The Sky at Our Feet

by Nadia Hashimi

  “Jason D, you can’t give up now,” Max says gently. “You’re going to get to your aunt’s house, and I bet your mom’s already called to find out if you’re with her.”

  I let out a deep breath and nod, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in my chest. Maybe a detour through the zoo is exactly what I need.

  “We need tickets. And they’re not free. They’re thirteen dollars each, and we’ve only got sixteen.”

  “I think I might have an idea.” Max has her eye on a group of green-shirted adults and kids huddling by the entrance. There are about fifty kids, middle-schoolers by my guess, and four adults. One woman is on a cell phone. A man and a woman are talking to each other. Another woman points into the air with one finger, counting the many heads before her.

  Max opens her backpack and takes the bills out of her owl wallet.

  “Follow me,” she says, walking quickly. The zoo is close to the edge of the park, so within moments we’re back out on a wide avenue. Max marches right up to a kiosk with T-shirts and souvenirs. The dark-haired man inside gives a nod.

  “How much for that green Statue of Liberty shirt, please?” Max asks with confidence.

  “Fifteen dollars,” the man says. I can see he’s more than comfortable doing business with us, unlike the man at the ticket booth.

  “Max, that’ll leave us with one dollar!” I point out, but Max ignores me.

  “I’ll take it. And I don’t need a bag.”

  As soon as she turns her back to the kiosk, she turns the shirt inside out. Lady Liberty disappears and Max slips the shirt over the one she’s already wearing. Now we’re both wearing green.

  “Hurry up,” she says, and starts jogging back to the zoo’s entrance. When we return, I see the crowd of green shirts getting ready to head through a side gate. I guess they’re allowed to skip the turnstiles because there are so many of them.

  “Stick close,” Max says, and I follow her. We linger in the background and then press ourselves into the herd of green shirts, not in the back where we’d be noticed, but coming in from the side so we’re quickly surrounded by them. The chaperones call out instructions, and the kids are chatting. They’re all speaking a language we don’t understand.

  We make it through, and tall black gates close behind us. The group spreads out, and Max and I let ourselves drift to the edge. When the adults huddle around an unfolded map of the zoo, we leave them behind.

  “Not bad, eh?” Max asks with a grin. She takes the green shirt off, rolls it up, and stuffs it into her backpack.

  I find myself smiling, despite the rock in my chest.

  We walk down the path to a large, glass-enclosed pool with a rock island at its center. Through the glass, I make out the shapes of three sea lions doing laps around the rocks, their flippers stretched out and noses pointed forward. Small children have their faces pressed against the glass, which is a couple of feet away from the pool. There’s a splash, and one of the sea lions breaks through the surface and lands on a flat stone. His body is smooth and shiny like polished glass. When he wiggles his whiskers from side to side, I laugh.

  I look at Max and see a thin smile and tired eyes.

  “Let’s go this way,” she says with her eyes on the path to our left.

  There are kids around us. I wonder if we look normal to them, as if there’s nothing special or brave about us.

  “In here,” Max whispers. We slip into a tall building and are suddenly in a tropical forest with bamboo trees and wide-leafed plants. The leaves are bigger than my head and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. We walk along a boardwalk, the kind that might connect two treehouses. Perched on a crooked branch, a brightly colored parrot stretches its wings. A bird with shimmery turquoise feathers swivels its head curiously as we pass by. There are vines I could imagine Tarzan swinging from, crossing this small jungle with one holler.

  We follow the boardwalk and see a set of stairs leading deeper into this blooming rain forest. On the vertical faces of the steps, I see words that form a sentence. Slowly, I recognize a line from a story I used to read in the library, the one about a boy who got in trouble and was sent to his room without dinner. The words are painted in white and make me think of the shadow creatures my mom made on the walls of our bedroom at night.

  I climb the steps with Max, the story at our feet. This forest looks just like the one that grew out of bedposts and wallpaper. I feel like I’ve stepped into a fantasy.

  Max stops short in front of me. She puts a finger to her lips and then points up into the canopy above us. It takes me a second to spot it, but then I see what’s made her pause. A peacock sits across from a bird as yellow as the sun. From behind a glass pane, I see a brilliant green snake coiled around a tree branch. His scaly back is striped with white marks that read like a warning label. A shiver runs down my spine, and I’m relieved when we step outside again.

  “Snakes creep me out,” Max admits.

  “But not spiders and worms?” I ask.

  “Excuse me? Totally different,” Max insists, sounding almost offended.

  We enter the Temperate Territory. I notice Max has to double her steps once in a while to keep up with me, so I slow down. When I do, I notice a creature I’ve never seen before. Perched on a tree limb is an animal with the face of a fox and the paws of a bear. He is sleeping, his head resting on the branch, and his bushy, ringed tail dangling beneath him.

  “What is that?”

  “Oh, I’ve read about this guy. Friend, that is the legendary red panda,” Max declares with her hands on her hips. I can picture her as a great wildlife biologist—the kind who will make smart television shows for kids. “Not to be confused with Kung Fu Panda or the panda you had pictured in your mind. They only eat the most tender bamboo shoots, along with some insects and fruits.”

  The zoo is filled with tall trees, their leaves the colors of a sunset. Beyond the treetops, there’s a banner of skyscrapers looming overhead. Both are pretty impressive.

  Next, we’re at the snow monkeys. Two monkeys sit on a rock formation overlooking a pool of water. They are hugging their knees the way small children do.

  “Look at these guys. Do you know they have emotions and relationships just like—”

  Max pauses. Where I thought there were only two monkeys, I now see three. The third is small, and clings to its mother’s chest. It turns to look over its shoulder, and its red leathery face stands out against the tan of their fur. The father tilts his head in, bringing himself a breath closer to his family. The mother yawns, baring her yellow teeth before she nuzzles her head against the baby on her chest.

  Max and I have pretended a lot of things today. We’ve pretended to be raising money. We’ve pretended to have parents right behind us. We’ve pretended to be strong and brave and normal.

  But we cannot, no matter how hard we try, pretend that something inside each of us doesn’t crash with anger and hurt when we see these three snow monkeys looking perfectly content just sitting together as a family.

  Nineteen

  Max decides she’s seen enough at the zoo. It’s time to get back to our original mission. We head toward an exit, and with all the parents and kids wandering through the zoo paths, no one notices two long-faced kids leave.

  “This way is uptown,” Max says. “It’s only nine blocks from here to Seventy-Fourth Street, and then we just have to find the right building.”

  We stay just inside the park, walking close to bushes and trees. Max is moving more slowly now. She must be pretty hungry. I know I am. But the dollar we have left isn’t going to get us very much.

  Max reaches into the front pocket of her backpack and pulls out her cell phone. She presses a side button and I see the screen light up as it turns on.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I just want to see if I have any messages.”

  There are seventeen.

  Max starts to listen to them as we walk. She’s got her eyes on the ground, but I can see her face in profile.
She bites her lip and presses a button to listen to the next message. I can hear her mother’s voice and even make out a few frantic words. I’m going out of my mind. Please please please call me, Maxi. I need to know you’re okay. Call me or call your dad, but please just call us.

  In the last message, there is nothing but “we love you.” It is said between sobs, and I feel sorry for Max’s mother, who obviously is really worried about her.

  “You should call her,” I say gently. I stare at the ground too, because I’m basically telling Max that her adventure is at its end. It’s not an easy thing to say, but we’ve come a long way together, and I feel like I should be able to say this much.

  “I know,” she whispers. She puts the phone in her pocket. She’s trying hard not to cry, but it’s not easy. Listening to the sound of her mom’s voice has me on the verge of tears too. Max rubs her face with both hands and turns away from me.

  “Just tell her you’re okay and that we’re close by their hotel.”

  “I’ll call her in a couple of minutes,” she says determinedly, “when we find your aunt’s building. You won’t need me after that.”

  As much as I want to be with Auntie Seema, a part of me doesn’t want to say good-bye to Max. I wonder if I’ll ever see her after today. We pause before we slip out of the park and onto the sidewalk. The trees and hills have become our friends, helping us stay hidden from the millions of city eyes.

  With the park behind us, we start walking down Seventy-Fourth Street. I am looking at all the buildings, trying to spot the one that looks like the building in the picture. I see fire escapes and big windows that look wrong.

  We walk three blocks. Then we walk four. When we hit the fifth block, I’m really worried we might not be in the right place. This was the address I ripped off the box, so where’s the building?

  “Jason D, it’s not any of these?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Max rubs the middle of her forehead while I look around once more.

  “No. No, it’s definitely not any of these.”

  “Let’s try the next block.”

  This is the right street. There’s a green sign on the corner with 74th written on it. I fight the urge to yell out Auntie Seema’s name and see if any of the window curtains pull back to answer.

  “I don’t know, Max. It’s not what it’s supposed to be.” My voice is trembling.

  Max is at my side.

  “You need to stay cool, Jason D.” She kicks her feet up as we walk and issues a quiet warning in a sing-song voice. “Peo-ple are look-ing.”

  “This can’t be happening.”

  “Do you want to stop?” Max suggests, but I shake my head. Auntie Seema has to be somewhere around here. Fifteen minutes later, we’re looking at a busy road. There are crowds of people, many with poster boards in their hands. There is shouting and cheering and even what sounds like a bullhorn in the distance.

  “No way,” Max moans.

  “They’re here,” I say in disbelief. They are still running. The stream of runners is much lighter than what we’d seen this morning, but these runners are still at it, feet pounding the asphalt and foreheads glistening with sweat.

  Beyond the runners, I see there is water. That tells me something else. We’ve gone as far as we can on this street and I did not see Auntie Seema’s building.

  “Max?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can we just sit for a minute?”

  “Yeah.” Max was looking exhausted at the zoo, but right now I need this break more than she does.

  We sit under a bus shelter.

  “It’s over. I’m sorry I wasted your time, Max.” I wish I had stuffed that cardboard address into my pocket instead of my backpack. What if I’ve remembered it wrong?

  “You didn’t waste my time, Jason D.”

  I swallow hard.

  Max takes out her notebook and pen. I don’t feel like talking, so I let her write and keep my back turned to her so that she can’t see my face. Everything’s gone so wrong, and I don’t know what my next move will be or even if I have a next move.

  I stare at the concrete.

  Cars drive by, horns honking almost randomly. Bicycles whiz past us. I see a man pushing a shopping cart full of old plastic bags. He’s wearing a beat-up jacket that looks like it was made out of an old comforter.

  I stare past the runners and see a tugboat in the water. It floats by slowly and reminds me of a riddle Mr. Fazio told me about a boat. How did that one go? I think it was that two sailors were standing on opposite ends of a ship.

  Then I remember the rest.

  Two sailors were standing on opposite ends of a ship. One was looking west and the other was looking east. They could see each other clearly. How is that possible?

  That one took me a few minutes. Mr. Fazio thought he had me stumped that day. He was ready to open up his newspaper and go back to reading when I pulled an edge down to look him in the eye as I told him the answer.

  The two sailors were looking at each other.

  I’m thinking of this riddle now and a slow realization hits me.

  “Max.”

  “Yup.”

  “We’re on the east side of Central Park.”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

  “So what’s on the other side of the park?”

  “Not sure. A museum, I think. And more buildings.”

  I’m on my feet.

  “It’s the west side, Max. I bet Seventy-Fourth Street continues on the other side of the park. That must be where Auntie Seema’s apartment is!”

  Max is up too. Maybe she’s disappointed that she, as a New York City expert, didn’t realize this.

  “You’re brilliant, Jason D,” she says brightly.

  I want to believe her, but there’s a little voice inside me that wonders if I’m right.

  Shoulders bumping against each other, we walk with determination.

  If I’m right, all we have to do is walk a straight line across the park to come out on Seventy-Fourth Street on the other side. We’ve wasted some time on this side of the island, but we’re making up for it now.

  Yellow taxis pass by and we groan, wishing we could hop into one and search out the house from the comfort of a back seat. I keep my eyes on the buildings on this block to be sure I haven’t missed Auntie Seema’s home. Nothing comes close to the photograph.

  “We’re almost at the park again. I remember seeing that green door pretty soon after we left the zoo.”

  I’ve never had a friend like Max before, a friend who tries to make me feel better even when she could use a little cheering on too.

  “Just tell me if you want to take a break or if—”

  Max takes the lead, as if to prove to me just how fine she is.

  I look at Max. I see a girl my height. Her shoulders are pulled back and she’s got her thumbs hooked under the straps of her backpack. Her ponytail is pulled through the hole in the back of her cap and bounces with each step. I can’t see her face, but I can guess at the expression she’s making right now. Lips pressed to a line and eyes straight ahead. I like that about Max—she only smiles when there’s something to smile about.

  Will her surgery really change her the way she thinks it will?

  I don’t want Max to change. I don’t think her parents would want her to change either. I remember the panic in her mother’s voice. I can’t make her go any farther, even if I don’t want to go the rest alone.

  “Max, we’re going to be close to your parents’ hotel soon,” I begin. “I can get across the park on my own.”

  Max doesn’t answer.

  I see my friend against a backdrop of green. We’re two avenues away from the park and nearing the next crosswalk. The straps of Max’s backpack start to slide as her shoulders slope downward.

  “Let me carry the bag, Max,” I offer, and put my hands on the backpack to help slip it off her. Just as I do, I see her head tilt slightly to the left and her knees buckle.

/>   “Max!”

  I lean forward and instinctively wrap my arms around Max’s trunk. We fall to the ground together, her landing halfway on me as my left side hits the concrete. Thankfully, my arm cushions her fall, and her head doesn’t hit the pavement.

  I scramble back up and kneel at her side.

  “Max, are you okay?” I shout.

  I can see she’s not.

  Her arms and legs are twitching. Her half-closed eyelids are fluttering, and the muscles of her face look tight.

  “Max, please don’t!”

  But Max can’t stop what’s happening any more than I can. I remember what she told me and see that it’s true. Her body’s not under her control anymore. It’s like some angry puppeteer’s taken charge. Her lips are pale, and her arms and legs are jerking. The worst part is, instead of being with her parents or in a hospital surrounded by doctors and nurses who can help her, she’s having a seizure on a concrete sidewalk.

  And it’s all my fault.

  Twenty

  “Hey, what happened to your friend?”

  I look up and see two people standing over me. My eyes are blurred with tears so I can’t make out their faces.

  “Max!” I holler again, my hands planted on the concrete. She’s still twitching. “Someone please help!”

  My call is answered as someone pulls me away by my elbows. Another person is barking out that we need an ambulance. I am standing against a building, the back of my head pressed against the bricks, watching adults take my place over Max.

  I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see my friend thrashing around, that lost look on her face.

  And I don’t want to see the people standing over Max. I don’t want to see them stare or look away or cover their children’s eyes, because that’s what they’re all doing right now.

  I want to be anywhere but here.

  “Did you call 911?”

  I’m waiting to hear someone say she’s okay. I’m waiting to hear Max announce it’s over and that she’s back to her normal self.

  “Hold her down—you’ve got to stop it.”