Elephant Graveyard

The zoo is pleasantly not busy. There are pockets of people here and there, but on the whole, it’s not bad. The man and his family have no lines to wait through, no big crowds to deal with, and that’s just the way they like it. The man watches as his sons run off ahead, moving with all the energy and excitement of children.

         The family makes their way through the zoo in the sporadic pattern that the kids lead them. They see bears, tigers, lions, and stay for awhile in the reptile house. They get to see the hippopotamus right as he opens his gaping maw. The boys practically fly through the bird aviary and of course clamber all over the primate exhibit. Through all this their parents trail behind them, arms around each other as they lovingly watch their children’s eyes light up in ways that only children’s can.

         By far the boys’ favorite encounter is the penguins, they love watching them slide on their bellies, swim through the water, and waddle around on the land. In fact, the boys themselves are still waddling around in imitation of the black and white birds as they reach the next exhibit, the elephant encounter.

         At this point, the man falls back, as he always does at this part of the trip, and leans against the railing. His wife gives him a kiss on the cheek, and turns to take their boys to see the elephants by herself. As they walk away their sons ask why their daddy never comes to this part of the zoo. She tells them she’s not sure, but that it’s ok, and that she’ll race them inside. The three of them run off, their voices fading as the distance between them and the man increase.

         Outside the elephant encounter, the man turns away slightly, closes his eyes, and breathes hard. As always happens at this part of the zoo, the man tries, and fails, to stop the flood of memories that come crashing in, carrying him back to a time when he was still a boy in a room like a jungle.

         That boy often found himself in that room, which was full of leaves, huge leaves, attached to even bigger trees. He didn’t like those leaves, they surrounded him and made him feel closed in, trapped.

         For as far back as he could remember, that boy had been coming here. His parents would leave him here every now and then, with her. And she always seemed fine when his parents were there, at least, his parents didn’t seem to think anything she did was strange. That only served to make the boy feel worse; his parents seemed to love her, and he knew boys were supposed to love their grandmothers, but that didn’t change the fact that he was terrified of his.

         This particular visit started off no different than any of the previous ones. After his parents left, she turned toward him, her eyes seeming to bore right into him. “Well?” She had asked in a sweet voice, “What do you want to do?” That sweet voice also served to make him feel worse somehow. She always seemed so sweet, so nice, so fragile. He had long since noticed that his parents never argued with her, never disagreed with her. She never spoke a harsh word, was never unkind to him. She always made it so clear how much she did for him, how much she loved him, always in that same sweet voice, and so he knew he had to whatever it took to keep her happy. And sometimes, it took a lot.

         That boy had taken a slight moment before he answered, knowing that he had to choose his words carefully to keep her happy. He did know, after all, that that was his job. “Why don’t we watch a movie?” he asked, then added, “Whatever one you want.”

         At this his grandma’s eyes had grown wider, “But I want to do what you want.” She said a bit petulantly. Her lower lip started to quiver slightly, and her eyes began filling up with tears.

         Knowing that he had made a terrible error, that boy had backpedaled, “Ok ok. I wanna watch, uh, Planet Earth. The one with the elephants. Can we watch that one, please?”

         Instantly all traces of sadness had vanished from his grandma. She smiled sweetly once again, “Yes, of course we can dear. Your grandma loves you so much.” That boy had moved back a bit, allowing her to move in front of him, and followed her through the leaves to the living room, where the TV was. That boy had known that his choice of movie would keep her happy. His grandma loved elephants. Her walls were filled with photographs and drawing of them; statues of them, both large and small, had homes in each of her rooms. Her dinner plates, silverware, salt and pepper shakers, mugs, all were decorated like elephants. She had even filled her house with huge trees, trees as similar as she could find to those that created the forests that elephants inhabited. Had that boy been a little older, he would have realized that what he thought of as her love was actually an obsession.

         His grandma put in the selected DVD, and the two of them settled down to watch. Without any intent of doing so however, she made it impossible for that boy to relax. Throughout the entire episode, she had kept up a barrage of questions and comments. She would ask him questions about elephants, about their habits and lifestyle, and about what was going on in the episode they were watching. Any time he had hesitated, or gave an incorrect answer or one that didn’t make sense to her, she would get tremendously sad again. Her eyes would widen and begin to fill up with tears, and she would lean over, right up against him, and ask why he wasn’t answering, was he not having fun, wasn’t she the best grandma in the world, and didn’t he love spending time with her? That boy had to use all his willpower not to pull away, knowing that any more errors on his part would make her do bad things to herself, and he had desperately answered her how he knew she wanted, saying over and over that he loved her, that she was the best grandma in the world, and that there was nothing he’d rather do than spend time with her. Then she would sit back, and comment in her oh-so-sweet voice how cute the elephants they were watching were, and that boy would begin to feel slightly safe again. The next moment however, her questions would come back and they had to start the whole process over again. Each time she had done this that boy had to plead harder and harder to convince her that he loved her. By the end of the episode, he had been mentally exhausted from the effort of keeping her happy.

         When the episode had ended, his grandma turned off the TV with the remote. “Well,” she said, turning to him, “Why don’t we do something fun before you leave me? Since your birthday was last week, why don’t you draw me an elephant, just like you did last year? That way I’ll have another one from you now that you’re a year older.” He had nodded, and she reached down and picked up a piece of paper and some crayons from the floor beside her chair, where she had apparently put them before he arrived, and put them on the coffee table in front of him. “I’m so excited for your drawing. I know it will make your grandma so happy.” Her voice was now sickeningly sweet. 

         That boy had leaned wearily forward, and picked up a grey crayon, and his hand had trembled slightly. He was still so tired from watching TV with her, but he knew his drawing had to be perfect. He had known that if he did well his drawing would make her very happy, but if he didn’t do well it would make her very sad, and he hadn’t wanted that.

         So he had begun drawing, putting all the effort that his tired little mind could into it. That amount of effort however, hadn’t been enough.  He drew the elephant to the best of his young ability, drawing the legs, body, tail, head, ears, and trunk. He had tried to draw it in a more realistic manner, more like the elephants they had just watched rather than a childish cartoon. It had been a fatal error.

         Tears had filled his grandma’s eyes, and she shook with anguish and hurt. “It looks so sad. Why don’t you want to draw me a happy elephant? Aren’t you happy? Don’t you love your grandma?” She had begun gasping, as if she couldn’t breathe. And then she had quickly gotten up and rushed through the leaves to her kitchen.

         Too late, that boy had realized that he had done something very wrong, and he was afraid. He slowly slid off the couch and began making his way towards the kitchen. The trees and leaves had blocked his view, and so it wasn’t until he was right at the entrance to the kitchen that he saw what she had been doing.

         His grandma had been standing in front of one of her cabinets, its door wide open, and she had been pulling little bottles from its interior. She had opened one of them, dumped the little pills it contained straight into her mouth, and then swallowed them. Then she had moved on to the next bottle. Then the next. Then the next.

         “Grandma?” That boy had said, so quietly that she hadn’t heard him. He felt more and more afraid as he watched her, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. “Grandma?” he said again, louder this time. The sound of his voice had made her spin around. Tears were pouring down her face, and he could see in her eyes a sadness so great it blocked out all thought. “You don’t love me.” She sobbed, and, clutching a bottle in each had, she had taken off through a different doorway.

         More scared than he had ever been in his life, that boy had tried to follow. The doorway she had fled through however, led to a hallway from which many rooms branched off, each so full of trees and leaves that it had been impossible to see where she had gone. Sobbing himself now, he had stumbled from room to room, shouting how sorry, how very very sorry he was.

         In the end, he had found her back in the living room. She had been lying on the floor, both now-empty bottles beside her. She was shaking, convulsing, her body alternately lifting up and then slamming back down on the floor. That boy hadn’t known what to do. He’d stood there, horrified, tears still running down his face, and guilt filling him up inside, knowing that it was all his fault.

         Finally, after one more great lurch, his grandma had lain completely still. That boy had crept forward, slowly, and when he had looked into her eyes, he had found entombed there her final thoughts; that she had needed him, and that he’d let her down. That final guilt was too much for him, and he’d collapsed next to her, sobbing anew. He had tucked his knees up, wrapped his arms around them, and rocked back and forth, sobbing over and over, “I’m so sorry grandma, I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

         It had been several hours before that boy’s parents had come to get him. When they say what lay on the floor next to the still rocking child, they quickly took him away, and he never saw that house or his grandma again. At least, not while he was awake. Every night in his dreams however, he found himself back there, watching while his grandma was filled with sadness at his lack of love for her.

         The sound of his children returning drags the man back from his past. They run up to him, laughing, and he turns and catches them up in a hug. Then he releases them, and the boys run off ahead, full of energy, and eager to get to the next exhibit. His wife comes up, slipping her arm around his waist as they walk together after their kids. “The children wished you had come with us.” She says, not adding that she too wishes he would come one of these times. The man puts his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer even as he inwardly pulls away. “Maybe next time.” He says, planting a kiss on top of her head. She rests her head against him, hopeful that someday he will, but the man knows he won’t, he can’t, not after what that boy he once was did all those years ago.