deodorant. âHow do you know whoâs who if they donât smell?â I ask Bob.
âHumans reek,â Bob replies. âThey just donât notice because they have incompetent noses.â
Another ad comes on. I see children and their parents buying tickets, just like the tickets Mack sells. They laugh, enjoying their ice cream cones as they walk down a path.
They pause to watch two sleepy-eyed cats, huge and striped, dozing in long grass.
Tigers. I know, because I saw them on a nature show once.
Words flash on the screen, accompanied by a drawing of a red giraffe. The giraffe vanishes, and I see a human family staring at another kind of family. Elephants, old and young. Theyâre surrounded by rocks and trees and grass and room to wander.
Itâs a wild cage. A zoo. I see where it begins, and where it ends, the wall that says you are this and we are that and that is how it will always be.
Itâs not a perfect place. Even in just a few fleeting seconds on my TV screen, I can see that. A perfect place would not need walls.
But itâs the place I need.
I gaze at the elephants, and then I look over at Ruby, small and alone.
Before the ad ends, I try to remember every last detail. Rocks, trees, tails, trunks.
Itâs the picture I need to paint.
imagining
Itâs different now, when I paint.
Iâm not painting what I see in front of me. A banana. An apple. Iâm painting what I see in my head. Things that donât exist.
At least, not yet.
not-tag
I pull out Not-Tagâs stuffing. Carefully I fill her with my paintings, hiding them so Mack wonât sell them. Sheâs large, bigger than Bob, but I still have to crumple a few of them.
Bob tries to settle on her for a nap. âYouâve killed her,â he complains.
âI had to,â I say.
âI miss your stomach,â Bob admits. âItâs so ⦠spacious.â
When Julia arrives, she notices that Iâve used up my paints and paper. âWow.â Julia shakes her head. âYou are one serious artist, Ivan.â
one more thing
My finger painting has sold for forty dollars (with frame). Mack is happy. He brings me a huge pile of paper and big buckets of paint.
âGet to work,â he says.
I paint for Mack during the day, and for Ruby at night.
I nap when I can.
But my nighttime picture isnât quite right. Itâs big, thatâs for sure. When I place all the pieces on the floor of my cage side by side, the cement is almost completely covered.
But something is still missing.
Bob says Iâm crazy. âThereâs Ruby,â he says, pointing with his nose. âThereâs the zoo. There are other elephants. Whatâs wrong with it?â
âIt needs one more thing,â I say.
Bob groans. âYouâre being a temperamental artist. What could be missing?â
I stare at the huge expanse of colors and shapes. I donât know how to explain to Bob that it isnât done yet.
âIâll just have to wait,â I say at last. âSomething will come to me, and then Iâll know my painting is finally ready.â
the seven-oâclock show
During the last show of the day, Ruby seems tired. When she stumbles, Mack reaches for the claw-stick.
I tense, waiting for her to strike back.
Ruby doesnât even flinch. She just keeps plodding along, and after a while, Snickers jumps onto her back.
twelve
I lie in my cage, with Bob on my stomach. We are watching Julia do her homework.
She doesnât seem to be enjoying it. I can tell because she is sighing more than usual.
Again, for the hundredth time, or maybe the thousandth, I wonder what is missing from my painting.
And for the hundredth time, or maybe the thousandth, I donât have any answer.
âDad,â Julia says as George passes by with a mop, âcan I ask you a question?â
â May I,â George corrects. âAsk away.â
Julia glances down
Reba McEntire, Tom Carter