The Rotten Turkey Egg
Such luck! We found the perfect treasure.
"A giant turkey egg!" I danced, holding the greatest jewel on the farm. "We can use the egg in our recipe," I said.
We already had grass, flowers, dirt, and spiderweb.
"This egg is legit."
Carma and I ran to the dilapidated mobile home my Dad had gifted me. Once someone's house, the trailer now crumbled on our second property. But to Carma and me, it was a rocket ship, a mansion, and a schoolhouse. Our imagination turned the mobile home into anything we needed.
We entered the trailer, ignoring the smell. A hobo from the train tracks had left a 'special' present in the waterless toilet.
"Let's pretend that I am the mom and I am making pancakes," Carma said as she held the large egg. We gathered discarded dishes from the floor.
"Eek!" A spider crawled onto my arm, and I chucked the plate. I flicked the spider onto the floor and stomped on it.
Carma rubbed her hands over the egg as her eyes twinkled. Having a genuine ingredient for our play made everything real.
Carma cracked the side of the egg over the dirty bowl.
KABOOM!
The turkey egg exploded.
Fumes burst forth, spraying us with sticky green slime. We had never smelt anything so rank. Even the surprise in the bathroom couldn't match this smell. Particles of the rotten egg dripped on us.
We ran screaming back to the house. My mom flung the door open, believing one of us had cut off our arm.
"What is going on?" My mom gripped the railing. As we ran up the steps, she jumped back when our smell slammed into her.
"Wow, what is that?" she asked, pinning her nose closed.
"We found a rotten turkey egg."
She blocked us as we tried to push our way into the house.
"Oh no, you don't," she said.
"You must throw your clothes in the garbage and spray each other off with the hose. Then, and only then, you can go straight to the bathroom and take a shower." Her hand on her hip meant business.
"I am not getting naked outside," I said in horror.
Carma giggled.
"You are not coming in smelling like that." My mom closed the door on negotiation.
So, with little choice, we stripped off our contaminated clothing and threw them in the garbage. Then we took the most humiliating hose bath ever.
"The neighbor boys better not see me," I whined as I kept looking over my shoulder. I couldn't see them, but I heard them laughing. I dashed into the house.
Although the neighborhood boys got a show that day, Carma and I created a childhood memory that only a farm treasure can produce.
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The Rotten Turkey Egg
by Stephanie Daich
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