FSF Magazine, May 2007

by Spilogale Authors

  After two months, Ally qualified as a docent and began taking small tours out on her own, mostly groups of unruly children who thought the zoo had nothing to offer that they couldn't see more often and better on television.

  Whenever she passed the ungulate paddocks, she always remembered that marvelous dream when she and Barry had walked the zoo by moonlight. Of all the things her wayward mind insisted upon remembering, this was the only one that had never really happened.

  Every time one of the male zoo staff passed, she checked his uniform, but indeed Barry did not seem to work here anymore. She wondered if he'd become Insurance-Barry for good, or perhaps a plumber or car salesman. Even if she could have located one of them, those Barrys were not the one she wanted. Instead, she applied herself to what she did have, accepting extra tours when no one else was available, learning more and more about the animals, so that the job was its own reward.

  Carina had quit dropping by, and it seemed that Lynn and Ron had no children again. Lynn had looked at her strangely the last time she'd asked after her goddaughter, so now she just waited for the subject to be brought up, and for the last month, it never had been. Ron and Lynn were planning a trip to Greece, in fact, which they never could have afforded if they had three children to put through college.

  Ally felt mired in this life where nothing was certain. Everyone she liked kept going away—Barry and Carina, and even that stupid dog she'd rescued, which insisted on being equally dead and alive in her memory.

  One Wednesday, she reported to the zoo and met her tour group in the late afternoon, a father and his four children. According to her slip, the three girls were three, six, and seven, the boy, fourteen. They waited for her at the pond around Monkey Island. The father, tall and silver-haired, turned to her.

  It was Barry, or a version of him anyway, more angular and careworn than she'd last seen him, his face grooved with sadness. “Ms. Coelho?” he said, and held out his hand. “I'm Barry Frey and these are my children, Anna, Sylvie, Marty, and Brent."

  She took his hand, trying not to stare. The first two Barrys she'd met had been divorced. Had any of the others been married? She'd never known. She made herself smile. “Shall we start with the giraffes?"

  They strolled through the sweltering August afternoon, seeking shade as often as possible. The girls were entranced with the stately giraffes. They hung on the fence and pointed, though she could tell the boy was already restless.

  "They lost their mother at Christmas,” Barry confided as they left the giraffe paddock and headed toward the water buffalo. “I keep trying to find ways to distract them, but nothing really works."

  "Maybe Brent would like to volunteer with the Zoo Teens program,” Ally said. “It's quite popular with young people, and he might meet some new friends.” Carina, she realized, was doing such volunteer work, mostly in the Raptor House. The owls were her goddaughter's favorites. She was even collecting grisly owl pellets made of mouse skeletons for her next year's science project.

  After the tour, they dropped by the administration building and signed Brent up. His eyes looked alive for the first time that day as he read the brochure. Barry thanked her and then bundled his family into a dark green Honda.

  So many Barrys, she thought bemusedly, as they drove off, each with his own attractions and problems.

  Thereafter, the universe seemed to relent. She ran into Barry almost every day, or at least some version of him. One was a concrete contractor who had come to repair the seal pool. He had a stronger brow than Zoo-Barry and a badly healed broken nose. Another was a gap-toothed deliveryman trundling in cartons of frozen confections for the concession stand. There was White-Collar-Barry, complete with briefcase, auditing the zoo's finances, and Advertising-Barry who was putting together a media campaign to increase zoo attendance. She met Grant-Barry who was writing grant applications for the zoo and Mayor's-Aide-Barry who was scheduled to conduct a press conference on-site about zoo funding.

  So many Barrys made her head swim, too much of a good thing, and in truth, she still longed for Zoo-Barry, who had an openness most of the others lacked. Oftentimes, that dream walk in the moonlight seemed truer than anything that had actually happened.

  One evening in early September, just after she'd finished watering her garden, the doorbell rang. She opened it and found Barry, or at least a Barry, standing there. This one looked tan and genial, dressed in carefully pressed jeans and a blue-checked shirt. They had a date, she realized, a movie out at the old Admiral Twin, the only drive-in theater left in town.

  Her face was smudged, her clothes sweaty and damp from wrestling with a leaky hose. “I—” she said.

  Barry laughed and there were those smile lines again. It was him, she thought with a swell of hope.

  "You forgot, didn't you?” He stepped inside and swept her into a hug. “I love it that you get so carried away with your garden. It's all right. We still have plenty of time for you to change your clothes."

  They'd been dating for three months, every Friday night like clockwork. The memories surfaced in her head as she darted back to the bedroom and peeled out of her dirty clothes to shower. The hot water beat at her, and she used juniper-scented soap, his favorite. They'd been good months, too, and recently he'd introduced her to his grown children, Brent and Marty. Things seemed to taking a more serious turn, their times together rich with promise.

  Tears bubbled up in her eyes. Tomorrow she'd wake up and realize Barry was married to someone else. The two of them would have quarreled, or he'd be dead. His children would hate her, or he would have a job in Siberia, so that they'd never met at all. It was like being on the old-fashioned merry-go-round where you kept coming around to see the brass ring, then being whirled away again, empty-handed.

  She dressed in a beige skirt, sandals, and a lacy cotton blouse, and grabbed her purse. They headed out through the firefly-laced dusk to the movie (something about treasure and blowing up trains—she never did get the title straight) and snuggled like two kids the whole feature.

  The next morning, she woke next to a warm presence pressed close to her back. “Barry?” She put out a hand and traced a shoulder nestled against hers.

  "Mmmm?” he said.

  They had made love for the first time last night, she remembered. It had been slow and sweet and—

  Utterly wonderful. And the universe had let her keep it.

  Smiling, she got up and made him chocolate chip pancakes from scratch. He sat across from her at the kitchen table, talking about his plans to acquire a new zebra stallion from the San Jose Zoo. The current stud had gone a bit senile, it seemed, and preferred the company of his own sons to receptive mares.

  She watched him, entranced. Every moment seemed precious because tomorrow she would remember it a different way. “I have to work this afternoon,” Barry said, finally laying aside his fork. “George Spencer is off and I'm filling in."

  "I'll go in, too,” she said hastily, afraid if she took her eyes off his genial face for a second, he'd turn back into Insurance-Barry or any one of his thousand other iterations. “Maybe they need some help somewhere."

  Barry smiled and pulled her into his arms. He lowered his face and murmured into her hair, “They always do."

  * * * *

  By the time they'd gotten to the zoo, however, she remembered how they'd agreed last night to “put the brakes on,” as he'd termed it. His son, Brent, was getting married next month and wanted Barry to walk his ex-wife, Brenda, into the church and then sit at her side, in some ghoulish fantasy of “if things look all right, then they are."

  Ally wasn't invited to the wedding, because that would make Brenda unhappy. It was Brent's big day, after all, Barry said. He was sure Ally understood.

  And Ally did understand, all right. The universe was having at her—yet again.

  They emerged from his Jeep Wrangler in the parking lot. The asphalt steamed up at them, and he waved at her wearily. “Okay, meet you back here at five?"

&
nbsp; Somewhere, she knew, the universe was laughing. It had once again showed her what she most wanted in the whole world, then swept it away before she could even catch her breath.

  She spotted Carina, just beyond the Admissions booth, carrying a broom and walking with a group of Zoo Teens toward the penguin exhibit. Her sometime goddaughter had pink hair today and looked enthused as Ally had rarely seen her. This roller-coaster ride was at least doing her some good.

  Ally whirled on Barry, who was startled and stepped back. “No,” she said with a forcefulness entirely foreign to her orderly soul, “it is not okay with me!” She glanced up at the sky. “Do you hear that?” Seizing his face in her hands, she pulled him down to her for a desperately passionate kiss, the likes of which she could never remember planting on anyone before, Barry or not.

  His arms encircled her, and they stood locked together in the middle of the parking lot until someone passing snickered. “Hey, gramps, get a room!"

  Barry laughed and broke the kiss, though he still held her close. That night at the drive-in, she thought frantically, trying to hold on to this particular slice of reality, smile lines, silver hair, a warm and welcome presence in bed. He shimmered, as though she were seeing him through waves of heat. His hair thinned, receding even as she looked.

  Insurance-Barry, she thought grimly. “No!” she shouted at the universe. “Not this time!” She kissed him again, more insistently, until her brain had the consistency of warm custard. Her knees threatened to give way and she could think of nothing beyond this moment.

  "I—” Barry stopped, apparently unable to continue his thought. His mouth gaped as he stared down at her, now wearing the concrete company's black uniform.

  They'd been married for ten years, her memory told her, and miserable for nine. Her stepchildren hated her and had driven them apart. She'd secretly consulted a divorce attorney just two days ago. Barry was a selfish, grasping, miserly—

  She threw her arms around him again and held on, though she could feel his confusion. She wanted her one true Barry, no one else!

  The parking lot wavered, and then an industrial park stood in place of the zoo, which had been shut down years ago by the city as an unpopular, unprofitable enterprise. Auto glass was now fabricated here and wooden pallets for shipping.

  There was no Barry, no Carina, no wonderful old drive-in where you could watch movies under the starlight. Her arms were empty. She was standing alone. Her hands dropped to her sides.

  Why did the pieces of her life keep shifting, falling into new configurations—some beautiful, others plain, or boring, or even outright depressing? Had she committed some great unpardonable wrong for which she had to keep paying over and over again? It was like something basic inside her head had come unstuck. Maybe she was developing Alzheimer's.

  "I want it back,” she said hoarsely to the sky in the busy parking lot as massive delivery trucks maneuvered past her. “I want him back!"

  The universe, of course, paid no mind.

  * * * *

  By the next morning, she had the zoo again and her volunteer job as a docent, but not Barry. They'd never met, her rogue memory told her, as she poured coffee into a travel mug, though she had caught sight of him working in the giraffe paddock once. She moved through her day in a daze, speaking when required, being polite to her tour groups.

  Even her garden at home gave her no pleasure. The hostas seemed gray and unreal, the geraniums terribly ephemeral. Her little house, so snug and reassuring before, seemed likely to become a pizzeria when she wasn't looking, or the lobby of a bank. Perhaps she would wander homeless then, begging for quarters at intersections with a hand-printed sign. Nothing was for certain. Nothing lasted, and she couldn't do anything about it.

  That evening, one of the Barrys called, but she just hung up before she figured out which of his many versions it was. Even if this was the right one, it hurt too much to spend time together just to have him snatched away mid-kiss.

  He called again, every night for a week, but she could not bear to exchange a single word with him.

  Finally, toward the end of September, her friend Melinda stopped by. When Ally opened the door, all of Melinda's possible lives danced through her mind, equally real: Melinda's wedding, abandonment, honeymoon, Carl's betrayal. “How—are you?” Ally said unsteadily, having no way to tell which particular Melinda had come to see her.

  "I've brought the honeymoon pictures,” Melinda said, sweeping past her into the living room. “But the real question is—how are you?” She flung herself down on the green-sprigged couch, dislodging an open gardening book to the floor, and gazed at Ally disapprovingly. “You're breaking his heart, you know."

  "'His heart'?” Ally closed the front door and followed her inside.

  "Barry's,” Melinda said, as though Ally were a foolish little girl. “At least tell him what he's done."

  "He—hasn't done anything,” Ally said. Despair seeped through her.

  "Of course not.” Melinda pulled a huge packet of pictures out of her purse. “This is Barry we're talking about. He's so perfect, he makes my teeth ache."

  "It's just—” Ally locked her hands together and stared at her tennis shoes, fighting tears. “No matter how hard I try, I can't have him. The—universe—won't let me."

  Melinda sorted through the pictures, her expression intent. “Why in heaven's name not?"

  "I don't know,” Ally said. “I've tried and tried to make it work out, but, for whatever reason, it just isn't going to happen."

  The doorbell rang. Ally excused herself to answer it and found a blue-haired, pierced-nosed Carina waiting on her porch, towing a pimply young man decked out all in black and three sets of earrings.

  "Aunt Ally,” she said with a crooked, shy smile. “I brought Jerret by, so you could meet him, like you asked."

  "Wonderful,” Ally said, as her mind whirled. “Come—in."

  She seated them in the living room, across from Melinda, and left the three of them examining the Puerto Vallarta honeymoon photos while she rummaged through the refrigerator in search of something to serve at this impromptu party.

  The doorbell rang again. Who now, she thought crossly, Lynn and Carl? The next-door neighbors and their five children? A twenty-piece brass band from the local high school? All she'd wanted tonight was a chance to be alone and wallow in her misery. Wasn't the universe going to allow her at least that much?

  She heard Carina answer the door, then toenails clicked across the parquet. A slim brown-spotted dog bounded around the corner into the kitchen and jumped joyously up to lick her. It was Sadee, the dog she both had—and had not—rescued. A dark-haired woman trailed behind, leash in one hand and something wriggling in her other arm. “Down, Sadee!” she said breathlessly. “I'm so sorry. We just wanted to drop by."

  Ally dropped to her knee on the white tile kitchen floor and smoothed a hand over Sadee's sleek head. She was gloriously alive.

  "Sadee had pups eight weeks ago, courtesy of her adventure that day when she escaped the yard,” the woman said. “Because you rescued her, my sons wanted you to have the pick of the litter.” She set a brown-furred puppy down on the floor and it promptly piddled. Sighing, she snatched up the paper towel roll from the counter. “From the thick coat, we think the father might have been an Akita, though it's hard to tell just yet. I know you might not want a dog right now, but you were so kind to Sadee when she got loose, and I promised the boys I would ask.” The woman tore off towel sheets to soak up the puddle. “She's not housebroken, yet, I'm afraid."

  "It's all right,” Ally said, entranced. “No harm done.” She gathered the bright-eyed ball of fuzz up and cradled it to her. The puppy yapped, then licked her neck, so soft and warm.

  "It's real,” she murmured to herself.

  "Very real,” the woman said wryly. “And I've got seven more just like her, in case one's not enough."

  She heard the front door open again, though this time the bell hadn't even rung. Were Carina a
nd Jerret leaving already? Carrying the puppy, she went back into the living room. Barry was standing in the doorway, talking with Melinda.

  "There you are,” he said, turning to her.

  Ally steeled herself for the disparate and unsuspected memories that were sure to surface. Which Barry was this? The one she'd married, with such unhappy results? The one who sold insurance? The one who fixed pools? Would he stay for a minute, or an hour, or even a day before the universe snatched him away?

  "It's getting dark,” he said, “and there's a full moon tonight. You always said you wanted to see the zoo by moonlight.” He held out his hand.

  Her dream. The puppy wriggled in her arms. “But you'll just leave me,” she said to Barry—really, to the whole room, all of them, so transitory. “You always do."

  "Hey, you're the one who won't answer the damned phone,” Barry said. “I don't understand what that's all about."

  "She just has trouble making up her mind,” Melinda said, thrusting the honeymoon pictures back inside her purse. “Always has, as long as I've known her."

  "Aunt Ally, you're so funny,” Carina said reprovingly. “Don't be rude to the poor schmuck. Aren't you the one who's always telling me to ‘take a chance'?” She lifted the struggling puppy from Ally's arms. It squirmed around and nipped her chin. She laughed. “Go with him. Jerret and I will dog-sit."

  She did want to go, to make that dream image a reality, but how could she bear it when the universe snatched him away tomorrow?

  "What is with you, woman?” Barry threw his arms around her. “You keep getting away from me. One day, you have blue eyes, the next, hazel. Your hair is short, then down to your shoulders. You live here and garden, then rent an apartment over on the other side of town and take up playing the piano. You volunteer at the zoo, but the next week, they've never heard of you. You say you love me, and then you won't even answer the phone. It's like I'm always on the trail of the real Ally, but she keeps hiding."