You know those plastic ringlets that attach six packs of beer and such? Well I cut them up every time. That’s right. Not because I’m some kind of nature tuned druid or a saint with a golden moral compass. No. I certainly hold no compass. I did it originally because my ex-girlfriend told me too. She’s a vegan, see, and she loves animals. She loves sea turtles, too, specifically. And one night while we were on a date, her with her big bottle of wine and me with my six packs, she saw me throw that ringlet away. She told me it might kill a sea turtle one day. And I remembered all of the stuffed animal plushies I had as a kid. Most of them were of turtles. Sea turtles specifically. I loved those stuffed animals, cried if I were ever without one. I thought about how the baby turtles survived scavengers and predators and made it to the ocean based on instinct and chance. So I cut up the ringlet. She was very impressed. We had sloppy, drunk sex and fell asleep. It was very peaceful. For the first time in my adult life, I thought that monogamy was genius. Monogamy was a blood oath. Exclusivity was a treasure. We were each others people, so we weren’t ever alone anymore.
Three weeks later I found out that she had fucked the guitar player of a local band, indie, probably, if you care, because on the night that she fucked the guitar player we got in a fight. Our first fight. Only fight, really, and it wasn’t even a fight. Just a misunderstanding.
Part of me hopes he gave her an incurable form of the clap. A strain evolved to be resistant to antibiotics and creams and lasers. Part of me hopes that he is an okay guy, because I want guys to be okay, you know? And I hope she didn’t hurt him. And I hope he didn’t hurt her. But I’ll tell you what: I still cut those ringlets. Every single time. Because whether he’s a good guy or a bad guy or whether I initially cut them to impress a girl or not, the sea turtles still exist. They were here before me and they will be here after me. They are innocent bystanders in all of our human games. And I love them for that, for their innocence, so I cut up the ringlets.
Cavin Bryce Gonzalez is a twenty-one year old graduate from the University of Central Florida. He is the prose editor for SOFT CARTEL and book reviewer for Pidgeonholes. He's on twitter and his available work is located here: provolonesinatra.wordpress.com.