
She said she was 20. She said she was from Tennessee. She said she was a singer but for now worked at a steakhouse. She said she was bored.
I gave her a sip and she said she liked my eyes.
I said there was a brochure in the lobby for an alligator farm; that I’d like to see that; that she could come.
Sure, she said.
At the farm, I told her how these things’ve been around for millions of years; how they’re killing machines. I pointed to a long, mean-looking one and said if there was no gate there, and it was hungry, it would eat her right now–and no amount of conversation would change that.
Wow that’s scary, she said, as we walked back on the path through some woods.
They don’t care if you’re human; if you have brothers or sisters; kids to take care of; nothing.
Oh, Johnny, she said. She said lots of things.
You know, I said, I’m just like that alligator there.
She looked at me, giggled, and said, oh–no you’re not Johnny.
Are you calling me a liar?
No, Johnny.
’Cause I don’t lie.
I didn’t say…
And nobody calls me that.
It would have been better if she begged, though I guess when I grabbed her by the neck, it finally got her to shut up long enough to realize that, like I said, I’m no liar. Eventually she stopped squirming and kicking.
See, I said, as I dragged her by the arm up the path, deposited her behind a tree…