The One and Only Ivan

once upon a time

All night, Ruby moans and sniffles. I pace my domain. I don’t want to fall asleep, in case she needs something.

“Ivan,” Bob says gently, “get some sleep. Please. For your sake. And for mine.”

Bob can’t sleep unless he is on my stomach.

I hear a stirring. “Ivan?” Ruby calls.

I rush to my window. “Ruby? Are you all right?”

“I miss Aunt Stella,” Ruby sobs. “And I miss my mom and my sisters and my aunts and my cousins, too.”

“I know,” I say, because it’s all I can think of.

Ruby sniffles. “I can’t sleep. Do you know any stories the way Aunt Stella did?”

“Not really,” I admit. “Stories were Stella’s specialty.”

“Tell me a story about when you were little,” Ruby pleads. She puts her trunk between the bars. “Please, Ivan?”

I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t remember things, Ruby,” I admit.

“It’s true,” Bob says, trying to be helpful. “Ivan has a terrible memory. He’s the opposite of an elephant.”

Ruby lets out a long, shivery breath. “Oh, well. That’s okay. Night, Ivan. And Bob.”

I listen to Ruby’s soft sobs for long, horrible minutes.

Then I hear myself saying, “Once upon a time there was a gorilla named Ivan.”

And, slowly and deliberately, I try to remember.