Missing You


Mar 1, 2009 11:08pm

Red Head At The Zoo

Hi. If by some miracle you’re reading this then life’s taken a positive turn for me. I’ve debated for weeks if I’d really be wasting my time. When I realized I’d been wasting my time for 40 years working at the Griffith park zoo, I figured I didn’t have much to lose. So here I am writing a letter to you, wondering if you or anyone will read this. This is probably the first risk I’ve taken in all my years on this earth. Before I lived in a caged, but safe environment, just like my animal co-workers at the zoo. I woke up, went to work, cleaned up the animal cages, went home, cleaned up my cage (one bedroom apartment), and went to sleep. This was my routine for 2/3 of my life, the play of a middle-aged loser, until you entered center stage. I was hosing down the elephants when I heard a child’s voice, “look! There’s a small one!” I don’t know if it was because I was bent over wearing my grey uniform, or that my figure lacks thin form, but to little surprise I was mistaken for a baby elephant. With my face drooped down like a melting Popsicle, I turned around to face the shouter. I briefly scanned over the boy pointing his finger at me, till I reached you and stopped. Even though you were scolding the boy for his filter-less mouth, your wrinkled face still held more beauty than any late-night-internet-chick I’d ever googled. You wore your hair up in a loose bun, letting a few red curls fall down. You held this boys hand tightly with your pale freckle-sprinkled fingers, as you started to tug him away. You gave me a pitiful look before you walked away, leaving me frozen. Maybe it was the mix of elephant excrement and hot sun frying my brain; the joints in my body seemed to be disconnected. After the water that was still running from my hose created a large enough mud puddle to splash in my face, I was finally awoken. From then on my days seemed to tick one tock behind. These little changes of restlessness made my life a constant struggle. I could no longer maintain a schedule because you’d spread like a virus in my brain. Now, in a desperate need for normalcy, I’ve decided I can never go back to the life I had, so this is my first act of resolution. So, if on the off chance that out of the vast selection of pages on the information super highway, you happen upon this one, call me.

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