The Story of Wyatt

To most, the life of a snail must seem quite boring. But like humans, each snail is very different. Some lead quiet, peaceful lives. Others lives are filled with excitement, intrigue and passion. This is the story of one such snail. Welcome to a particularly exciting day in the life of Wyatt.

For the past few weeks, Wyatt had taken up residence on 11 Street in the greatest city in the world: New York. That was his opinion at least. When the bustle of people hurrying to work woke him that morning, the day had seemed pretty typical. Spring was settling in and a light breeze had made its way between all the buildings. Movement was all around him. Pointy black heels carrying steaming cups of non-fat, sugar-free, soy milk venti lattes clicked past him. Shiny black loafers carrying laptops that kept the loafers connected to the world weaved in and out of the crowd. Boots with backpacks full of important texts and overdue papers bounded past on their way to old brick buildings.

The sun had barely had a chance to heat the sidewalk and already the world was going full speed. A pair of small, black and white sneakers stumbled beside the trashcan under which Wyatt had just awoken. The sneakers dropped the celery stick they had been eating, and it rolled toward Wyatt. He made his way over to his breakfast bounty and noshed on the fresh, crisp celery until he was quite certain he was about to explode. Judging by the speed of the few shoes that were passing by this trashcan, it must be mid morning. There were fewer loafers and heels. They were all in their glass offices. The most common shoes now were for running, though the rarely did. Mostly they walked behind two sets of small wheels that would occasionally let lose what he assumed were ear splitting shrieks. He wasn’t certain, as he had no ears (1).

Since there weren’t many shoes going past, Wyatt decided it was time to get out and explore. He was a bit ashamed for being so lethargic this morning. He was moving at the pace of his people(2), and he knew that was no way to get ahead in this life. If he wanted to make it over to the new trashcan, he would have to get a move on. His trashcan was very nice, but the one across the sidewalk where the shoes went to get their coffee was supposed to be like a whole new world according to the mouse that had mistaken him for a caper the previous night(3). If that side was as fantastic as the mouse had described, Wyatt was beyond excited. He barreled off at top speed.

By mid-morning, he was a quarter of the way across the sidewalk. He was making excellent time. A pair of the running shoes had passed by alone and split some tasty water. Wyatt waded through the small puddle drinking to his hearts content and cooling off. Adventures such has his were quite draining; it was important to stay hydrated. Just as he was leaving the pool, he glanced down the sidewalk and saw a terrifying site. Coming straight towards him were six pairs of hairy clawed feet dragging a pair of scuffed shoes. As fast as he could, he rolled himself into his shell. The wild feet came rushing to where he was. They took turns poking him with their wet snouts and rolling him back and forth between them. Wyatt hated the hairy feet. They had claimed the lives of many of his kind. He was pulled his tail further into his shell praying they would soon bore and leave. Finally, the world stopped spinning. The air around him was no longer hot and smelly. He waited a few minutes to be certain that the hairy feet were gone before he poked his head out to access the damage.

Sometimes, he would be rolled very far away from his intended destination. But today, he was extremely fortunate. He was actually a little closer than before the attack, almost fifteen centimeters, if his calculations were correct.(4) Things could have been much, much worse. It wasn’t even noon and already he had survived one brush with death. He was certain it would not be his last.

Wyatt soldiered on. Within an hour, he was almost halfway there. Lunchtime was approaching, and the shoes would be returning. He moved toward the break between the slabs. With only an hour of time to spare, the shoes rushed past at a breakneck pace, not noticing anything on the ground below them. He knew it was best to take cover. Unnecessary risks would only slow him down.

A pair of red strappy heels left the coffee shop and was clicking straight for Wyatt. Behind the heels were a nice, shiny boots. The most extraordinary thing happened. Wyatt veered to the right, leaving a slightly embarrassing trail in his haste. A red heel landed and slipped right behind him. The boots caught the heels in one fluid movement. The heels looked at the boots and everyone on the street knew true love had been born. Wyatt was an accomplished matchmaker(5) and had worked magic once again. He continued on his way, carrying himself a little taller in his pride. This was his third match of the year, a stat that pleased him a great deal.

The lunching shoes had left, some in love, some not, and the sidewalks cleared once more. The snail continued on his mission. It was not much further now. He was well over halfway there. His progress was quite impressive. He was already planning all the things he would do in his new hangout. He hoped that there might be some nice lady snails in the area. The mouse was telling him about the dating scene when the mouse was distracted by what he thought was a discarded Reese’s cup. Turned out to be an Oreo and by this time, the mouse had completely forgotten about Wyatt.

In addition to the possibility of meeting a nice female, Wyatt was also looking forward to the amazing reading(6) selection provided by the coffee shop. His favorite part of the paper was world affairs. He felt it was imperative to stay abreast of the news.

While he was dreaming of all the things awaiting him, something was happening down the street. Wyatt was shaken from his dreams of smart female snails when he noticed a pair of black, scuffed boots in a mask running toward him. The boots were carrying a large black bag that seemed to be quite full. Something in his brain clicked. He knew what this was. This is something that the shoes did. Robbery. Wyatt didn’t have time to move out of the way or call for help. He did the only thing he could think to do; he pulled himself into his shell as tightly as possible and said a quick prayer.

He could feel the dirt on the sidewalk vibrate harder as each boot came closer and closer to him. Oh no, he thought. It can’t end this way. I haven’t experienced true love. I haven’t seen a rainbow. I haven’t tasted marshmallows. Please, not yet.

The shadow of the boot cast over his shell. It was as though the sun had gone out. The end of the heel of the boot landed on him. Then, it quickly rolled off. The boots flew up in the air and then landed hard on the sidewalk.

Wyatt peeked out of his shell to see what happened. Shiny boots were rushing toward them. They had a gun pointed toward the scuffed boots. Soon the shiny boots were putting some sort of metal bracelets on the other boots. More shiny boots came and took the others away. Wyatt was a little disappointed that there was no gratitude extended to him. This was not uncommon amongst the shoes. The snail’s contributions were rarely lauded, but he continued to do what he could to make the world a better place.

He kept working his way to the new garbage can. It was so close. He could smell all the delicious aromas. He could see snails huddled in small groups. A piece of newspaper lay on the ground. The excitement was bubbling over. He stepped up his progress. He could hardly wait.

Wyatt was getting close. He was a little worried. The sun was dipping behind the buildings. More and more shoes had returned to the sidewalk. As he neared his new home, a pair of flip flops walked past him, dusting grains of acid-like salt off his pretzel and onto the ground. But it didn’t matter. Wyatt was already home.

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[1]
Snails cannot hear, but they do have highly attuned senses of smell and sight. They also feel very deeply and are quite sensitive. They are considered to be the most gifted poets in the animal kingdom. They have a longstanding rivalry with birds who think they are superior writers since their art comes with musical accompaniment. The High Court of Animals says they are incorrect.

[2]
Nothing moves slower than a snail. The snail community is working tirelessly to come up with a less demeaning measure of pace.

[3]
Obviously Wyatt reads lips.

[4]
All snails use the metric system no matter their country of origin. There was a brief rebellion within America during which time, some renegade snails attempted to seize power and change to inches and pounds. The campaign was a complete and utter failure as snails in general are far too sensible for such an irrational form of measurement.

[5]
In the animal kingdom, the ladybug is lauded as the best of the matchmakers. Behind them, are the snails. Their attention to detail is the secret to their success.

[6]
Snails are voracious readers.