“What happened?”
“Remember I said the Chukmas covered themselves with a Choctaw blanket? Well, Mrs. Chukma always carried a few spare blankets in the trunk of the car. And with the car smashed to smithereens, the trunk flew open. The Bohpoli spotted the extra blankets, and while one Bohpoli was chirping like a bird, the others hurried across the road and grabbed a beautiful blue Choctaw blanket. They flew to the base of the tree and stretched it wide like a trampoline.”
We all, myself and my dozens of cousins, leaned back and raised our eyebrows in disbelief. Like, hoke, never gonna happen. Naloosha Chitto had to weigh at least a thousand pounds, and a few little people could never catch him and bounce him around like a kid on a trampoline.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Uncle Kenneth said. “You’re thinking, How could they cross the road without a crossing guard?”
We all gave him a great big authentic Choctaw laugh and let him go on with his story.
“So when Naloosha Chitto cracked the limb he was standing on and fell seventy-seven feet to the ground, he spun round and round, brushing away the clouds and swiping at the moon. But nothing stopped his fall.
“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.