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Contemporary Creative Nonfiction Teens & Young Adult

I remember him on that cruise ship from the summer of 2019, dark skin and a face similar to a young Mahatma Gandhi, tall and lanky, raised eyebrows. Outlined by the sun pouring from the port windows, a lady playing piano behind us. I would hear his voice and be awoken from my literary induced stupor. “Again reading?”

I would laugh. “Yeah. Do you want to read it too?” Chuckling to himself, he’d shake his head. Then he’d take my order and walk away. I’d look after him, blushing.his smooth steps catlike as he got further and further away from us.his smooth steps catlike as he got further and further away from us.

It was another night after scourging all that our stop of the day had to offer where we’d return to the cruise ship’s restaurant. That night, my mother and I made a strange discovery, one that we’d tell our friends over and over.

It was the last night of the ship, and Govind [I think that was his name] pulled his phone out of his pocket. Interested in what he had to show us, I stopped eating and directed my eyes to him. 

“From Mauritius, the island where I live.” In the camera lens was him, and next to him, a tangible, palpable, living, breathing lion.

We were in shell shock. A lion? Why not a dog or a cat? Obviously because a lion was cooler to own if your country allowed it. It was a surprise unlike any I had known that cruise. What I would have given to own a lion..

It took me back to first grade. I was seven years old, small and square faced, and obsessed with lions. Lion stuffed animals, lion soap dispensers, lion rugs, lion clothes, lion pajamas-if it had to do with lions, I had to have it. The whole class knew about it. I would chat with my teacher about lions, and I would pretend to be a lion at recess. I would doodle lions in my notebooks, and my favorite stuffed animal from the classroom’s collection of course happened to be a lion. My best friend, Jade, was also into lions, which meant that we couldn’t have been the more perfect match. Over a decade later, there would still be a picture of the two of us hugging on the school’s website. The point was, I liked lions. In fact, I liked them too much for the word ‘like’ to be an adequate term to describe my relationship with lions. Worship, adoration, adulate, canonized, prize, vernerate, captivation in all of its fluffy tailed, hairy maned forms would be more on point.

And here he was, a man who owned a lion, and out of all of the families he could have served, I was paired up with him. I could ask him all about his lion. I could show him pictures of the closest thing I had to a real lion, which was my fat orange tabby cat named Toby. I could ask him about his lion’s diet and exercise routine. What was the lion’s personality? Was he shy or outgoing? Where did Govind buy him? Was he snuggly? Did he like to snuggle? How often did they snuggle? Was his fur soft or rough? Did they play? Did they race? The avenues I could verbally go down with this man were endless. And, most importantly, would he share his lion with me?

But I didn’t ask any of these questions. I did imagine what it would be like if I owned a lion though. It would be heavenly.

My family gasped, and in a moment of levity, my mother pulled out her phone and blew up a picture of Toby. “Here’s our lion!” He shook his head out of embarrassment, and we all laughed.

Then Govind took our plates and walked away, his smooth steps catlike as he got further and further away from us.

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January 23, 2021 22:52

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