All That's Left of Me

by Janis Thomas

  A stab of uncertainty jabs at my gut, and I suddenly wonder if Colin was right, if this was a bad idea. But Josh is unaware of the scrutiny and unmoved by the crowd. He and Kate are excited, smiling exuberantly and pointing at the many shops and kiosks and sights and sounds around them. I force myself to think positively.

  As I try to redirect the course of my thoughts, I realize that positive thinking does not come naturally to me anymore. Yes, I am a mother, so I am always analyzing the situation and figuring out the worst-case scenario, just like any other parent. But for a long time now, my analysis has paralyzed me, shackling me to the safe and complacent. I have allowed my fears and the drudgery that has become my life to keep me from living it, and in turn, I have kept my children from experiencing all the wonders around them.

  We are here, on the Jersey Shore, on the boardwalk, about to see wild animals. A host of tragedies could occur. But it dawns on me, as Katie and I walk—and Josh rolls—across the pitted wooden slats of the boardwalk headed for the convention hall, that a host of tragedies could occur anywhere, even in the most banal and safe of places.

  We approach the majestic, old, brick building and I scan the facade for the wheelchair-accessible entrance. I find it on the far left side of the hall. Due to the nature of the event, only small groups are allowed in at a time. The line at the main entrance is backed up almost to the sand, and I smile to myself as we bypass the enormous crowd of people, many of whom are fanning themselves with flyers, brochures, or their hands. The proximity of the ocean ensures a steady breeze, but the temperature is no less than sweltering. One of the few perks of Josh’s disability is easy access to most events, attractions, and amusement parks, although we seldom visit any of those—at least we didn’t BW. Hazy recollections stir in the back of my mind of our family outings, but I know that these are false memories. I am glad to be creating a real memory with my children, one that will not be obscured or erased or overwritten.

  I present our tickets to the usher, a dark-skinned, middle-aged man with an easy smile and a slight accent I can’t place. He refers to his clipboard and scribbles a check mark halfway down the page. Because of Josh’s situation, we will be receiving special accommodations, although I’m not certain what those entail.

  “Welcome to Zimbabwe Zeke’s. It says here there are four in your party.”

  Katie glances at me. I clear my throat. “My husband couldn’t make it.”

  “That is unfortunate. He is missing something truly unique.”

  I shrug and lower my eyes. Katie reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. The man catches the gesture.

  “Ordinarily, we don’t give refunds on the day of the event, but I might be able to get you some food vouchers. I see that you already signed the waivers online. Just one moment while I contact your guide.” He pulls a handy talkie from his belt and speaks into it. “Yes, we have the Davies party here at Gate 4. There will be three guests.” He returns the device to his belt and smiles down at Josh. “Well, sir, you are about to have an extraordinary adventure. Are you prepared to be amazed?”

  Josh nods, then stretches his head back and gazes up at me. “Tha’, Maah.”

  “You are so welcome,” I say. I’m thrilled that the old Josh is back, and not only because it tempers my guilt, but because he deserves these moments of happiness. For him, they are too few and too far between.

  The usher gestures for us to enter the lobby.

  “Kenneth will be with you momentarily.”

  Katie loops her arm through mine, and the three of us enter the convention hall. A guide greets us, dressed much like Josh, in khaki shorts, a short-sleeved shirt, and a vest. He wears a safari hat on his head.

  “Well, hello there,” he says. “I’m Kenneth, and I will be your chaperone today.” He bends down to face Josh. “And what is your name?”

  “Jo’,” Josh says.

  Before Katie and I have a chance to translate, Kenneth says, “Welcome, Josh.” He chucks Josh under the chin and receives a throaty chuckle in return. I’m taken aback that this young man can understand my son, but then I realize he must have read Josh’s name on a list. Still, Josh is pleased he didn’t need a translator. His smile is full of teeth.

  Kenneth stands up straight and looks at Katie and me. “And ladies? Names, please?”

  “I’m Katie, and this is my mom, Emma.”

  Kenneth nods cheerfully. “Wonderful. You are in for a real treat.” He herds us toward a set of double doors on the far side of the lobby. “Now, I just want to tell you a few things before we go inside. I’ve been with Zimbabwe Zeke’s for four years. Before that, I worked as an EMT and a caregiver for special-needs individuals. That’s just a little about me. All of our trainers and animal handlers have over a decade’s worth of experience . . . that’s more than a decade each, not cumulative.” He winks at us. “They know their stuff, so be sure and listen closely to them and follow their instructions to the T.

  “Also, we don’t allow photography of any kind. I know that’s frustrating, but the rule is to ensure your safety as well as that of the animals. Zimbabwe Zeke’s isn’t like other safari petting zoos. I don’t want to say too much, because I don’t want to spoil it for you.” He kneels in front of Josh. “So, listen. It can be a little overwhelming. How about you and me come up with a signal. A way for you to let me know if you have any feelings of unease, discomfort, or distress.”

  Josh looks concerned, and Kenneth pats him on his bony knee. “I’m not saying that’s going to happen, Josh. I just like to be prepared for all eventualities. Understood?”

  “Uhdestoo,” Josh replies solemnly. “H’ a’ow thi’?” He raises his right hand to his forehead, pressing his curled thumb into the space between his eyebrows.

  Kenneth nods. “That’s a good one. I’ll be on the lookout, but like I said, I don’t expect any trouble. I only expect you to be amazed.” He gains his feet and places his palm on the door, then turns back to us, a mischievous smile on his face. “Are you ready?”

  Josh emits a squeal of anticipation. Kenneth pushes the door open.

  Last night, it felt like kismet when I found the safari online. Not only was it happening so close to us—their next venue is New Hampshire—but today is their last day in New Jersey. I knew I had to bring Josh. And Katie. But when I read that the safari took place inside the convention hall, I was skeptical. Despite the size of the space, I wondered how they could simulate such a vast and boundless experience as a safari within four gray walls.

  When we pass through the double doors and enter the great hall, my doubts instantly vanish.

  Moving images of the African plain have been projected on all four walls of the building, creating an endless panorama. The ceiling is no longer a ceiling, but a blue sky peppered with rolling, fluffy white clouds. A warm breeze caresses my face, carrying with it the scent of earth and grass and violets.

  The ground is not concrete flooring but sandy earth dotted with savannah trees, brush, and vibrant flowers of gold and orange and magenta.

  The images on each of the walls contain a different view of the plains and different groups of animals: elephants drinking from a watering hole surrounded by oxpeckers, lions sunning themselves on an outcropping of rocks while cubs play nearby, zebras grazing on shrubs and twigs, giraffes chomping on acacia leaves, hippos bathing, a herd of antelope bounding across the plain, leopards perched in a tree, Cape buffalo, hyenas. In front of each projected image are enormous pens with the same groups of animals within them, overseen by animal handlers dressed in camouflage jumpsuits. The pens are made of glass or some other durable transparent material, giving the illusion that the animals are not confined.

  A wide footpath lines the perimeter of the hall, and small clusters of visitors move from pen to pen, led by guides. For an additional charge, guests can gain access to certain pens, guarded closely by handlers. Across the great hall, a young woman is being led into the antelope pen by a burly camouflaged man. Even from this distance,
I can see the excited apprehension on her face. A low hum of energy fills the entire space, and echoes of oohs and ahhs are underscored by the faint sound of a tribal drum.

  Running through the center of the hall is a dusty winding path. A few zebras and giraffes and emus roam freely, while small vehicles carrying groups of visitors slowly wend through them.

  I gaze at my children. Josh’s eyes are shiny and round as twin moons. Kate wears a look of utter astonishment. Kenneth smiles knowingly.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure that’s true.” He looks down at Josh. “So, what’s it to be first? A walking tour of the animal areas or a ride through the plains? We have special vehicles for special guests like you, Master Josh.”

  “A rie, a rie. Plee.”

  Kenneth nods. He withdraws his own walkie-talkie and speaks a few words into it, then leads us to the main entrance, where an open-air jeep awaits. One side has a lift similar to the one in our van. The driver, a rosy-skinned woman with short auburn hair, tips her safari hat to us, then depresses a button that releases the lift. As soon as it reaches the floor, Kenneth helps Josh maneuver his chair onto it. The lift ascends, jolts to a stop, and Kenneth secures the chair and straps Josh in. Katie and I climb onto the other side of the jeep behind the driver, and Kenneth steps onto the running board next to Josh. I sit on the left side, and Kate sits between me and her brother.

  “This is Mickey,” Kenneth says, jerking his thumb toward the driver. “She’s got something for you.”

  Mickey hands us a small pail full of dry pellets. “We only allow you to feed this to the animals,” she tells us. She sounds Irish. “It’s all organic and made completely with grass and vegetation. Sometimes the animals want to eat, and sometimes they don’t. It’s early hours now, so they might be a bit peckish. I suggest you remove any earrings or necklaces and place your pocketbooks at your feet.”

  Katie giggles nervously, then removes her jewelry. I am wearing none, but I take off the bandanna I threw around my neck. We deposit the items into our purses, then stuff them under our seat. The jeep moves forward slowly, and Josh donkey brays with enthusiasm.

  As soon as we pass the initial barrier, a zebra wanders over to my side of the jeep. Mickey brings the vehicle to a stop and the zebra flaps its ears at us.

  I’ve never seen a zebra in person. The black-and-white zigzag patterns of its coat are almost vertiginous. The creature is stunning.

  “Well, hello, Dolly,” Mickey says, turning to us with a smile. “This is Dolly. She’s a very lovely lady. You may touch her if you like, just remember to keep your movements slow and measured. No sudden jerks or jabs, right?”

  I move my hand toward Dolly’s long snout and gently brush my fingers along the top of her nose. She blinks at me and flaps her ears again. Her lips curl back to reveal a set of enormous teeth. Katie follows my lead, leans over and touches Dolly on the jaw.

  “This is so cool,” she whispers, her voice thick with reverence.

  Dolly takes a step back and bobs her head up and down. She trots around the back of the jeep and comes up next to Josh. I sense his trepidation, but he doesn’t flinch. Kenneth reaches over and takes a few pellets from the pail in Katie’s lap. He grasps Josh’s hand and carefully turns it palm up. Josh’s fingers are curled tightly, but there is ample room on his palm for a few pellets. Kenneth guides Josh’s hand toward Dolly. A moment passes during which Dolly seems to be considering things. Then she jounces toward Josh and gobbles the pellets from his hand.

  Josh shrieks, and I can’t tell if the sound is one of delight or abject terror until he follows it with a bray of laughter.

  Mickey pulls the jeep forward, and we are next met by a giraffe who must be twelve feet tall. Its majestic neck stretches toward the faux blue sky.

  “This is Fabian,” Mickey says. “He’s not yet full grown. He’ll be seventeen feet tall when he reaches adulthood.”

  Fabian bows his head at us, but he isn’t interested in food and won’t come near enough for us to pet him. Another giraffe, smaller than Fabian, wanders over.

  “Oh, Cherise. She’ll be wanting some of that food. She’s a beggar, she is.”

  “Ah th’ bruth’ a’ sisuh? O’ twi?” Josh asks. Are they brother and sister? Or twins?

  Again, before I can translate, Kenneth answers. He must have worked with CPs before. “No, Josh, they’re not. Twins are extremely rare. Giraffes generally only have one calf at a time. The gestational period is fifteen months.”

  “Wow,” I say. “I suddenly feel lucky to be human.”

  “Right, Mom?” Kenneth says with a wink. “Female giraffes can have up to ten calves in a lifetime, but these two here aren’t related.”

  As Kenneth suspected, Cherise dips her head into the jeep and grabs at the pail. Kenneth laughs and shoves her away. Josh turns to face me.

  “Sh’ byufuh, i’ sh’, Maah?”

  “Yes, she is beautiful.”

  “Aye wah’ wuh’ fah a’ pe,” he says, and Katie laughs. I want one for a pet.

  “I’m not sure your city ordinance would allow that, eh, Josh?” Kenneth says, then winks.

  By the time we reach the far corner of the hall, our pail is empty. Ironically, the emus were the most gluttonous of the animals on our short journey. Kenneth helps Josh from the jeep, and Katie and I grab our purses and step to the ground. We thank Mickey and she gives us a cheerful wave, then begins her return trip to the entrance.

  Visitors move down the footpath toward the next pen, and we insert ourselves into the group. Kenneth is giving us information about hippos, which we’re about to see, regaling the kids with fun and little-known facts about the species. I listen with only half an ear, as my attention is drawn to a little girl of about seven in the group ahead of us. She holds tightly to her mother’s hand and continually looks back at Josh with alarm. I can’t help but think of the hairstylist’s daughter and the ensuing debacle, which I chose to delete. Suddenly, I’m gripped with dread. I glance at Josh, who is animatedly explaining something to Kenneth. Kenneth smiles and nods while Katie giggles. I take a deep breath and will myself to relax. Everything is going to be fine.

  We come to a stop in front of a large pen. Josh rolls his chair as close to the barrier as possible. Katie and Kenneth flank him. I stand behind him and place my hands protectively on his shoulders. He stiffens at my touch, then relaxes.

  The hippopotamus pen, like all the others, has been designed to seamlessly connect with the projected image on the wall behind it. A large wading pool has been created in the center of the pen, and two of the enormous animals lounge in the water, only their heads and backs visible. Two other hippos meander outside the pool, one of them close enough to touch if it weren’t for the glass.

  “Tha cyu,” Josh says.

  Kenneth chuckles. “I’m not sure how cute they are, Josh. But I’ll tell you, hippos are unpredictable creatures. They can be very aggressive and are considered highly dangerous.” Kate takes a step away from the glass, but Kenneth is quick to reassure her. “Not to worry, Katie. This pen is stronger than steel. And these animals, all the animals in our safari, are pretty tame. They’re used to the circus life. That’s not to say that any of them are domesticated. There’s no way to domesticate wild animals, not really. But you’re safe.”

  The hippo nearest to us stretches its mouth open to reveal large canine tusks. I’m mesmerized by this strange and comical-looking mammal, with his leathery skin, enormous snout, and portly gray body. I find myself laughing for no particular reason.

  “What is it, Mom?” Katie asks.

  I shake my head and shrug. “It’s just . . . pretty neat.”

  She nods in agreement.

  “The Greeks called hippos river horses,” Kenneth tells us. “Hippos are the third largest land mammal. Funnily enough, their closest relatives are whales and porpoises.”

  Once again, my eyes are drawn to the little girl. She stands a few feet from K
enneth. She stares not at the hippos, but at Josh. I watch as she tugs hard on her mother’s arm. The woman gives her daughter an exasperated look.

  “What, Penny?”

  “What’s wrong with that boy?” the girl asks, her voice at full volume. Everyone standing in front of the hippo pen goes silent. Josh and Kate turn toward the girl, and I feel myself tense.

  “Penny!”

  “I don’t like him,” the girl wails.

  “Penny, shut your mouth,” the mother hisses.

  “He scares me.”

  The mother drops to her knees and grabs the girl by the shoulders, gives her a shake. “I told you to be quiet.”

  “What’s the matter with him? He looks weird.”

  Primal maternal rage courses through me. I want to throttle this stupid child. My rational brain knows she is not being mean on purpose, but the urge to strike, my compulsion toward violence on behalf of my son is so intense, I have to grab the handles of Josh’s wheelchair to steady myself. This, this exact occurrence, is the very thing that compels me to keep my son behind closed doors.

  The wish I have been ignoring, suppressing, fleeing from, presses against the inside of my skull, throbbing, demanding to be given voice.

  “Kenneth.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “Maybe we should move to the next pen.” Kenneth narrows his eyes at me, and I can tell he doesn’t think my suggestion is the best way to handle the situation. I do. I clench my teeth. “Now.”

  Finally he nods. “All right,” he says. “Lots to see. Best to keep going.”

  As we pass the groups in front of us, Josh opens his mouth as though he wants to say something to the girl. She cringes, then ducks behind her mother. Josh closes his mouth. The mother looks at me apologetically. And although I know that kids are curious and callous without meaning to be, and that her daughter’s behavior is not her fault, I can’t help but glare at her.