How much is that torty in the window? ... the one with the waggley tail

It had been years since I looked into a store window with childish glee and yearning, hoping that the impassible distance of a few feet would dissolve and allow me to have what it was that danced in my eyes from within.
I own a Tony Hawk skateboard deck, which I could not live without when, at age 33, I took up the board as a means of conveyance to work and to my Saturday coffees with God, where I prepared the next day’s sermon from a pocket Gideon Bible, keeping notes on a pocket Mead notepad. I had spent several weeks saving money and “visiting” the Powell-Peralta brand skateboard deck that was displayed among other popular boards of the time – all for about $100.
The day came for the purchase. The young man who sold it to me, Justin, with orange and red flames tattooed on one shank, asked if this was a gift for my son.

The last time I had the skateboard out (age 47 or so) I was at the town skate park, taking gentle (i.e. barely-negligible) rises and dips in the concrete. At one point the board went out from under me and I twisted a large assortment of parts. Bent and sprawled on the pavement, looking something like a zombie, I saw the silhouette of a teenager in the sunlight that was blinding me every bit as badly as the pain.

“Mister? Are you okay.” Well, I assured the lad that I was fine, but had decided to rest here for a while … until I could move. Could be days. The boy then saw my board and asked, “Is that a Tony Hawk?” I figured I would earn a modicum of respect and approval and get coolness points for being hip. Then he said, “Wow! I have only seen that board in a museum!” Oh, good heavens. I hobbled home feeling like an artifact.

Anyway, that same sort of storefront electric excitement went zapping through me when I realized that there was one tortoise, a Russian, among the other creatures available at the pet store. There were a few geckos, a couple of iguanas, some beautifully-colored small snakes, and this little tortoise standing like a little jewel box in his somewhat sparse enclosure.

I was a child again, looking through glass, wanting something more than anything else in the world.