Page 13 of Twice
I didn’t. I wish I had. The truth is, you never do as much good as you could.
?
Things my mother said she loved about me:
“Your laugh.”
“How you sleep with your arms under your pillow.”
“Your courage, even when you’re scared.”
One day, during a field trip to the zoo with my sixth-grade class, I was standing with a couple of girls near the lion exhibit. One of the girls was named Esther, and I kind ofliked her, in the way that a sixth-grade boy likes a girl, which is awkward and without reciprocation. I was stealing a glance at her pinkish cheeks when one of the big cats roared, and I jumped backward.
“You got spooked,” Esther said, giggling.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did! I thought you lived in Africa. Aren’t you used to lions?”
I looked away. My new response to embarrassment like this was a quick time jump to correct it. But hoping to impress Esther, I took a bolder tact.
“Lions don’t scare me,” I bragged. “If I wanted to, I could play with them right now.”
“Play with lions?”
“Sure. We did it every day in Africa.”
(We did no such thing. I saw one lion the entire time I was there.)
Quickly, Esther’s friends jumped in. “Do it!” “I dare you!” “I double dare you!” But Esther changed her tone. “Wait, you’re messing around, right, Alfie?”
I straightened up, chuff with phony bravery.
“Watch me.”
The exhibit was protected by a high fence, then a long space, then a wall behind which the lions roamed freely. Reminding myself all I had to do was tap my body and saytwice, I jumped onto the fence and shimmied up. I heard Esther yell, “Alfie, no!” but I was already over. I looked back and grinned at the girls with their hands over their mouths.
I saw two lions lift their heads and one rise on its paws. I trembled but kept moving forward. I could hear the screams of people beyond the fence. Another step. Another step. The largest lion began pacing, eyeballing me. Although I had done this to impress a girl, I was now hypnotized by the danger. I eased over the low stone wall and took two more strides in the animals’ direction.
The lion growled. I saw his ears flatten and his tail sweep from side to side. Then, just like that, he broke into a sprint, charging straight at me, head low, mouth open. I slapped my legs, yelled “Twice!” and immediately was face down in my pillow that morning, my heart going like a drill.
I lay there for a minute, the sunlight spilling through the window, still seeing that beast coming at me. It was frightening, yes. But exhilarating. As alive as I’ve ever felt. I could have died in that moment, Boss, yet I didn’t. And I foolishly gave myself the credit for that. It was the start of an addiction to invincibility. A belief that nothing I did the first time could hurt me.
It was also a realization that, for all these chances I was taking, I was the only one to reflect on my bravery. Later that day, when our class (again) went to the zoo, I stood next to Esther. When that lion roared, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t say a thing. I wanted to brag, “Hey, I just ran into his cage! He was this close to eating me!” But it’s not like I had any proof. My first chances let me be Superman. My second chances, I was stuck as Clark Kent.
Nassau
“Wait,” LaPorta said. “What year was that? The lion cage thing?”
“I’m not sure,” Alfie said. “Maybe 1969, or ’70?”
“An incident like that would be reported. Even written about in a local newspaper.”
“Probably.”
“I can cross-check it in a database. We can prove if your story is true right now. Where did you say that happened? Philadelphia?”
He rose from his seat.
