Chapter 24
The elephant takes a giant shit near the corner of his habitat, a big cement block building in the far corner of the zoo. People “ooh” and laugh while recording on their iPhones.
“Are you watch-een this, Waldo?” Frannie asks over her shoulder.
I nod and pluck a Sour Patch Kid from the bottom of the bag while Frannie shares a box of buttered popcorn with Tristan, her longtime boyfriend from church who, not even an hour ago, said “God rocks” unironically. They occasionally pop a piece of popcorn into the other’s mouth.
“Can you see, Waldo?” she asks again. “She’s—”
“Taking a giant shit, yeah, I see,” I say.
Frannie pulls a look at me, offended, and Tristan kisses the top of her head. I can’t tell if the timing is coincidental, just a habitual peck, or if the kiss is meant to soothe her from my “prickliness.” To protect her from me.
I don’t like Tristan. It’s not that he’s not nice to me. He is, but I can’t count it because Mormons are nice to everyone. You can’t tally something as someone’s good quality if they believe that not possessing it would send them straight to hell.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not here for Tristan.
Or for Frannie. Or to stroll through the aviary and point to colorful birds.
Wow, look at that golden plumage. I’m here for the distraction.
To fill my time with anything so that I can attempt to escape the jagged spears of anxiety that gnaw at me every day that I don’t see him.
It’s been seven days. Seven brutal, punishing days of a substitute teacher. Of attempting to eavesdrop on the conversations of other students in his class, hoping someone will know what the fuck is causing Korgy’s long absence.
But nothing. No clues. No clarity. No closure.
Nothing. Just an indefinite void that I’m forced to fill by picking up extra shifts and spiraling down YouTube rabbit holes and shoveling Marie Callender’s entrees into my mouth and savagely clicking my way through shopping sprees that lacerate my bank account.
“You good?” Frannie asks.
“Yes.”
Tristan pulls her hair behind her shoulders and kisses the back of her neck. The elephant is somehow still shitting. An unbelievable amount of shit.
I suck the sour sugar from the last remaining gummy bodies until my tongue is scraped raw.
I’ve always derived a strange pleasure from the pain of junk food.
Icees vacuumed up through a straw in less than a minute so the brain freeze hits hard.
Nachos packed with so many pickled jalapenos that my nose runs.
Kettle chips heaped into my mouth, my hand a claw excavator, forcing them in as their rugged edges cut my gums.
“I wonder if she gets lonely.” Tristan nods toward the elephant, his perfectly coiffed Latter-Day Saint hair wobbling in the wind.
“Or she could just like her solitude,” I shrug.
“I dunno…” Frannie says, plucking a piece of popcorn from the box. “Solitude can be good but not a lifetime of it. At some point, you’ve gotta find connection somewhere.”
I tilt back the bag of Sour Patch Kids to let the leftover sour sugar pool into my mouth and dissolve. I no longer feel my tongue.