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After getting my prescription filled, I wandered through the city. I left my car in the parking garage and took a cab. Before I knew where I’d asked the driver to take me, I was sitting in front of the Atlanta Zoo.
I paid the fare and shoved the prescription bottle into my bag. I’d expressed, not primarily depression, but anxiety in Dr. Blake’s office, a skittish jumpiness around loud noises, too many people, social situations.
And the truth was, I’d so often stayed in the house watching television because going out made me nervous. I’d managed to have a burst of courage for about a week to get out of my parents’ house, but it was coming quickly to an end.
And so I had a bottle containing a two-week supply of Xanax. Not quite Valium, but who’s complaining? My hand gripped the bottle nestled in my purse for comfort, and I went to the zoo.
I stopped off at one of the little cafeterias and had lunch, fattening greasy fried food. Chicken, potato salad, baked beans. Staples of the south. Comfort food. I wandered, observing the animals in their cages.
I hadn’t been to the zoo as an adult. It had always bothered me watching animals in cages like a creepy voyeur while acting like it was good clean fun. But I could identify with their plight now, and I didn’t feel nearly as bad for them as I would have at one time.
None of them seemed distressed. I couldn’t quite believe they didn’t know what was going on, but at the same time, they seemed okay with it. Safe. Secure. Knowing they were taken care of, that they didn’t have to face the big bad world and participate in the cruel dance for survival as others of their kind did.
Some of them were lying around; some of them were playing and doing goofy antics for the crowds that had gathered, especially the bears and monkeys. They always tended to perform.
A large group of children on a school field trip rushed to the monkey cage near where I stood looking on. I jumped and moved out of the way, unable to deal with the sudden noise and flutter of activity. Each of the children had a brightly-colored balloon tied around his or her wrist. A woman about my age shouted to quiet them.
“Blue balloons need to go with Miss Patti toThe Wild Planet Cafefor lunch. Red and yellow balloons stay where you are.”
More children ran up then with green balloons and a haggard Miss Patti for the shift change. I slipped into a man-made cave nearby that was air-conditioned and had videos. My pulse raced as my anxiety crept higher. They were only children, but it felt like a close brush with death.
I focused on one of the screens to distract myself, my hand skimming over the surface to find a knob to turn up the volume. The video showed a crowd of angry PETA members protesting the cruelty of keeping animals in cages at the zoo. Painted signs and morally outraged faces filled the screen.
A voice-over began to play. “In our modern age, some are concerned about the practice of keeping animals caged. Although this is a valid concern, unfortunately once an animal has lived in captivity for so long, it’s more cruel to release them back into the wild. They no longer have the survival skills. This is more true for those born into captivity, but is also true for adult animals who haven’t always been with us.”
I glanced back over at the monkey cages, and one of the chimpanzees showed his teeth to me. It looked like a smile, and I wasn’t sure if I was trying to give him human characteristics or if it really was an expression of happiness. Then he screeched a couple of times and went off to play with the others.
I waited for the children to move on to the next exhibit, and when there was a clear path I went to a less crowded area. I stood on a bridge with dozens of dispensers of duck food you could get at a quarter a pop. I gripped the railing and gazed into the dark water, taking slow, measured breaths.
Was this how it would always be? Such anxiety and agitation out in the open air? Would I add agoraphobia to the ever-growing list? I dug through my purse for the pill bottle. My body shook as I deposited a pill into my hand. I was about to pop it into my mouth when I stopped and stared at it.
Then for no reason I can explain, I dropped the little oval lie into the lake. A duck went for it but then swam away. My hand tilted slowly until the rest of the lies tumbled out and then dropped like tiny pebbles into the water. A crowd of ducks swam over, pecking at the pills, then left them swirling, squawking and upset they’d been tricked. I knew the feeling.
I dug in my pocket for a quarter and cranked the machine where the duck food was. The ducks deserved to have what they wanted and so did I. It no longer mattered to me what anyone else expected. Like my master, I had become separated from society.
I wasn’t a part anymore, and the old rules no longer applied. They only applied if I wanted to be a part, and I found that I didn’t. Of what use would a life based on a past reality be? I wasn’t the same woman anymore, and I no longer wanted to be free.
I regretted now digging up the coffin the month before. Emily Vargas should have stayed buried. I sprinkled the duck food into the water and went to get the Mercedes.
TWELVE
Iknew now why I’d written reverse directions. I’d never believed I would get lost. I’d always known I was going back. I just wanted a final taste of the freedom on the other side, like a bride intent on one last hoorah before her wedding day.
I wrote and mailed a letter to my parents knowing they’d never understand, but wishing somehow they could.
I felt a sense of smugness knowing the feds would be picking apart Nebraska looking for me, if they even made the attempt. Hopefully, crazy-induced or not, my letter would be seen as an insistence that they just let me be. It had been wrong to go back and give them false hope.
In my defense, I hadn’t done it on purpose. I’d believed for small moments at a time that there was hope. But the only thing I longed for was to be back in his arms again, and I knew that would never change.
Maybe the doctor could cure me. I could be doped up on drugs and reconditioned in an office where I was told over and over again it wasn’t my fault. That was the thing of it though, while I’d been stupid in leaving my drink unattended, I’d never believed I deserved it. I knew being captured wasn’t my fault.
I hadn’t thought I was bad. It could have been because he didn’t have words at his disposal to break me down in that way. Maybe if he’d had speech and told me over and over it was my fault, I would have believed it. But that hadn’t happened. I just craved that silent strength and power. I couldn’t stop myself.
I didn’t care how I’d gotten to this desire, only that I was here. He was the one thing in my life that made any kind of sense, and I didn’t know his name. I knew even if he took me back, I would probably never know his name. OnlyMaster.
I pulled up to the house and turned off the ignition. I was wearing clothes he’d given me, the journal and CD’s clutched tightly in my hands. I knocked on the door and waited.
Was he even home? I’d persisted in the odd belief that he sat around all the time watching me on the video monitors, as if in doing so he was equally enslaved to me.
