21
The zoo, once again, became a sensation.
It was so popular that the gates were nearly broken down by the crowds.
One day, I saw some familiar figures.
My parents and brother.
They stood outside the monkey enclosure, watching me as I fed milk to an injured baby monkey.
I cradled the little one and walked over to them. I saw that the three of them were shadows of their former selves.
My father’s temples were gray, his eyes cloudy. He was only in his middle age, but he looked like an old man. My mother wasn’t much better. Her
back was bent, and she looked frail and gaunt. Every time she looked up, she would let out a small cough. She was clearly very ill. As for Liam, his hair was a mess, his clothes were rumpled, and the sharp, bright eyes I remembered were now dull and lifeless.
Their spiritual torment had turned them into walking corpses.
We looked at each other through the bars once more
meless.
Their spiritual torment had turned them into walking corpses.
We looked at each other through the bars once more.
My mother opened her mouth, but no words came out. She just reached a hand toward me, as if wanting to touch me.
I held out the baby monkey “Thank you for visiting. This little one’s name is Joy.”
“Oh,” my mother said, smiling awkwardly as she gently stroked the baby monkey’s fur.
My father’s voice was a hoarse rasp. “Stella, we sent Isabelle away three years ago. The house is yours. Will you come home?”
I smiled and turned, carrying the little monkey back. Can’t let the tourists hold them for too long.
“Stella,” Liam pleaded, his voice filled with desperation, “what will it take to make you come home?”
I stopped and looked back at them, a genuine smile on my face. “Why would I go anywhere else?” I asked. “This is my home.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. I was going to stay right here.
I was going to slap Red’s butt, watch Flingo fling his poop, and listen to Echo curse at the tourists.
It might be a little crass, but the love here was real.
I had no room in my life for their cheap, flimsy version of it.
Goodbye.
