Flying Lessons & Other Stories(27)

“He hit the blanket like a boulder from the sky, as four strong-willed Bohpoli yanked hard at the four corners. Luckily, Mrs. Chukma had a mighty fine recipe for Naloosha Chitto stew in her cookbook.

“Unluckily, she’d left the cookbook in their kitchen drawer in McAlester.

“Luckily, she’d memorized the recipe for just this occasion.

“Unlucky for the Chukma family, but lucky for Naloosha Chitto, he did not end up in a stew pot.

“No. He bounced high in the air, once, twice, four times, before settling on the ground, sitting Indian-style and very relieved.”

“Uncle Kenneth?”

“Yes, Turtle Kid?”

“What is Indian-style?”

“Glad you asked. Indian-style means in a chair, like you sit in at school. The Bohpoli found a flimsy folding chair in the car trunk and had it ready for Naloosha Chitto.”

“Hoke, just wondering.”

“And once he realized he wasn’t going to die, Naloosha Chitto was madder than he’d ever been in his life. He jumped out of the chair and flung it so high, it sailed over the Red River and all the way to Love Field Airport in Dallas. It came so close to hitting the wing of a plane, it was mistaken for a drone.

“The Chukmas watched everything, peeking over the boulder and hoping Naloosha Chitto would live but maybe be knocked out for a few days. When he stood up, Mr. Chukma hollered, ‘Balili! Run!’ And that’s what they did, downhill to the state park.

“Naloosha Chitto heard the shouting and chased the Chukmas. He ran across the road—first looking to his right, then to his left—to make sure no cars were coming.

“Paths cut through the trees and made it easier to run, even on a dark midnight. Of course, the path was covered with sleeping rattlesnakes, a family of porcupines, and mountains of scorpions, but nothing serious. But this was a park the Chukmas did not know. They’d never camped here. They only knew they had to make it to park headquarters before Naloosha Chitto caught ’em.

“Mr. Chukma ran in the lead, slapping branches out of the way, lifting and tossing fallen trees stretched across the path. Mrs. Chukma hurried the kids along, trying her best to keep the blanket over their heads. She was scared to blazes, but she acted brave for the kids.

“All of a sudden the path split. One fork curved to the left, the other to the right. And right in the middle of the fork stood a tall sign with big letters and an arrow. On any day but today, or tonight, the sign read DOWNHILL TO LAKESIDE PICNIC GROUNDS, LEFT and the arrow at the top of the sign pointed left.

“But not tonight. You see, those Bohpoli were having too much fun to quit. So they switched the arrows, pointing ’em in the wrong direction. Tonight the sign read DOWNHILL TO LAKESIDE PICNIC GROUNDS, LEFT but the arrow pointed right.

“So the Chukmas ran faster to the left. When they came to the next fork, the sign read DOWNHILL TO LAKESIDE BOAT DOCK, RIGHT but the arrow at the top of the sign pointed left.

“Ignoring the arrow, they ran downhill to the right. Finally, after dodging rattlesnakes and scorpions, they spotted the sign they were looking for: PARK RANGER HEADQUARTERS, DOWNHILL RIGHT but the arrow at the top of the sign pointed left.

“The Chukma family turned right and ran like their lives depended on it. They skidded and rolled and didn’t stop till they came to the bottom of the hill. But they weren’t safe yet. They still had to cross the picnic grounds and parking lot, and they knew how fast Naloosha Chitto could run.”

“He was right behind ’em,” I said.

“No, Turtle Kid, he was two miles away, running in the wrong direction.”

“I’m confused,” said Trisha, my younger cousin.

“Like, duh,” said Keith, the smartest cousin.

I just sat back without saying a word, folding my arms and Choctaw-saying with my pursed lips and tilting head, Hoke, so where is this going?

Uncle Kenneth pretended not to notice me, but I saw a smile creeping over his face.

“But if the Chukmas were gonna make it alive and not into the belly of Naloosha Chitto, they had to make sense out of this confusion. The Big Dude was fast and getting close. But he couldn’t read, and when a sign pointed right or left, he followed the arrow. Didn’t matter what the sign said, he followed the arrow.”

“How did the Chukmas know which way to go,” I asked, “if the arrow pointed the wrong way?”

“Glad you asked,” said Uncle Kenneth. “I didn’t tell you about the Chukma kids yet. They were smart young ’uns, real smart. Mary Chukma was twelve years old and she loved geography. Whenever they traveled, she always carried a state map. And did it come in handy on this night!”

“How could she read in the dark?” Keith asked.

“Thank you for asking,” Uncle Kenneth said. “Ricky Chukma, Mary’s little brother, had a camper’s manual which he had read from cover to cover. It advised what to carry in case a Naloosha Chitto smashed your car and you were stranded in the woods at midnight. He remembered chapter two, ‘The Importance of Flashlights in the Dark,’ so of course he carried a flashlight.

“With Ricky shining the light and Mary reading the map, the Chukmas knew which way to go. They dashed across the parking lot to the park headquarters, pounded on the door, and a park ranger ushered them inside to safety.”

“What happened to their car?” Keith asked. “I am assuming it was totaled?”