My CBT therapist told me I had to sing loudly in a public park.

Previously my friend Alice had told me of a quiet and beautiful pond very near my house which I had never heard of which had turtles living in it. At the time, I declined her kind offer to take me there. Much too busy doing very important things.

Also previously I had mentioned the turtles to another friend. She attempted to find them with her sister and failed. She had the address. But the location of where exactly the pond was was never mentioned anywhere.

I drove expecting the worst. "You're wasting time. Just go to a park you've been to before. Just sing and get it over with." Still, I pulled into the driveway that the address led me to. It was hot, dusty, dry, with empty parking spaces. Some type of bird sanctuary which had a closed gate in front of it.

I turned around in the small parking lot and drove further. I passed houses that I wished I lived in. I drove to the end of the street, another potential entrance to the apparently large park which was indifferent to visitors.

At the end of the street was a dead-end with a closed gate, but I couldn't get a good look at the gate unless I went on foot. I backed down the street, audibly reminding myself that I was just wasting time.

I parked the car. I walked up the street to the gate. I could now see that there was a tight, right-angled entrance in the fence designed to let only pedestrians through. I imagined that through the gate was probably where all the gangs hung out.

I walked through the gate. 97 degrees. Desert terrain. I promised myself I'd just peek around the corner and then go back to the car. Around the corner there was a cliff. There was a view. There were far-off houses which all had wonderful balconies. I paused, sweated, promised myself I would just see what was over the next hill and then go back to the car. Over the next hill I saw one pine tree, somewhat rare in Los Angeles, sticking up from in between a couple other trees. "There aren't any turtles out here," I said aloud to myself. I promised myself I would just investigate near the pine tree, and then I would really go back to the car.

I walked uphill towards the pine tree. As I climbed up over this last hill, up in the sky surrounded by barren dirt, I found a large shady pond surrounded by trees.

There was no one there. I slowly walked around the water's edge. Golden dragonflies and light-blue dragonflies buzzed around and chased each other. I stood silently. A sploosh of water broke the silence. I looked and didn't see anything. Then I noticed a tiny thing sticking up out of the water. It was a turtle's head. Then I saw another. And another. They swam happily. There was a baby turtle swimming along with a momma turtle. There were big fish and crawdads.

As I slowly made my way around the pond, a few people had begun to fill benches that were placed around the water. A handful of people. I made it all the way around and sat on an unoccupied bench in the shade.

I thought how I couldn't sing now. The turtles didn't need that. The people didn't need that. Some crazy guy being crazy and ruining the peacefulness of the place? Nobody wants that.

But it'd be so much faster and easier if I just sang here and now than if I went to another park. That's what I came here for. Two birds, one stone. One bird was the turtles. The other bird was Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. And I was the stone.

I sang somewhat quietly in my surprisingly convincing Hank Williams singing voice, which doesn't at all match my usual speaking voice.

"Today I passed you on the street. And my heart fell at your feet. I can't help it if I'm still in love with you."

No one looked up, which didn't surprise me. I was singing too quietly. The point of the exercise was to be heard. I sang louder.

"Somebody else stood by your side. And he looked so-oh satisfied. I can't help it if I'm still in love with you."

That time they must have at least heard me. But not one glance my way. Perhaps it was because I still wasn't at full volume. But I was singing good. Once I sang "Your Cheatin' Heart" at karaoke in Burbank and an old man with a large belt buckle came up to me afterwards in the parking lot and said, "You know, a lot of people have sang that song, but you sang it the way Hank sang it." So I didn't feel bad for the people or the turtles. Music soothes the savage beast.

"It's hard to know another's lips will kiss you. And hold you just the way I used to do. Heaven only knows how much I miss you. I can't help it if I'm still in love with you."

Full volume. But still not one glance. It was like I was in "A Christmas Carol." They couldn't see me or hear me. And it was peaceful again. Like it never happened. No rush to leave.

If you live in Los Angeles and want to see the turtles, drive to 4080 Evadale Dr. LA, CA 90068, and park as close as you can to the end of the dead-end street. Walk to the gate at the end of the street and go through it on the left-hand side. The path curves around to the left, and then either climb the first steep path you see on the right, or follow the trail up as it curves around to the right. Either way, at the top of that next hill, look to the left and walk towards the tallest trees you can see. You will climb another hill and see the pond.

Thanks for reading, Reader.

Ryan

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