Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Lizards. Garden lizards always in Vlasic Pickle jars. I heard the scissors puncture the metal of a top of a Vlasic pickle jar. The round sound of metal met the tip of an extended pair of shears. Ploup, plop, plop, the metal gave way — gave way to air holes for the green or brown lizard she found that morning. Mom tiptoed into my room when she thought I was asleep, but I had one eye open. She put the pickle jar, full of lizard, one leaf, a rock, and a stick on the bedside table next to me. I played possum — shifted in my fake-sleep, avoided eye contact with the beast in my room as she tip-toed out the door.

    About once a month she captured a lizard and put it in my room. A gift. A test, perhaps. It was one of the things I never understood about her. She upped the ante in my sixth grade year. We met her at the Houston Intercontinental Airport. She had a paper grocery bag. And it was jumping.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.