Godzilla is real...

I was young, very young, when this specific incident occurred.

When I was seven, I normally was running amuck outside. In Yakima, Washington, I spent many days catching little lizards in the backyard with my brother.

Rigo was only four, but he was a fast little shit. This is important. Our mother usually kept inside, miserable, as she was pregnant with my third brother, her fourth child. The heat didn’t help with that. But despite where we lived, she had enough trust in our Cholita and Cholo neighbors that we were safe.

A lot of people always proclaimed that Yakima was a beautiful place to visit. But I have never seen it. I saw men shooting cars, my older cousins robbing the convenience store at the corner, an occasional man slumped on the doorsteps of a certain house, eyes glassy and body odor strong of urine and something chemical. I saw a man passed out on my porch, red blood painting his stomach. I saw a man give another a small little baggy of chalky white powder, uncaring that I was watching. I remember climbing into dumpsters, pulling out pretty looking plants and bits of trash that caught my eye. One time I pulled out a rat, fat and greasy, but friendly. My mother gently took the rat and gave it to a neighbor, which I learned had a snake. Guess who found out the hard way that snakes love fat, greasy rats for lunch. I remember my mother buying me candy cigarettes, with me and my cousins fake smoking to be like our mothers, their friends. The convenience store owner, a skittish old Korean man named Mr. Kim, gave us bubblegum coins whenever we walked in and bought small bottles of juice for ourselves.

Being seven, I had a lot of freedom at that age. My mom called it a “free range” childhood, but I never really cared. I remember the neighborhood being faded shades of yellow and brown, a lot of the buildings dark grey and a bit worn down. A few block down, there was a dog who feared my plastic Barbie heels, the clicking sound keeping the animal away. Many of the cholitos began taking me for walks past the dog, buying me treats and more plastic heels. Every time they came by to take me for a walk, my mother laughed.

I remember my brother and I trying to figure out a way to sneak creatures inside to be my very own pets, much to the annoyance of our mother. She finally got to the point of frisking us each time we came inside, emptying our pockets of lizards, frogs, salamanders, spiders, rollie pollies, snails and one time a snake. She wasn’t as enthused with the snake. It wasn’t until I was older when I realized why: I caught a rattler. How I didn’t end up bit...I still don’t know. But she started to wear thick leather gloves when frisking us, not taking chances.

But back to the story.

Rigo and I were bored of catching lizards, so we held a contest on who can fit the most in their pockets, or who can catch the most without getting bitten. Catching lizards took some skill, mostly speedy hands, but I cheat and use bits of candy. Washington lizards are surprisingly fond of gobstoppers. But then, something burst from under the gate. To me, it looked like a giant lizard, the size of a dog. But it ignored me and went straight for Rigo. This is where his mentioned speed was important.

He ran, his little legs keeping himself barely in front of the lizard. It was hissing, making these weird croaking noises, snapping at my brother. I was concerned, no... terrified.

Running inside, I pulled on my mother’s shirt. She was doing dishes, a rickety fan circulating air to try and cool her off.

“Mom, there’s a lizard chasing Rigo.” I told her. She sighed, thinking that it was little skinks we try to sneak in the house.

“Just go get your brother. It’s just a lizard.”

“Mom...Its getting really close to Rigo.” I pressured her, pulling more sharply on her shirt.

“It’s just a lizard. You catch them all the time.” My mom mumbled, still miserable from her pregnancy and heat. She kept on washing the dishes.

“Mom...It’s going to get Rigo.” I pleaded. My terror must have made something inside my mom curious, so, she sighed, and went outside.

“MOOOM!!!!!” The scream of my brother caused my mother to run outside. And she herself let out a piercing scream. With incredible speed, my mother scooped up both my brother and me and ran inside, locking us in the laundry room. The lizard was outside the door, hissing and clawing at the wood, desperate to get in. Luckily for us, there was a back door to the room, and my mother shoved us outside, telling us to run to the neighbors.

We were one of the few who had a cordless phone, so she grabbed that on the way out, dialing for animal control.

“What do you mean you won't come?! A fucking dinosaur is trying to eat my children!!” she screamed into the device. She let out a frustrated scream, breaking down in tears. Keeping my brother behind me, I listened as my mother ranted and raved to the phone.

“Hola? Senora? ¿Qué ocurre?” one of the neighbors asked. I forgot to mention that our neighbors are very social. Nosy, but kind.

“Ayuda! Ayuda!!” my mother screamed, tossing us over into the neighbor's yard. At her scream, three men from the next-door house jumped to her help. My mother spoke rapid Spanish, too fast for me to catch and understand, signaling to the lizard inside. The three men then ran inside, where there was a commotion, things breaking, and obvious swear words being thrown.

I watched as the men had the lizard, which I realized was a lot bigger than I thought, wrapped in a bedsheet, the creature thrashing and putting up one hell of a fight. They carried the lizard to a car, one of the men popping open the trunk and shoving the creature inside. I could hear the lizard snarling and trashing in the car, shaking it slightly.

Mom was shaking, her face white with fear. The three men then ran inside the house. I don’t know what they were doing, but I know it was to help.

Mom was just getting calmed when a cop, who patrolled often, drove by. My mother ran in front of the car, causing the officer to be forced to stop.

“What the hell, lady? Are you trying to get fucking run over?!” I remember him screaming. My mother was not one to back down. She got right up in his face, snarling mad.

“I begged for help! I called the pound! You are going to help me with this thing!” I never thought I would see my mother drag a police officer by his scruff to the car. The car was still shaking, with the lizard thrashing inside.

I watched as the officer opened the trunk, then jumped back cussing, all the while trying to pull out his gun. Mom slammed the trunk close, trapping the lizard once more.

“Do I have your attention now?” my mother growled out. The officer reached for the walkie on his shoulder, already speaking quickly to get someone to come get the lizard. At first, it seemed like he was having an identical problem on the phone like my mother had. But shortly after, he had more succession. Pretty soon there was another cop and animal control, armed like soldiers (at least to my young mind.)

After the ordeal, the officer took my mother to the side to talk as Rigo and I watched animal control brace themselves for the lizard. The men were quick, opening the trunk and pinning the lizard within a few seconds. The creature was hissing and snarling, making a rasping clicking sound that I think was its way of saying it was pissed off. We watched as the animal control shoved the creature into a large cloth bag, tying it shut. The bag was trashing about, the animal still making a ruckus. We watched as the neighbors came back, several armed with hoes and a spade, ready to take on the lizard.

“¿lo tienes?” one of them asked.

“Si, si.” one of the animal control men replied. I saw visible relief etched into the neighbors, relief that the creature was caught. I saw relief in my mother, her hand cradling her small swell of stomach.

“Jenn...” I turned to my brother, the little speed demon clinging to my side.

“Did...did they get the monster?” he asked. I hugged my little brother.

“Uh huh. They got it.” I reassured him.

“It was a dinosaur,” Rigo whispered.

“It was Godzilla,” I replied. I kept my arm around him as everyone left, the police officer following animal control. I waved at them. I saw at least one of them wave back.

“Thank you for saving my brother from Godzilla!” I remember cheering.

“Jenn. Rigo.” turning to my mother, I saw she was tired, very tired. I don’t blame her.

“Go pack up your toys.” she ordered.

“Okay. Why?” I asked, my little brother already running inside, not wanting to stay out any longer.

“We are going back to Montana.”

“Why?” I asked again.

“Because Montana doesn’t have Jurassic Park in the backyard.”

Years later, I found a picture of the lizard, which my mom was adamant that it was an iguana. But iguanas are herbivores, so it couldn’t be that. But the picture was of a carnivorous lizard, a common pet owned illegally.

It was a monitor. And those fuckers are venomous. Recalling that day, I felt an odd weight formed inside me.

“We could have died...” I mumbled to myself.