The Nature of Jade

by Deb Caletti

Kayla: Shit. Come on!

  Hannah: Well, you know, whatever.

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  Kayla: I guess, but still. Hannah: Yeah. Kayla: You know? Hannah: Yeah.

  The bus arrives at Hannah's stop and they both get up. Kayla adjusts her clothing, tugs on her hem, then twists her skirt so the zipper is centered.

  "Aren't you freezing?" Akello asks her. Michael whacks him again. "Whaat?" he says.

  "You would have loved it, Sis," Oliver says. "They had this camera, hidden in a pile of crap. Or this stuff that looked like a pile of crap." "Cool," I say.

  "It was. They followed the herd that way. They even showed a baby elephant being born. All the elephants gathered around to help it stand up. And then the male came, and they all circled around the baby to protect it."

  Oliver is telling me about the video they'd seen in science that day. I pour myself a glass of cranberry juice, which is supposed to be full of antioxidants to keep you healthier. It is going to compensate for the brownie I am going to eat before I go over to the zoo. I have to be careful.

  The way I eat, my arteries are going to clog and I'm going to have a heart attack at thirty-five, like those type-A businessmen.

  "Imagine the camera guy who has to hide it there." I take a swig of my drink.

  "No, seriously," he says. "It was great." I can tell I am frustrating him a little, which makes the sicko part of me want to do it more. "It was awesome."

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  "I still want to know if it was real crap or manufactured crap. That'd make a difference." "Sis," he says.

  "You know, smell versus no smell," I say. "Quit it," he says. His voice is so full of disappointment that I feel bad.

  "Okay, I'm sorry. Tell me about it quickly, 'cause I've got to get out of here or I'll be late."

  "Never mind."

  Come on, I say. "I'll tell you later." "O-kay."

  "You would have really liked it," he says sadly.

  My conscience would be guiltier if I weren't in such a hurry, and if I weren't so looking forward to getting to the zoo. I finish my snack, brush my teeth, zip through the dining room. I don't know where Mom is, but there's a stack of books on the dining room table. The Jefferson Connection; The Forefathers at Home. Washington and Delaware. Okay, it seems strange. But I figure I don't have to worry until she starts wearing a three-cornered hat and hanging old pistols above the fireplace. Then again, just because I worry about everything, doesn't mean I worry about the right things.

  "Elaine and I can do it," I say to Damian. Bamboo and Flora need to be washed.

  "Elaine is babysitting Hansa. And besides, washing them is one of my favorite things," Damian says. "It's so satisfying. Damn the administrative work."

  "It's my favorite too," I say.

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  "Prepare to be drenched, then."

  "All right," I say. I'm glad I won't be in the same place as yesterday if Sebastian comes, sitting there like I'm waiting for him. Okay, I am waiting for him, but I don't want to seem like it. Plus, Damian is right--washing the elephants is satisfying. It is like washing your car, as I've said before, but it makes the car happy too.

  The elephants have a bathing area outside in their enclosure, but it's so important to keep them clean that we try to give them a daily bath as well. Baths are a big part of their lifestyle in the wild, and baths protect them from disease and insect bites and from getting too dried out. It also relaxes them, just like us with our bath beads and scented candles. The best time to bathe them is in the morning, but sometimes there isn't enough time for everyone. The one thing you've got to watch out for is that the elephant hasn't just done a bunch of exercise, or the sudden change in temperature can make them sick--like if you jumped into a cold shower after running a marathon.

  We bring Flora and her tire in first. Flora lies down so I can squirt her with the hose. I have to be careful not to aim at any of her tender areas--inside her ears, near her eyes, her genitals, the tip of her trunk. Damian does the actual washing, because he can do it safely and quickly. In India, they bathe the elephants in the river, he's told me. He washes Flora's face and tusk, her stomach, and hind legs, scrubbing with a pumice stone. We wash her tire, too. All the while, Flora is making these little squeaks of happiness. The elephants love the water, but maybe it's just baths of any kind they love, because they take mud baths, too.

  We work hard with Flora and then Bamboo, and then we let them out into the enclosure.

  Bamboo strides off (probably to

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  cover herself in dust, same as Milo rolls in the grass after a bath), and Damian and I watch her, like a couple of proud parents. Damian chuckles. "What?" I say.

  "I was thinking about how scared you were when you first came," Damian says. "Real funny," I say.

  "It was funny, all right," he says, chuckling away.

  "Well, you know, they're kind of large."

  "You are progressing," Damian says. I look over at him and he grins at me. He nods. "Yes, indeed."

  We admire Flora next, as she ambles over to the others. I know it is about time for Sebastian to come, and I keep checking and watching until I finally see him. Suddenly, he's there, and my heart just rises up again. Part of it is happiness, and part relief. I guess I halfway expected him to just not show, to disappear, taking this new joy with him. But no. He's there and he sees me and waves, and I wave back.

  "Ah," Damian says.

  "What?"

  "Hmmm," he raises his eyebrows up and down. "Quit," I say.

  "You are progressing more than I even realized." "You're embarrassing me." "He has a baby on his back."

  "I know. He's not married, but ... Is it a bad thing? He's got... a different life."

  "He's a responsible young man. Look, do you see? He has given the child a graham cracker even if it means the crumbs are sure to be in his hair. And you are a young woman. You are 136

  not an animal in an enclosure. And he has waved at you and you are still standing here."

  "Damian? Thanks."

  "I'll see you tomorrow."

  I run back to the elephant house, take off my wet overalls, wash my hands. I hurry out to the viewing area--Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave--and hope I don't look as awful as I probably do.

  Sebastian smiles when he sees me approaching. Bo ignores me, intent on his graham cracker, and Damian was right about the soggy pieces of brown that have dropped from Bo's hands and landed on the side of Sebastian's head. It's the third time we've seen each other, and something about this is significant. I can feel the change between us. The third time means the start of familiarity.

  "Hi, guys," I say. "I'm a mess, and I'm embarrassed to see you." It's that trick prosecuting attorneys use, right? Where they bring up all of the flaws in their case first, before the other guy does?

  "No, you look great," he says. Which I'm sure I hear wrong. What he says is, You're muddy and tuet and smelly. What he says is, You'ue got mascara there, under your eye.

  "I was washing Bamboo and Flora. Flora--there, the small one with the pink around her ears?

  And Bamboo--the big one. She's the matriarch."

  "You think they all look the same at first. But then you realize," Sebastian says.

  "I know. And their personalities are so different."

  "I brought you that book," Sebastian says. "But I left it in the car. I can't believe I forgot it. I can go get it. . . ."

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  "I'm heading out," I say. "I can walk with you when you guys are ready."

  "We're ready. We only came by for a minute. I like to take Bo out for a while when I come home.

  It gives him and Tess a break from each other."

  "Tess? Your grandmother?"

  "Yeah."

  "Do you guys live around here?" We start walking. It's nice walking beside Sebastian. There's a coziness to it. The easy normality of heading in the same direction.

  "You know where the houseboats are? By the Fremont Bridge? We live in one of those."
>
  "Wow. That must be great." Seattle has a couple of houseboat "neighborhoods." Floating houses moored in rows along docks. They range from narrow and grand to quirky shingled shacks, a mixed-up combination of bobbing lives all packed close.

  "Not the easiest with a little guy who just wants to go. Not much room to run around. And he's in this fearless stage, where he bolts and doesn't think. And all I do is see danger everywhere--him falling in the water, him escaping and us not realizing. Every other word out of my mouth is

  'no.'"

  I understand that, seeing danger everywhere. We leave through the entry gate, pass Delores in her little box. She pops her head up, raises one eyebrow at me. Man, I can't get away with anything in this place.

  "That water all around would make you a wreck," I say.

  "Exactly. I want to put him in a life jacket every time we walk to the car. Maybe I can just keep him in a life jacket the rest of his life. Here we are."

  He has a really old Volvo, one of the square, boxy ones, with 138

  a car seat in the back, along with assorted children's books and toys and bottles and crumbs. It's the same way Mrs. Chen's car looks, while Mr. Chen's is vacuumed and ordered and spotless.

  Sebastian swings the backpack off his shoulders, sets it down, and then lifts Bo out. "God, Bo, look at you." Bo has made a smeary mess with the graham cracker. He has it around his face, his hands, and down the front of his shirt. "How much of that got in your mouth?" Sebastian says.

  "You had fun with that, didn't you," I say to him.

  "I've got to warn you, he hates the car seat." Sebastian holds the crockery Bo away from himself, aims Bo's rear end toward the seat, and backs him in. Sure enough, as soon as Bo is ducked into the car, he straightens himself and stiffens. He starts to shriek. "Come on, Bo," Sebastian pleads.

  They wrestle a bit, until finally Sebastian is able to get the strap over Bo's head and buckle him in. He clicks the belt shut, closes the car door. Bo's face is red and devastated, still screaming behind the glass.

  "Whew," Sebastian says.

  "Whew," I say.

  "All right," Sebastian says.

  "I hate to even mention it, but the book?"

  "Oh, God, I forgot." Sebastian opens the driver's side door, letting a few of Bo's protests escape.

  "Come on, Bo," he says. "Relax, man." Sebastian takes off his coat. He roots around in the front seat, plucks the book from the passenger seat, and shuts the door again. His face is flushed, and he stands there in his curls and a navy blue cotton shirt, and, God, he looks good. His shoulders are broad and strong.

  "Here," he says. I laugh. He's just gone through a lot of effort to say that word.

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  "Thank you," I say. I pretend to read the back, but the text just floats meaninglessly past. "You look so good," I say, and shit! Oh, God, that's not what I meant. Shit! "It looks good. The book."

  I feel the blush coming, stampeding in. I curse my backstage mind. I can't believe it. Oh, my God.

  "Jade, I..." Shit, what? Am I right? He's hesitating, struggling with something. I am such an idiot!

  But, wait a sec. I'm not sure he's flushed from wrestling Bo. It's not really a flush. It's more ... Is he blushing? "I've got this child," he says.

  I wait.

  "And I know we don't even know each other, but it's been great, you know, just talking a little to someone who's not either under two or over sixty." He laughs.

  "I'm glad," I say.

  "Since we moved here ... I mean, I don't have a lot of time to go out, you know, with Bo. But I work at this bookstore, and there's a coffee place there, and I was wondering if maybe you might want to come by tomorrow night, because I'm working. I mean, I'll be working, but I could take some time . .."

  "I'd really like that." I would love that. I would so love that.

  "I know this isn't the usual thing, guy with kid, not the kind of date you're used to . . ."

  I shoot past humiliation, roller coaster to relief again. I'm feeling so light, there's the possibility I might take off right there, lift up, like those dreams you have where you suddenly realize you can fly.

  "That would be great."

  "The store--you know Armchair Books?"

  "No."

  "Greenlake?"

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  "I can find it."

  "Right by the place where they rent bikes." "I can find that," I say. "Eightish?" "That's great."

  "All right." He claps his hands together.

  I look at him, and do something I would have never done if I'd had time to think. I raise my hand, take a chunk of graham cracker from his hair. He reaches for my fingers, turns them to see what I had retrieved. "Oh, no," he says, and brushes my hand clean. Then he holds my fingers for a moment, just a moment, and looks at them as if he'd just discovered something.

  I, too, discover something right then, as he holds my fingers. I look up, and realize that I had stepped onto the bridge, that now I am on the other side. I am on the other side, and there is Sebastian next to me, looking at my hand, both of us, it seems, wondering how we'd gotten there.

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  CHAPTER TEN

  Beavers make specific mate choices. They may completely ignore members of the opposite sex until they see "the one." Then the pair will go off, play, mate, build a home. They stay bonded though life, though if a partner dies, the beaver may eventually "remarry" . . . --Dr. Jerome R.

  Clade, The Fundamentals of Animal Behavior

  "He's pretty cute," Delores says on Saturday when I come for work.

  "You noticed," I say.

  "I noticed he had a baby, too. Is it his?" Delores circles a word in her seek-and-find book. "Yes."

  "Where's the mother?" "I'm not sure yet," I say.

  "I'd make that a priority to find out," she says. "Okay."

  "It could be complicated."

  "I know," I say. I did know.

  "You're young, and a child . . . whew."

  "Okay."

  "He's young. And a child . . . You know?" 1 know.

  "But he sure is cute," Delores says.

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  The early morning jobs at the elephant house are cleaning stalls, laying new hay, washing elephants, and feeding them. On weekends we try to do this before the zoo opens, since we get the most visitors then, and it's best to have the animals out where people can see them.

  Enrichment tasks, like hiding fruit and adding new toys, are best done in the afternoon, so zoo goers can watch. That morning, I find Damian (who only takes Sundays off and is on call even then) scrubbing Onyx.

  "Damian, I think you must spend half your life soaking wet," I say.

  "Oh, I don't mind. I could give this job to one of you, but then I'd be miserable."

  "Hey, Onyx," I say. "You big old girl. You old softie." Onyx is smiling, her lips curled up.

  "Washing these beasts, it relaxes me. You, too, right, Onyx?" He pats her side. "Thinking time. I remember my home, the river, and my Jum and family."

  "Your poor hands. Permanently wrinkled."

  He stops, looks at his hands. Onyx lifts her big head and nudges him, same as Milo when you're done petting him. "Maybe so. And what of you? I'm surprised you are here today. I thought you would be on a date with that responsible boy."

  "Tonight."

  "Ah. Falling in love is such a magical time." "We just met, Damian. I'm not in love." Damian laughs. "I am going to have you clean the stables today, since you are already so full of shit."

  "Great," I say. "Thanks a lot."

  "Every job will be a pleasure today," Damian promises.

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  When I get home, I tell Mom I am going to a party at Alex Orlando's house. She knows who Alex Orlando is, of course. She looks so excited, I worry for a minute she'll want to come along.

  Suddenly, she's overly interested in my clothes, and she's suggesting this really short skirt I bought when I was in one of those stores with the loud, pumping music--the kind of store that m
akes you think you're brave enough to wear anything, until the music is no longer and reality hits. It's weird she's acting this way, because this is the woman who's been telling me for years that a guy should appreciate who you are, not what you look like; that you demean yourself if you advertise that you're just someone for them to have sex with. She's never really been one of those mothers who'll let you wear anything if it helps your popularity. But then again, I've never been invited to Alex Orlando's house. She hands me the too-tight sweater bought with the above-mentioned skirt. If she knew I would wear what she suggested to meet a guy of an undefined age who I had just met, who has a baby, she would have strangled me with her new leather belt she's just also offered to lend me. But to Alex Orlando's house, no problem. Alex Orlando, who ran for ASB president with posters showing him with his shirt off. Who won on the campaign slogan,

  "Vote for Alex. He'll make you feel gooood." Mom has lost all sanity with such riches at our fingertips--she's suddenly turned into a popularity pimp.

  I decide on a pair of jeans and a nice sweater instead, and Mom gives up with a sigh. I'm not Barbie, and Sebastian's not Ken. Mom has a talk with me as I hunt around for the car keys, 144

  which I'm sure I've lost, meaning Mom will have to drive me in Dad's car to Alex's, or something else that will result in me missing this night. Her lecture goes something like this: Mom: If there is any drinking at this party, I want you to come home immediately. If the environment gets destructive or out of hand, it's okay to leave. You know that, right? We have to look out for ourselves in situations like that, no matter what people may think. And if you do anything stupid like actually drink if there is alcohol there, I'll be very disappointed, but I'll still love you, and the important thing is to call and I'll come get you no matter what time it is. I don't care what time it is, because I'd rather get up and be inconvenienced than have to sit by your hospital bed. And speaking of the hour, I want you to come home by midnight, because all of the drunks are out on the roads after midnight, and remember that you need to say no to boys in a way that they understand you mean no.

  Me: Have you seen the keys?

  Anyway, by the time I get out the door, I almost forget where I'm actually going. I've been so convincing about going to Alex's party that I have to stop for a minute and realize I'm not really going there.