One Amazing Elephant

by Linda Oatman High

  And then I trip. My foot kicks a big rock and I fall forward, scraping my face on rocks and leaves and branches from trees. I try to stand. I must have twisted my ankle, and I sit back down.

  I hear the ground pounding behind me, and I hear the sounds of sticks breaking. The men are coming; they are running. They will get me.

  I try to stand again. I can’t. I just can’t. I think my right ankle is broken.

  “Help,” I whisper to nobody in particular. “Please help.”

  Queenie Grace crashes through the woods and comes to my side, studying the situation for a quick minute, and then she reaches down with her trunk. She gently pushes her trunk under my back, and then lifts, slowly, slowly, until I am folded snug.

  “What in the world … ?” I say. This feels like a bad dream. I am wrapped in an elephant’s trunk, in the woods, with a broken ankle and three bad men who are probably killing my friend. And then they will get me, and it’ll all be over. That’s how my story will end, here in Florida, in the woods, far away from my dad and my home. There is no bright side to this, no happy ending.

  I close my eyes. Queenie Grace is making a low purring sound in her throat. I feel as if maybe she’s saying, Relax. I’ve got this.

  There’s nothing to hold on to when you’re wrapped in an elephant’s trunk. It’s like a crazy amusement park ride where you just buckle in and trust that you’ll be okay in the end.

  Queenie Grace runs. I’m jostled, a lot. I don’t think she will let me fall.

  “Be careful,” I say. She’s holding me like a baby, like a giant baby who’s cradled in a parent’s big, soft, safe arms.

  I bounce and bump, jostled and bobbled, carried by only the trunk of an elephant who’s running for all she’s worth.

  “Thank you, Queenie Grace,” I say. “Thank you. I love you.”

  Queenie Grace Loves Lily, Too

  I left Henry Jack when I heard Lily’s cries. I will save this girl if it’s the last thing I do. Inside my head, I hear my best friend Bill’s voice. He says, Run, Queenie Grace! Save Lily!

  And so I do. I pick Lily up with my trunk and I run. I always did listen to Bill.

  I wish I could have picked up Henry Jack, too. Perhaps I will get Lily back safely, and return for Henry Jack.

  “Be careful!” Lily says. She is frightened. But she need not worry: this is a trick I learned in the circus. I know how to carry a person, safe and snug, wrapped up with my trunk. I have never dropped anybody yet. And I certainly won’t drop Lily.

  “Thank you, Queenie Grace,” Lily says. “Thank you. I love you.”

  Those are words Bill always said. I can still hear him inside my head. I see his face inside my mind. He smiles. Oh, how I once loved my best friend Bill.

  And now, I love the girl Lily, too.

  A Long Story

  Queenie Grace runs all the way home, back to Grandma’s. She deposits me ever so slowly and carefully onto the ground.

  I try to stand. Finally, I heave myself up, and I limp to the door, hopping mostly on my left leg.

  I burst through the door. To my surprise, Grandma and Trullia are awake, watching TV. They both gawk at me, jaws falling.

  “Why are you guys up so late?” I ask.

  “We were both having trouble sleeping,” Trullia says.

  “Lily!” says Grandma. “Why is your face all scratched up? Why, honey, you’re all bloody!”

  “What the heck … ?” says Trullia.

  “Call 911!” I gasp. “Tell them to go into the woods, past a pond, I think. It’s sort of in the middle where there’s a campfire circle. Mike and Charlie and this other guy have Henry Jack. Call … quick.”

  “What do you mean, they have … ,” Grandma says. She looks so confused, frozen as if she’s in shock.

  “Please, just call! I’ll explain later!”

  Trullia picks up her phone. She calls. Her voice is pretty calm. I think maybe she thinks I’m exaggerating.

  Grandma gets off the sofa and comes to hug me.

  “Oh, honey, are you okay?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “Queenie Grace carried me.”

  “Oh, she used to do that with your grandpa. I think it was her favorite trick.”

  Trullia is off the phone.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t just ride on her back,” she says.

  “Well, there were all the backpacks… .”

  “What was Queenie Grace doing with backpacks?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

  “And you said that Charlie and Mike are in the woods, and they have Henry Jack?”

  I nod.

  “I told you,” Grandma barks. “I told you that man was no good!”

  “So why were you and Henry Jack and Queenie Grace in the woods in the first place?” Trullia demands.

  “It’s … a long story. Can we please go meet the police in the woods?”

  “I can hear you breathing,” says Grandma. “Wheezing. I think you need to go to the hospital. What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “I fell. I think I broke my ankle.”

  “Oh, jeez,” says Trullia. “One thing after another.”

  They hustle me outside, Grandma’s arm reaching up to circle my waist. I can hear sirens. The police are on their way.

  Mary the Bearded Lady comes out of her trailer.

  “What’s going on?” she calls across the yard.

  “Explain later!” Grandma shouts. “It’s a long story.”

  Queenie Grace Watches Them Go

  Violet and Trullia and Lily pile into the car. There was talk of the hospital, of returning to the woods.

  I pray that Henry Jack is okay. I wish I could have saved him, too.

  I heard the words of the three bad men. I know their plans to steal me, to take me away, to make big money from the Amazing Queenie Grace.

  If not for my friends, my two best friends, I might have been dead. I might have been gone, sold to a circus that would not treat me well.

  Thank you, I say to my friends inside my head.

  I watch them go. I watch the car until the red lights disappear into the night.

  An Emergency as Big as an Elephant

  They’ve sent plenty of vehicles. Parked at the edge of the trees are three police cruisers, an ambulance, a fire truck. Lights flash; sirens blare. Men and women storm into the forest, carrying medical equipment.

  “Let’s go with them,” I say to Grandma.

  “Lily,” she says, “you have an injured ankle.”

  “I don’t care. I need to see that Henry Jack is all right.”

  And so we head into the thick woods. Grandma takes one of my elbows; Trullia takes the other. They are human crutches, supporting my weight as I hobble between trees in the direction of the campfire.

  Finally, there’s the orange campfire light flickering through the night. The police have Mike and Charlie and Gus in handcuffs, and Henry Jack is talking to the cops, his face even more furrowed than ever in the glow of the fire.

  His face lights up when he sees me.

  “Holy showman!” he says. “I was worried about you.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Guess that means you two are friends,” says one of the police officers.

  Henry Jack and I both nod.

  “What the heck were you doing here, with Queenie Grace?” demands Trullia.

  Henry Jack waves a hand.

  “Long story,” he responds. “Tell you later.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Trullia,” Mike calls.

  “Likely story,” Grandma retorts. “That would be why you’re in handcuffs?”

  “The kid jumped on me! Charlie had to hold him in self-defense!” Mike insists, his face scrunched up.

  “Yeah, right,” I retort, the handcuffs around Mike’s wrists making me brave.

  “Why don’t you tell everybody what you three were doing here in the woods?” I say to Mike, my elbows still held by my mother and grand
mother. “You had plans to steal Queenie Grace! To sell her and make money!”

  Mike just shakes his head. Gus kicks at sticks and Charlie scratches his beard on his shoulder.

  “Darn kid should go back to West Virginia where she belongs,” mutters Mike.

  Trullia drops my elbow.

  “You will not talk to my daughter that way!” she shouts, stepping close to Mike’s face. “I have half a mind to just slap your face!”

  “Ma’am,” says one of the officers, “calm down.”

  “I told you that man was no good,” Grandma mumbles, still holding my right elbow.

  “And that darn elephant needs to go,” Charlie says. “It had Gus pinned on the ground! Just held him down with her hoof and kept him there!”

  “Queenie Grace was protecting us!” I say.

  “Oh, and that’s why she tried to crush a man,” Mike spat.

  “If she wanted to crush him, he’d be flat as a pancake!” Trullia says.

  The police start asking questions about Queenie Grace: How old is she? Who’s her legal owner? Has she ever hurt someone?

  Grandma, small and steady, answers all their questions. She’s calm until she starts talking about Grandpa Bill and how he just died, and then she dissolves into crying.

  Tears fill my eyes, too. My ankle aches and so does my heart. I’m so tired, so scared. The police ask for the address, for Grandma’s address, for the location of the elephant.

  I swear I hear Grandpa’s scratchy voice inside my head, saying, Save Queenie Grace. Take good care of my girl.

  “Grandma,” I say, “can we go back now, before they get to Queenie Grace? I’m afraid they’re going to take her away.”

  Grandma hugs me. “I’m afraid, too, Lily.”

  We get back in the car and the police are still in the woods, talking to the three handcuffed men and to Henry Jack and Faith. She showed up while the bad guys were being put in handcuffs.

  Grandma Violet drives, fast and furious, and we ride in silence. When we get back to Grandma’s place, I say, “May I have some alone time with Queenie Grace?”

  “Of course, honey,” Grandma says.

  Grandma and Trullia go inside, and I go to Queenie Grace.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say to her, reaching out and touching the skin of her trunk. “It was a bad idea, that running-away thing. It might have made things worse. But at least the bad guys can’t get you now. That’s one good thing, right?”

  The elephant snuffles. My ankle hurts and so I lie down, on my back, under the stars. I keep talking, looking up at Queenie Grace.

  “So I’m sorry if me being here caused any problems for you. I never meant for that to happen. I’ve really started to like you … to love you, Queenie Grace.”

  I can see her eyes shining watery in the light of the moon. Queenie Grace lowers herself slowly to the ground. She lies right next to me, just like she did that time when I was little, when I fell off my bike. This time, though, I have no fear. All I feel is comfort, and love.

  The swishing tail, flappy ears, bristly rough hairs, the snuffling sounds of her breath, the swinging trunk. We lie side by side, Queenie Grace and me. It’s a universe of elephant.

  Except now, I’m not afraid. Now I can feel the heat of Queenie Grace and I can hear her breathing and I feel no fear. Nothing but love here. The universe of elephant has become my world.

  I cuddle up to her.

  “Queenie Grace,” I say. “You are one amazing elephant.”

  Queenie Grace Is Taken Away

  Oh no. They are taking me away.

  I tried to save my friends. The bad men are the ones who need to be taken away.

  Violet takes off my howdah, unloads the backpacks. Police officers are telling her that she can make a choice: let them decide where I go, or she can make a choice.

  “The sanctuary in Tampa,” she says in between weeping.

  Lily and Henry Jack are sobbing, too. Even the officers look sad.

  “We are just doing our job, ma’am,” one of them says to Violet. He pats her awkwardly on the back. “The elephant could be dangerous. After all, she did pin a man to the ground.”

  I am not dangerous!

  Trullia goes inside, slams the door.

  “What’s going on?” calls Mary across the yard.

  Nobody answers. They are crying too hard.

  If Bill were here, he would tell them. If Bill were here, everything would be okay.

  Easier to Ask What’s Right

  The emergency room swirls with people and problems. Somebody gags and throws up; somebody else mutters something about how the world is ending. It smells horrible in here, and the air-conditioning is way too cold.

  I slump, exhausted beyond belief, wheezing, ankle throbbing, with Trullia sitting beside me and going on and on and on and on about how dangerous it was to run away with an elephant and how I need to think before I act. I want to put my hands over my ears, but that would be super disrespectful, so I just sit here and bite the inside of my lip. Keep it inside. I’m feeling as if I might die from grief: from both the missing of my grandpa and the missing of Queenie Grace. They took her away.

  “Her color looks off,” says a lady next to me.

  “It’s just that she can’t breathe,” says Trullia. “She tried to run away tonight. With an elephant, no less.”

  “Oh my,” says the lady.

  It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning when they finally call me back into a hospital room. I have to change into a gown—one of those stupid embarrassing open-in-the-back gowns—and I have to have some tests and receive some breathing treatments and some medicine. They x-ray my ankle; it’s only a sprain. It’s five a.m. when we finally get to leave the ER.

  “Did you call Dad?” I ask Trullia as we get in her car.

  “No,” she says. “He doesn’t need to know.”

  I take out my phone and I text: Asthma attack. Was in hosp. but OK now. Also twisted ankle.

  Within a minute, Dad texts back.

  R u OK????!!

  Yes. Love you.

  Love you, too!

  Trullia drives like she’s mad, all fast and yanking the wheel and slamming on the brakes. She hums, but it’s an angry and frustrated hum, like she’s trying to keep curse words inside.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. As if I don’t know.

  “I have to help Faith at trapeze school in less than two hours,” she says. “It’s the holidays—the freaking holidays!—and my father just died and he’s barely in the ground when my daughter takes off with an elephant and a neighbor boy. I keep getting phone calls that things have gone wrong, things are changing left and right, and I haven’t slept and I haven’t eaten. I need a cigarette. I need to sleep. My boyfriend—my ex-boyfriend—is probably going to jail! And you want to know what’s wrong? Wouldn’t it be easier to ask what’s right?”

  I think about saying I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t change anything. Trullia stares straight ahead, driving fast and furious.

  “Please get Queenie Grace back,” I say. “Don’t let them keep her. She didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing at all. She’s just sad, that’s all. Plus, she saved us from those guys. She was defending the people she loves.”

  “Not one more word,” Trullia says, her voice as hard as chains. “Not one more word about the elephant or anything else. Not. One. More. Word.”

  Fine.

  I slump down in the seat, cross my arms. I’m not wearing my seat belt, but she doesn’t even bring it up. Of course not.

  I give up. I will never have a mom who takes me to the hospital without complaining, and I will never have a mom who tells me to buckle up because she loves me.

  She’ll never explain why she left and she’ll never think she might come back and she’ll never ever in a million years say those words: I love you.

  Not even on a night when I might have died.

  I just close my eyes, and all I can see is the silhouette of Queenie Grace, and I wonder wh
ere she might be at this very minute, what she might be doing right now. I wish I’d never started to care about her. I wish I was still afraid, that I still didn’t trust her not to hurt me, that I never started loving Queenie Grace.

  That would be so much easier.

  Queenie Grace Feels Fear in Her Bones

  I am afraid. They are taking me away. That is what they say, these men with eyes like stones.

  I feel fear in my bones. I don’t know where I will go. They say “Tampa,” but I do not know what that means. I only know that it is not home.

  A large truck is on the road. There is a trailer. I am loaded.

  I am chained. Chained. Again.

  Nobody Ever Owns an Elephant

  My grandmother has been up pacing all night long, she says when we get home. It is early Saturday morning.

  “I’ve been worried sick!” she exclaims. Grandma’s face is the exact opposite of the smiling SpongeBob face on her yellow nightshirt. She hasn’t brushed her hair, and it’s a tangle of white and purple.

  “Why didn’t you call me to let me know that Lily was okay?” she asks Trullia.

  “Forgot,” Trullia says. “I’m going to bed. And I’m going to bed in my room. I’m tired of sleeping on the sofa, and I’m tired of trying to answer questions, and I’m tired of trying to please somebody who can never be pleased.”

  “And that would be me?” my grandmother demands.

  “That would be everybody,” she says. “Every body. Every single human being in this whole stinking world. Especially Mike.”

  The door to the bedroom slams. We hear the creak of the bed, extra loud, as if she threw herself down on it. My grandmother looks at me.

  “I’m sorry, Lily. She can be difficult. Very, very difficult. Believe me, I know.”

  “I guess she’s tired, like super tired. Stressed, too, I guess.”

  “Don’t make excuses for her, honey,” says my grandmother. “She needs to face her own mistakes.”

  I’m sleeping on the sofa when the phone rings, jolting me from a dream. For a minute, I’m confused and can’t quite figure out where I am or what time of the day it might be. Then I remember: last night, this morning. I hear my grandmother talking, and I just lie there, staring up at an old picture of my dad and Trullia. It’s hard to believe that they were young and in love, once upon a time.