The Tiger and the Lion

She limped up the hill. Her feet dragged. She slid on her way down. Her shoes’ traction expired. She huffed and puffed to her car. Once seated behind the wheel, she flipped down the sun visor and saw a red face staring back at her. 

She flipped the visor up and threw her head back. Her panting accompanied her thoughts. How could she ever think running would be a good hobby? The one silver lining was that she managed to not twist an ankle in the crumbled foundation she called running shoes. She looked at the seat beside her and sighed.

***

Once home, she started a load of laundry. This marked the start of many heaps of sports bras and shorts and socks and shirts and leggings. Running wasn’t free. It was water bills and shoe shopping. It was soreness and effort.

She showered in five minutes. While cleaning her ears, she got lost in the toothbrushes. They looked like a tango frozen in time. She looked the other way and dashed. As she waited for the microwave to stop whirling and beep, she glanced at the candle he gifted her and then fumbled for a fork.

She picked at her pasta. She dribbled the rotini across her plate. Between nudges, she’d peek at her phone and refresh the screen. 6:53. 6:55. 6:56. 6:58. 6:59. 7:01. Where was he? 7:03. What happened? 7:06. Please, not a car accident. 7:08. She let her fork fall onto the plate, unbothered by the rattle. She grabbed her phone, found his number, and pushed the green button.

She waited, leg shaking. Where was he? The phone rang in her ear. With another woman? It rang again. Chatting over happy-hour drinks? The ringing shook her breath. Ignoring her calls? Peeking at his phone and sliding it back into his pocket? It rang again.

“Hello?” His voice silenced all. “Hello? Babe, you there?”

“Hi. Yeah, I’m here,” she replied and released her hostage breath.

“How was your day?”

She burned mountains of calories but ate no more than 200. She cried on her way home and wasted six minutes staring at toothbrushes. “It was fine. How about you?”

She heard his smile through the phone. Did he hear her acting? He never liked when she pretended she was okay. He called her out. She didn’t want another call to be about her and her day and her issues and her feelings. She wanted to be happy again.

The conversation lasted nine minutes. Her high disintegrated once she walked into her bedroom and saw the wax molds. A giraffe, polar bear, and lioness looking back at her. That was a good day. Penguins swimming and otters playing. A light breeze and setting sun. He spent $27 on figurines, swiping his card at each machine. He never flinched. Grabbed and handled each prize with care. Cooling them before placing them in her purse.

***

The greenery was lost on her. Between the cramps and swollen feet, she ran past every bloom and bud. She dimmed the sunlight. As she slowed to a walk, she cursed her ankle. Why wasn’t it stronger?

After day 15, her gut knew running wasn’t her hobby. However, she latched onto the statistic that new habits didn’t form until after 18 days.

Upon entering her home, her sister greeted her. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked, keeping her distance, tuned into her sweat.

“I stopped by to check my mail.” Her sister was her under-the-table, no-more-income-tax-please landlord.

Just then, she heard nails tapping along the floor. She turned the corner and observed her sister’s dog. He wagged his tail and swung his head back and forth. An orange blur followed his nose.

“What’s in his mouth?”

Her sister repeated the command to sit at different tones until the dog understood and sat. Then, she ordered him to drop it, but he did not excel at that training lesson. Having said “Drop it” so many times it no longer sounded like words, she dug into his mouth to fetch his new toy. She flashed it back at her tenant.

The wax tiger. Once crouching, now pummeled. Puncture wound to the head. Tore along the right side. Slobbered on. Dripping.

She was tired, but her knees were shaking for a different reason. Her eyes doubled in size. She grabbed the figurine and held it in her hands, not once wincing from the drool.

“Can you leave?” She asked her sister and her dog.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just want to be alone.” Any onlooker would’ve thought she was talking to the tiger. She didn’t say anything else, not even “goodbye.”

With her sister and the destroyer away, she grabbed her phone. She forgot to check the time. Instead, she dialed his number while lost in the tiger’s mauled form. She was like a racehorse stuck in its starting stall. Blinders on and amped up.

“Hello?” He answered.

“I’m sorry.” Her tears turned on like a light switch. They flooded her eyes like the horses storming out of the gate. 

“Babe, what’s wrong?” 

“My sister.” Gasp. “And her dog.” Gasp. “Came over.” Gasp. “He got the.” Gasp. “Tiger.” She sobbed.

“The tiger? What tiger?”

“The one from the zoo.” She continued to cry. Two time zones away, her boyfriend closed his laptop. Work wasn’t important anymore. Every “You’ll be fine” seemed insufficient. He couldn’t hug her. All he had was “It’s okay.”

***

She searched for the signage she needed, anything for Gate 1E. As she walked more, the faster she walked. After a month of running, her pace naturally transformed into a jog. Once she saw the automatic doors under the sign Gate 1E, she sprinted. Her luggage flying behind her appeared to hold nothing but air. After she paused for the doors to open, she scanned the lanes and crowd for her chauffeur. Unbeknownst to her, she was running in place.

Once she saw a small yellow wax lion held up in the air, she bolted. She apologized for any pedestrian or car she disrupted. The only thing that would slow her down was reaching her destination. 20 yards shrunk to 10, and by the next second, all her force fed into him. He stumbled but steadied himself, and they didn’t let go for minutes.