“It’s up to you. I wanted to bring it just in case . . .”
I reach for the turquoise pashmina scarf and twist it around my neck. My fingers shake at first when I feel something tightening around my neck, but then Torrin loosens it. Sliding it around and positioning it just so, he finds a way to leave it loose while still covering the scar.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat when his fingers brush my neck as he finishes adjusting it.
He smiles his you’re welcome. I remember him doing that a lot. “There. Now you’re free to roam the zoo without having to worry about a swarm of reporters documenting your every move.”
“At least one of us is incognito.” I lower the dark glasses down my nose and scan his less-than-subtle outfit.
When Torrin looks at himself, he shakes his head. “Just when I think I’ve got it all planned out.”
I smile at him and shove open the door. After closing it, I check my reflection in the window to make sure the scarf’s still covering the scar.
“Ready?” He comes around the front bumper and waits for me.
I answer him by strolling up beside him. “Do you always have to wear this when you’re out in public?”
I’ve been to church before, and mass with Torrin a few times, but I don’t know the rules. After do unto others and thou shalt not murder, that’s where my church knowledge runs out.
Torrin scans the parking lot as we move through it. Nothing but strollers and frazzled-looking parents. “No, I just think it’s better if I do.”
I nod. “To help me remember what you are now?”
Torrin’s arm stops me when I’m about to step out in front of a minivan. It’s been a decade since I’ve had to use a crosswalk.
“No,” he says, dropping his arm. “To help remind myself.”
I don’t know what to say next, so I just don’t say anything. Seems like a better option than asking him to explain. Because I think I know what he means. When he glances at me once we reach the ticket booth, I think he knows I understand what he means too.
He holds up two fingers at the ticket booth and pays for our admission. He pays with a card.
Money. Credit cards. Checks. I have none. I’ve never written a check. I’ve never used a credit card. I’ve never paid a bill.
I feel like I fell asleep as a child and woke up as an adult. The whole world has moved on while I’m still clutching my blanket.
“Thank you,” I say, about to tell him I’ll pay him back, but I can’t.
Unless I ask my parents for money, I can’t pay him back, and I don’t want to ask them. I don’t have a job that earns a paycheck and don’t know what I’d be qualified for anymore. What kind of person’s going to hire someone who can list their last ten years of experience as making bologna sandwiches and pouring milk while chained to a metal pipe?
“Thank you.” He nudges me as he passes through the gates. “I haven’t been to the zoo since the last time we skipped class the first week of school.”
That’s another good memory. A painful one now. “Why not?”
Torrin takes a map from an employee handing them out and stops. He’s looking at me in that same way again. “Because it wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
I think I’m looking at him the same way. The sun’s out, and it’s warming my back, and there are no reporters or hospital staff or family to make me feel like an anomaly. There’s no past and no future when he looks at me like that—there’s only right now.
The map drops to his side, and he steps closer to me. His hand is reaching for me, and just when I feel his thumb brush the inside of my elbow, an old woman waddles up to us.
“Bless you, Father.” She reaches for the hand he’s stretching out to me and gives it a gentle squeeze. “God bless you for all you do.”
She shoots me a quick smile before going on with her business, but our moment is carried off with her down toward the Arctic Adventure.
Torrin clears his throat and steps back. “What do you want to see first?” He slides his finger underneath his collar like it’s too tight and holds up the map for me.
I don’t need to look. I know what I want to see first. “The elephants.”
“The elephants.” Torrin tries to groan, but it’s pathetic. Just like it always was when he’d try to grumble over my excitement at the elephants. “Why always the elephants? Why not the lions? Or the gorillas? Or the adorable sea otters?”
“Because,” I answer him.
He follows me with another grumble. “They eat. They poop. They trudge. What’s so exciting about that?”
“Try looking in their eyes this time, Mr. Lion Lover. If you do, you’ll see that there’s a soul in there. Not just an animal that’s all instinct. Not one who only eats, poops, and trudges.”
He makes a face like he’s considering that, but he shakes his head a whole five seconds later. “Nope. Lions are cooler.”
I roll my eyes and shove him as we wander down the path to the elephants. It’s a beautiful day at the zoo, so it’s a busy day at the zoo. People are passing by me and in front of me and around me, and I’m trying my hardest not to think about it.
I tell myself that I’ve got to get used to this again. People. Places. Living in the suburbs of one of the largest cities in the nation. By the time we round the zebra enclosure, I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it. I might be the only person meandering around the zoo with sweaty palms from fighting off an anxiety attack, but at least I’m not succumbing to it.