This is the 12th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
A kangaroo is really just a rabbit on steroids. Everyone’s all impressed and snapping pictures, but frankly, I don’t see it. I take a sip of my blue Icee—the only tolerable flavor of Icee—and turn away from the enclosure.
There’s a sign: left for gorillas and chimpanzees; right for lions, tigers, and bears. Oh my. Not really—it just says lions and tigers. They all smell the same, so I don’t really care, but Tim said to meet him outside the chimpanzee enclosure. I turn left and toss my Icee into the trash as I go.
Kids are running around with cardboard animal hats that their parents spent way too much money on, and they’re laughing and screaming. Why do they always scream? No one’s chasing you yet. Stop screaming.
Tim is standing in front of a railing, staring at the chimpanzees. One’s scratching its ass, and still, Tim is smiling.
His smile melts when he sees me. I wish I had kept my Icee so I could have something to do with my hands. I shove them in my pockets.
He turns away from me, and I sidle up to him. We don’t look at each other again.
“Aren’t they amazing?” he says, resuming his ass-scratcher study.
I shrug.
He pulls an envelope out of his coat and slips it to me. “One-way to Cuba.”
“Coach?”
“You’re the one who botched the job. You’re lucky I’m helping you at all.”
I don’t say anything because I know he’s right, and I won’t say that.
“Goodbye.”
His back is to me and then he’s gone. He’s merged with the crowd, and I can’t even see his baseball cap; there are so many. I make eye contact—nearly—with one of the chimps. At least I’m not in a cage.
Miles Away 