The Slimy Mud

By Jennifer Green

Every summer, when I was still a young child, I used to stay at my grandparents house for a couple of weeks. I helped them make coffee at night, would run errands with my grandma, and got to spend time with my grandparents. I always loved going, but as I grew older, my visits to their house in Cole Camp, Missouri became less frequent. I would always want to hang out with my friends, I didn’t have enough time because of soccer, or my grandparents weren’t feeling well enough for me to visit.

I have many memories of the times I spent there. The first time I ever got stung by a bee was in the road in front of their house because I stepped on it. The only time I’ve ever been to the state fair was when my grandma took me. My grandma would drive me around the little town and point out every store to me. Every once in a while, we’d stop, and she would buy me a grape soda. Sometimes, she would even take me to the park, and that’s how I found my first four leaf clover. One memory that I have was really funny, but I don’t know why I remember it so vividly.

The night started off just like every other night at their house did. I had already eaten dinner, had just finished my bath, and was feeling squeaky clean. My grandma gave me one of her purple t-shirts to wear for a nightgown. I quickly got dressed so I could go outside and join my grandparents on the back porch. They were outside talking, smoking, and listening to the bug zapper. I climbed up in the light blue metal chair, pulled my legs up with me, and then pulled the stretchy shirt down over my legs. My arms were wrapped around my legs because the night air was a little chilly. I had just gotten comfortable when I noticed a little dark ball on the armrest of the chair that I was sitting in.

I didn’t know what it was, and curiosity got the best of me. It looked like someone stuck a blob of mud on the chair, but why would someone do that? I slowly reached out my finger to touch it, but for some reason it was cold, wet, and slimy. I quickly pulled my finger away as it fell off the chair.

“Grandma, what was that?” I questioned my grandma as I began to worry. “It was all nasty and slimy.”

“What, Sugar?” she asked as she got up from her chair and came over to see what the problem was.

“What is that?” I pointed to the dark spot on the ground next to my chair, and noticed a couple more around it.

“Well, it looks like a little slug. Why?” she asked with a puzzled expression on her face.

“I touched it,” I responded beginning to feel sick to my stomach. “I thought it was just a ball of mud.”

“Well, let’s go inside and wash your hands.”

I followed my grandma inside, more than ready to wash the slime off of my finger. As I followed her up the steps, I stepped on something squishy. I paused, looked down at my feet, and slowly lifted up my foot. I dreaded looking to see what I had stepped on, but I forced myself to look anyway. Beneath my foot was the biggest and ugliest slug that I have ever seen in my life. I don’t even think I killed it when I stepped on it because it was so big. I practically fell inside the door, and began jumping up and down on one foot calling for my grandma. My grandpa was still sitting outside, and he thought I was a very funny sight. He began chuckling softly.

My grandma came back to the door and held it open for me as I clumsily made my way inside. I hopped on one foot up the stairs, through the kitchen, through the living room, and through their bedroom all the way to the bathroom just to wash my foot and my hand. I scrubbed and scrubbed trying to get the slimy residue off of me. Even though the slime was off of me, the memory of the incident still remained, and unfortunately, I still felt dirty.

Afterwards, I told my grandma that I didn’t want to go back outside. There were too many huge slugs out there. She completely understood, so she told me I could help her make coffee for her and my grandpa to drink in the morning.

“Three scoops,” she informed me as she held out the shiny red can of coffee in front of me.

I took out the little scooper and dumped three overflowing scoops in the coffee filter. My grandma smiled at me, put the coffee away, and then put the filter into the coffee maker. Afterwards, she told me that it was my bedtime. We walked to their bedroom, and I sat on my bed next to the door that she had made from a fold up bed. She kissed me on the forehead, and then tucked me in. I peacefully drifted off to sleep in the comfortable bed.

I wish I could make more memories with my grandparents, but I can’t. Grandma Marilyn passed away on October 30, 1999, and Grandpa Bill passed away June 30, 2003. I still have the purple t-shirt that my grandma gave me, and I even still wear it to bed sometimes. Even though they can’t be with me now in person, their memory, spirit, and love will always remain in my heart.

People never realize what they have until it is too late, or until it is gone. They don’t cherish the moment, or live life to its fullest. My best advice for everyone is carpe diem, or seize the day. Don’t wait for something to happen. You will wind up spending all of your life waiting for nothing.

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