Croc Stands For C

by jkatejohnston

6 January 2014

Dear Max,

Last night Enzo called me into his room around one. “I’m not scared of gladiator zombies, just regular zombies. I just had a dream about regular zombies.” He wanted me to get into bed with him and I was trying to decline. “Oh, get up here you big baby.” So I did. He didn’t seem that scared. Around three thirty I climbed down the wooden ladder and back into the big bed.


Two days ago Enzo was at the pool with a pal. Enzo got upset about something. He walked out to the walled area near the handicapped entrance. “I am leaving Sacramento now.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You have only two choices. I leave Sacramento now. Or I am a bad boy. Forever.”

“Did something happen?”

“I am not telling.”

“Did something happen with another kid?”

He shook his head.

“Did something happen with a grown-up?”

“Something happened with my whole life being a lie.”

I bribed him with pizza, and it didn’t work. But eventually he came back inside, and he and his friend ended up getting dressed and then playing on the outdoor basketball court in a small flood caused by a burst pipe. They ran through the water again and again and again.


Yesterday morning the DVD player wouldn’t work. “Let’s do what they do in the movies,” said Enzo. “Start pushing buttons!” We pushed buttons for a while. Nothing happened. I couldn’t even get the DVD player to eject the disk. Finally Enzo hit the DVD player. Once, on top, with a firm fist. Out popped the disk. “I was gonna kick it. But I decided to punch it. I learned that from Daphne.”


 “I wish my name had a C in it.”

“How come?”

“Croc stands for C.”