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Authors: Mindy Mejía
Tags: General Fiction
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across the entire thing; the Golden Gate Bridge and the Rockies bled into the Great Plains, and animals the size of West Virginia—gray wolves and buffalo, all the species that early settlers wasted no time clearing out—wandered aimlessly around the picture.
Meg glanced up at the bald eagle soaring over the top of the painting and then ahead to the Visitor Center that towered over the main gate. Was there a completely shallow and commercial angle she was missing? She wanted to rub the bald eagle’s head like a genie’s lamp. Tell me, favored beast of America, how to get Americans to protect you.
“We really need to distinguish the hatchlings, Chuck.” She didn’t know whether he was still listening. “Not only are they exotic—let’s face it, the kings of all lizards—but they’re a miracle. They really are.”
Chuck frowned and tapped his clipboard on her toga of hose. “I understand your point, Megan, and I know how much this exhibit means to you, but, well—I tell my son that language and presentation can be just as important as action—”
“Exactly. I want to present them well.”
“And,” he continued, with a pointed pause, “you have to be careful with what you say about these dragons. Miracle. Virgin.”
He ticked the words off on his fingers, pointing dead at her chest.
“These are words you should avoid whenever possible, especially if you’re interested in the security of your job. Remember where it got you last time.”
Clenching her jaw, she nodded. “Fine. Okay. I won’t say it—but other people will.”
She pointed to the mural of America and the roar of traffic behind it. “People who want to pay to see these hatchlings. They believe they’re miraculous. We can’t jeopardize them in any way or cheapen their value. Trust me, Chuck. Please trust me on this.”
He sighed and propped his hand on his hip. “You’ve made a good point. Antonio made similar assertions when we spoke earlier. With the veterinarian and primary keeper on the same page, so to speak, I think management will agree.”
The thought of being on the same page or even in the same library as Antonio still made her uncomfortable. Her cheeks burned when she thought about that morning, waking up in the nursery with her head lolling down his chest.
She’d scrambled up out of her chair, barely registering the cricks and cramps that shot down her spine from sleeping upright on hard plastic all night. Her head pounded from the champagne, and she’d quickly grabbed the cups and empty bottle, hoping to God no one had punched in yet and seen them passed out on each other. The whole camping-out plan seemed too intimate, too inexplicable in the fake fluorescent light of day. Antonio had woken up as she was hastily checking the un-hatched egg and two newborns.
How are they doing? He’d stretched like a jungle cat, tipping backward over the folding chair.
She looked away. Fine. No change since last night. I gave the newbies a cricket apiece. I’ll check back later to see if they ate them and take some more measurements .
Hey . He was talking, stretching, and reaching toward her, but she ducked out of the nursery and ran for the first discreet wastebasket she could find, empty champagne bottle stuffed under her arm.
It turned out that it had been six in the morning when all that business went down. She took a quick shower in the locker room, trying to scrub the night off her skin, and got to work doing anything she could find around the cafeteria until ten o’clock, when it opened and she raced inside, begging Guadalupe for a free coffee. Those dragon babies keeping you up late?
Kids . Meg had grinned and thrown her arms into the air. What can you do?
Now Chuck and Meg reached the Visitor Center, where all the supervisors and admins worked. Above them, the glass walls of the upper management offices reflected the morning sun. Meg glanced up at the sleek surface, dying to run straight up there to tell them where
Meg glanced up at the bald eagle soaring over the top of the painting and then ahead to the Visitor Center that towered over the main gate. Was there a completely shallow and commercial angle she was missing? She wanted to rub the bald eagle’s head like a genie’s lamp. Tell me, favored beast of America, how to get Americans to protect you.
“We really need to distinguish the hatchlings, Chuck.” She didn’t know whether he was still listening. “Not only are they exotic—let’s face it, the kings of all lizards—but they’re a miracle. They really are.”
Chuck frowned and tapped his clipboard on her toga of hose. “I understand your point, Megan, and I know how much this exhibit means to you, but, well—I tell my son that language and presentation can be just as important as action—”
“Exactly. I want to present them well.”
“And,” he continued, with a pointed pause, “you have to be careful with what you say about these dragons. Miracle. Virgin.”
He ticked the words off on his fingers, pointing dead at her chest.
“These are words you should avoid whenever possible, especially if you’re interested in the security of your job. Remember where it got you last time.”
Clenching her jaw, she nodded. “Fine. Okay. I won’t say it—but other people will.”
She pointed to the mural of America and the roar of traffic behind it. “People who want to pay to see these hatchlings. They believe they’re miraculous. We can’t jeopardize them in any way or cheapen their value. Trust me, Chuck. Please trust me on this.”
He sighed and propped his hand on his hip. “You’ve made a good point. Antonio made similar assertions when we spoke earlier. With the veterinarian and primary keeper on the same page, so to speak, I think management will agree.”
The thought of being on the same page or even in the same library as Antonio still made her uncomfortable. Her cheeks burned when she thought about that morning, waking up in the nursery with her head lolling down his chest.
She’d scrambled up out of her chair, barely registering the cricks and cramps that shot down her spine from sleeping upright on hard plastic all night. Her head pounded from the champagne, and she’d quickly grabbed the cups and empty bottle, hoping to God no one had punched in yet and seen them passed out on each other. The whole camping-out plan seemed too intimate, too inexplicable in the fake fluorescent light of day. Antonio had woken up as she was hastily checking the un-hatched egg and two newborns.
How are they doing? He’d stretched like a jungle cat, tipping backward over the folding chair.
She looked away. Fine. No change since last night. I gave the newbies a cricket apiece. I’ll check back later to see if they ate them and take some more measurements .
Hey . He was talking, stretching, and reaching toward her, but she ducked out of the nursery and ran for the first discreet wastebasket she could find, empty champagne bottle stuffed under her arm.
It turned out that it had been six in the morning when all that business went down. She took a quick shower in the locker room, trying to scrub the night off her skin, and got to work doing anything she could find around the cafeteria until ten o’clock, when it opened and she raced inside, begging Guadalupe for a free coffee. Those dragon babies keeping you up late?
Kids . Meg had grinned and thrown her arms into the air. What can you do?
Now Chuck and Meg reached the Visitor Center, where all the supervisors and admins worked. Above them, the glass walls of the upper management offices reflected the morning sun. Meg glanced up at the sleek surface, dying to run straight up there to tell them where
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