We crawl up to the fence behind the high school for a
glimpse of the wildlife there, not a Doe or Fox or even a groundhog, but lions,
tigers and bears.
I’m Dorothy telling Joe this isn’t Kansas anymore, and he –
aspiring one day to become a cop – is so scared, he’s as pale as a scarecrow,
and as courageous as a cowardly lion, trying his best to play the role of tin man,
we both know he has heart.
I keep hoping he won’t faint especially when we get a whiff
of what we cannot yet see, but when we get to the top, we still can’t see
We cut class to do this, while other, wiser kids, hide out
behind the gym smoking cigarettes
Even I wonder if we are crazy, and whether or not someday we
might both regret this, if we live so long.
In the distance we hear the train, freight trains bound for
the Greenville Yards, or passenger trains bound for Hoboken, I can’t tell,
rides we intend to take, but need to do this first.
Something growls when our feet hit the ground on the wrong
side of the fence, Joe suggesting we go back, me thinking its too late for
that, moving ahead through the maze of buildings and cages, the sanctuary where
authorities bring wild animals straight off the planes, animals we hear, but cannot
see, and ache to, and I wonder if they feel safe here, or are they scared of
what comes next, where they will be sent once their incubation period ends, and
I’m tempted to set them free, Joe freaking out when I suggest it, telling me I’m
crazy, and yet, hearing the stirring inside the cages, I think: what if it was
me there, like them, not knowing what to expect next.
I don’t get the chance. Someone with a flashlight, maybe a
gun, starts shouting at us. Joe runs. I hesitate, caught in the middle of
wanting to do what I said, and fleeing before I wind up in a different cage, me
and those poor creatures, those lions, tigers and bears.
The man shouts; I run, too, knowing I will never get the
courage up to do this again, a regret I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
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