Free Laugh with the Moon by Shana Burg

some
nsima
that’s left in the fridge. Then I put on a T-shirt and shorts and weave tiny braids in half of my hair. I fasten the bottom of each one with elastics that are still at the bottom of my backpack from when I had my braces. I sketch for anhour out on the veranda, but then I’m bored with that. And by ten o’clock, I can feel my muscles literally itching to get out of the house, even though there’s absolutely nowhere to go. So at 10:22, when my father gets up and walks out to the covered porch in his pajamas and says, “What do you say we go see some animals?” I nod a little too eagerly.
    Dad smiles.
    I want to tell him not to get excited—it’s only because I’m so crazy bored my brain feels like it’s about to explode right inside my skull—but that would require talking.
    “I’m going to throw on some clothes, eat something quick—did you eat?”
    I nod again.
    “Super!” Dad says. “Then we’ll head out to Liwonde National Park. You’ll love it. It’s great!”
    An hour later, we’ve paid the fee at the gate. The attendant gives us a map of the park, a list of the animals we’ll see, and a paper that says we shouldn’t leave our vehicle under any circumstances. We’re winding along the Shire River. I’m thinking that I’m almost used to riding in what would be the driver’s seat in the United States when all of a sudden, I spot a six-foot-long lizard tanning on a rock and a bunch of crocodiles bathing in the lagoon. As the dirt road winds through the forest and across the savannah, seven warthogs snort their way right in front of the Land Rover. They are the ugliest things I’ve ever seen, but still, they take my breath away. There are vervet monkeys and antelopes too. For a while I can’t help it, I’m saying “Wow!” and “Check that one out!” every otherminute. Dad stops the car so I can sketch the African fish eagle and a waterbuck grazing on the tall grass.
    I’ve just finished my drawing when Dad ruins everything. “Clare,” he says, “I thought we could talk about how you’re doing. About your mother.”
    I look at him. It’s a trick. He’s got me trapped.
    He tries to put his arms around my shoulder. “I know how painful it is,” he says.
    And that’s when I turn to him. Turn on him. He doesn’t know how painful it is. He’s over it. Over her. Obviously. He’s dancing and smiling and laughing. He’s back to normal and it hasn’t even been a whole year. Isn’t my mother worth at least a year of sadness, a year of pain? “You don’t know!” I shout. “You don’t even care anymore.” I slam my fists against the dashboard, but I don’t feel anything at all. And I don’t feel the tears pouring down my face, yet I taste them when I try to catch my breath.
    Suddenly, I don’t care if I get eaten alive. I just need to get away from him, so I throw open the Land Rover door and run and run and run. As I run, I see too far into the distance. I see my life without Mom: my prom, my wedding, my kids. It will be just me and my dad, who doesn’t even know me anymore.
    “Clare!” Dad shouts. “Get back here!”
    And then I see it. A python winding through the tree. My heart thumps in my throat. I grind to a halt. I’ll be dead in seconds anyway.
    Dad comes up behind me. I point.
    “It’s a vine,” he says, and sighs. He squeezes my wrist and pulls me back to the Land Rover. Once we’re inside,he locks the doors. Then he rests his forehead on the steering wheel and closes his eyes.
    “Dad?” I say, but he doesn’t move.
Is he furious? Is he having a heart attack? What’s going on?
“Dad!” I shout.
    He lifts his head. “You scared me,” he whispers.
    “Sorry.”
    “And Clare …”
    “What?” A flock of tiny blackbirds circles the air.
    “I miss your mother more than anything.” He looks out the window. His shoulders shake. I watch him like that for a long time. I don’t know what to do, what to say. I fit my molars into the dent in my