by Beth Hautala
NOT OPEN TO THE PUBLIC
I didn’t feel like “the public”—I didn’t feel like the words on that sign were meant for me, or for my brother, but we stood behind the closed gate like we were supposed to. There were lots of trucks in the makeshift parking lot, and we watched the zoo staff unload equipment as they set up their temporary home. Once some large, tall fences were in place, the animals were unloaded one at a time from a variety of cages and vehicles.
First came the monkeys, which were especially loud. My brother covered his ears when they started screeching.
Then three donkeys. It took four people to get the last one out of its trailer because it refused to move.
“Ha!” Jacob laughed. “Olivia, look! Look at the donkey!”
Then there was a giant tortoise. It was so big I could have ridden on it.
After that came a Komodo dragon, which was pretty exciting. Everyone was treating that lizard with a lot of respect. Which made sense. It probably could have eaten me in just a couple bites.
After the Komodo dragon came out, though, I got a little nervous. There was only one trailer left to unload, and so far we’d struck out. This last truck wasn’t big enough for elephants. Or tigers, bears, or zebras, really. Maybe it could hold lions? It was hard to think with the monkeys screaming and screeching in their cages, jumping up and down and adding to the expectation and anxiety.
I could tell Jacob was nervous, too; I knew the signs. He rubbed his arms and hugged himself tightly as we stood under the hot sun, repeating “lions, lions, lions” over and over. He shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, looking everywhere except at me.
Another sign.
I really didn’t want Jacob to have a meltdown, so I needed to be ready to do something if they didn’t bring a lion out of that trailer.
“Hey Jacob,” I said. “Don’t you think Komodo dragons are awesome? I mean, they are dragons.”
Jacob relaxed a tiny bit.
“There are no such things as dragons, Olivia.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. It helped to play along.
“Yes. I’m sure.” Jacob quit rocking. He couldn’t believe I didn’t know this. “The Komodo dragon is a lizard. The heaviest lizard on earth, but not the biggest. It can run up to eleven miles per hour in short bursts. Unlike mythological dragons, it doesn’t fly or breathe fire. But it is a carnivore and will overpower its prey with sheer strength and serrated teeth.”
When Jacob shared facts, it often sounded like he was reading from an encyclopedia. I just nodded, listening and watching him.
“Most people think the Komodo dragon poisons people with its saliva. But that is a myth. The Komodo dragon poisons its prey with venom. Toxins lower blood pressure, cause massive bleeding, prevent clotting, and induce shock.”
“Oh.” I stared at him for a minute. “That’s kinda gross, Jacob.”
“That’s kinda gross, Jacob,” he said, repeating my words. He did that sometimes when he was nervous or worried. Sometimes even when he was excited.
Finally, they opened the last trailer. One of the zoo staff walked inside cautiously.
Let it be a lion . . . let it be a lion . . . let it be a lion . . . But when the staff person came back out, what marched behind him down the ramp was definitely not a lion. It was a large-eyed, long-necked ostrich.
My brother froze.
I froze.
And then suddenly Jacob wasn’t frozen anymore. He was looking everywhere except at the giant bird. He began swaying and rocking, twisting his shirtsleeves and humming anxiously. Then Jacob collapsed in the dust and started wailing.
“Waaaaaaaaaaa!”
I crouched down beside him. “Okay, Jacob,” I said. “Time to go home.”
Nothing.
I rubbed his back, but he just shook me off. “I know you’re upset,” I soothed. “So am I. I wish there were lions, too. Ostriches make me upset, too.” That last part was a lie. “But crying isn’t going to fix anything.” That part was true.
Jacob just screamed.
“This is the worst day ever!” my brother yelled through tears.
I rolled my eyes. “Really? Worst day ever?” I was getting frustrated. “Seriously, Jacob. I can think of a whole lot worse days than this—”
“NO!” His voice rose an octave and cut me off. I glanced around. One of the zoo staff stopped what she was doing and stood watching us from the other side of the gate.
“Hey, Jacob, how about we pretend we’re in a jungle and we need to run home before the jungle animals catch us?” We used to play this game a lot when we were little. Jacob was always a panther, and I was usually a bird of some kind. It was fun.
But Jacob didn’t want to play. He only shrieked and yelled. So, I tried again. I tried all the things I usually did, plus all the things I’d seen Mom and Dad try.
I lowered my voice and did my best to stay calm. “Come on, Jacob. Let’s go home, okay?”
“No! No! No! GO!” Jacob screamed at me.
I stood up and took a deep breath. This was only getting worse. I couldn’t do this. Not here. Not by myself.
“Everything all right?” The woman behind the gate approached, her face a mix of concern and suspicion.
“Yeah! It’s fine!” I smiled a big happy smile and gritted my teeth. “My brother’s just a little upset. Sorry—”
“WHY DO YOU HAVE MY OSTRICH?” Jacob screamed.
“Uh—” The woman’s look of concern shifted to confusion, and her face turned red.
“WHY DO YOU HAVE MY OSTRICH?” Jacob screamed even louder, his despair shifting to anger.
“Easy, kid.” She was frowning now.
But Jacob wouldn’t calm down. He stood up and balled his fists. He was taller than I was. And strong. His face was as red as the woman’s behind the gate. I was glad there was something separating us from one another.
I ignored the woman and cautiously slipped my hand into Jacob’s, giving it a little squeeze. Normally Jacob didn’t like when people touched him. Even Mom and Dad. But it was different with me. It had always been different.
“Come on, Jacob. Please? I need you to take me home now.”
He took a shuddering breath and glanced in my direction. The woman at the gate watched.
“Take me home, Jacob? I can’t remember the way.” I tugged on my brother’s hand like a little kid might do. Jacob rocked back and forth, trying to catch his breath from crying. After a few moments, he finally nodded and turned away from the gate.
“It’s all right, Olivia,” he said. He took another deep, shuddering breath. “I remember the way.”
So, I let him lead me, my hand still in his, like I was the one who needed help.
As we walked away, I turned back for one last look at the animals. The woman in the uniform was still standing behind the gate. And she stayed there, watching us, like we were the ones in a cage.
3
One Hundred Percent Done
AS FAR BACK as I could remember, Jacob had always had meltdowns. Whenever he was tired or scared or nervous. When he didn’t like what Mom was making for dinner. When his favorite TV show wasn’t on that night. But after his toy ostrich disappeared six months ago, everything got worse.
My brother’s ostrich was small. Only about three or four inches tall and made of hard plastic. A perfect copy of the real thing. And Jacob loved it. It used to go everywhere with him. He’d hold it up to the car window whenever we drove anywhere so it could look out. It sat at the breakfast table with us in the morning so that Jacob could feed it bits of cereal. He even used to keep it perched on his nightstand as he slept.
That little toy bird was Jacob’s most important thing. And when he lost it, all the little things that made Jacob seem different suddenly turned into big things. He got upset more often, and his meltdowns got worse. It became harder t
o calm him down, too. It was like that little toy ostrich had steadied Jacob—had helped keep all the pieces of him together somehow. And lately it seemed like Dad and Mom and me were spending more and more time trying to keep Jacob from falling apart.
I needed to find that ostrich.
* * *
• • •
Sweat dripped down my back, making my T-shirt stick to me the whole walk home. There was dust in my teeth, and I wanted a glass of water more than anything.
I squinted and watched the heat rise up in shimmering waves over the dirt road ahead of us. Horseflies buzzed around, landing every now and then, and biting. Jacob was still holding my hand. I shook him off twice, because I wanted to hurry up and get home—out of the sun, away from the flies, and away from this morning that had not gone as planned.
But both times Jacob reached down and grabbed my hand right back. And because I didn’t want him to get upset again, I held hands with my brother. All the way home. Only this time he didn’t hurry.
* * *
• • •
It took forever, but we finally made it.
“I am one hundred percent done,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. The screen door slammed shut behind me. It bounced in its frame a couple of times before coming to a close. Jacob remained outside on the porch where I’d left him. He would never come through a door unless someone told him he could.
Mom glanced at Jacob out on the porch, and then at me, and matched my folded arms.
“Well. Okay.” She looked at me from over the rim of her glasses.
“Mom! He has a meltdown every time one little thing doesn’t go the way he expects!” Jacob was still standing out on the porch and I knew he could hear me, but I didn’t care.
“It was that bad?” Mom’s forehead wrinkled.
“Yes. And worse.”
She cleared her throat and nodded toward Jacob like she wanted to remind me he was listening. Mom had a pretty big no-sass-be-kind policy, and I knew I was pushing it. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
“So,” she said, “would you say your own expectations weren’t met?”
I rolled my eyes. My deep breaths weren’t working. “Just for once I’d like to do something and not have to worry about Jacob! Just once I’d like to not have him fall apart over the stupidest things! I just wish—I just—”
“You just wish what?”
I let out a big sigh. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“You just wish what, Olivia?”
“NOTHING! I SAID NEVER MIND. It doesn’t matter!”
“Attitude. Room, please. Now.” Mom pointed and I went. I even stomped a little. Inside it felt like someone had squeezed me too tight. She hadn’t heard me. She hadn’t heard what I’d been trying to say. What I couldn’t say. She never heard me. Jacob was the one Mom listened to—to everything he said, and everything he didn’t say.
I flopped across my bed. I kicked off my shoes and stared at my ceiling fan, trying to focus on just one blade until it seemed like I could slow the whole thing down or speed it up with my mind.
I just wish Jacob was different, more normal—like before. I wish we all were. But I couldn’t tell Mom that.
Slowly, as I stared up at the ceiling fan, all the mad fell out of me, like sand pouring out of shoes.
We all knew Jacob was not like other kids his age, even before he was diagnosed with autism. He was thirteen years old, but parts of his brain sometimes made him seem like only five or six. He got upset over things that didn’t matter to most people. He did weird stuff like not going through doors without being told he could, or only eating certain foods a certain way. Sometimes he copied what people around him were saying, and he had trouble making eye contact. Loud noises bothered him, and bright lights, and too many people talking at once, and he really didn’t like when we drove fast. He couldn’t stand the feel of grass against his bare feet or tags on his clothes, either. He never sang anymore, but he did hum, and he loved music. We used to play ring-around-the-rosy over and over, spinning in circles in the backyard until we were so dizzy we couldn’t stand.
Jacob had always liked knowing things and telling people about them in his steady breathless way of talking—like he had to get all his words out in one long stream in case any of them got lost on the way. And he’d always rocked and twisted his shirtsleeves whenever he got upset or scared. But lately, it had become harder to help Jacob, so he was going to therapy on a more regular basis. His differences were becoming more and more noticeable.
* * *
• • •
I was starting to feel a little dizzy from staring at the ceiling fan for so long when Mom knocked on my door and opened it a crack.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” I made room for her on the bed. She flopped down beside me, and we both stared up at the spinning blades for a few minutes, not saying anything.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Olivia.”
I sighed. “It probably wouldn’t have mattered if you had been. There was an ostrich.”
“An ostrich!”
I nodded.
“Oh.” She said it slowly, like things made more sense now.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m still sorry I wasn’t there to handle your brother.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Maybe it’s better you weren’t. Sometimes he gets worse for you.”
Mom didn’t say anything, and I instantly regretted what I had said. It was true, but I could tell right away it hurt her feelings.
“Look, I know things aren’t always so easy, and I know you’ve had a lot more to deal with, with your brother, than a lot of kids. But I do know that as hard as it is, Jacob needs you.” Mom smiled at me. “You’re a great sister to him. And I know he loves you very much. Even if he can’t tell you or show you like your dad and I can.”
Sure, Jacob needed me. But I wasn’t sure if Mom was entirely right. Did Jacob even know how to love? Was love still love if a person didn’t tell you—or couldn’t tell you? Were there other ways to show people you loved them?
It was tiring to think about, and I wanted to be done talking about this. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled,” I said. I stared at the side of my mom’s face. She rolled over and kissed me on the nose.
“I love you,” she said. “Even when you yell.”
“I love you, too,” I said.
Mom was the kind of person who was pretty up close and far away. Her eyes were brown with little bits of green mixed in, and her lashes were so thick and dark that if she didn’t put makeup on, you’d never know. I’d always wished I looked like her. But I didn’t. Jacob did. I looked like my dad, with his curly red hair and grey eyes.
“I have to get groceries,” she said. “Want to come?”
“Is Jacob coming?” It was a stupid question because Jacob always came everywhere. We couldn’t just leave him alone.
Mom gave me a look.
I sighed again. “I guess I’ll come.”
She sat up and gave my knee a squeeze. “Good. I like your company. And your face.”
I laughed. “I like your face, too.”
* * *
• • •
County Market was about a ten-mile drive from our house, but if you took the back roads, it could stretch to almost twenty. And that was what we did, because Jacob didn’t like driving fast.
He was in the backseat, right in the middle, with all the seat belts buckled around him—the lap belt and both shoulder belts. Mom just smiled at him in the rearview mirror.
“You look very safe, Jacob.”
“Did you know that lap and shoulder seat belts reduce the risk of fatal injury by forty-five percent and reduce the risk of moderate-to-critical injury by fifty percent?”
“No, I didn’t know that. Thank you, Ja
cob,” Mom said.
“You’re welcome,” said my brother.
I tightened my seat belt up front.
* * *
• • •
Mom’s grocery list wasn’t long—milk, bread, eggs, some fruit and vegetables, and deli meat for the sandwiches Dad took to work every day. She stopped at a bin of green peppers and I picked up a few, examining several before choosing one and dropping it into the bag she held open for me.
We filled the basket in record time, and while Mom checked out, I went to see what sorts of lost things I could locate by the soda machines. I usually found loose change that had rolled just out of sight. Sometimes it seemed like I could feel the lostness of those coins, small and cold against my mind. But today there was nothing. Someone must have swept under the machines recently, because when I got down on my hands and knees—real quick so no one would notice—I didn’t even see dust bunnies.
I walked over to the store’s community bulletin board that hung against the wall. Business cards and want ads, pictures of missing pets and upcoming community events were pinned everywhere. I studied the missing pet pictures extra carefully, because chances were, I’d hear from some of their owners sooner or later. That’s what happens when you live in a small town and you’re extraordinarily good at finding lost things. But today there was more than just want ads and pictures of missing pets. Today there was also a small poster pinned to the upper right-hand corner of the board.
Tulsa Performing Arts Center
&
The Ramshackle Traveling Children’s Theater Company
Present:
PETER PAN
Performances July 15–July 20
Auditions June 8 at 3 p.m. at the Tulsa Performing Arts Center
Children of all ages welcome
I sucked my breath between my teeth and let it out real slow. My stomach started jumping around so hard I actually folded my arms across my body, trying to settle it down.