The One and Only Ivan

another ivan

When morning comes and the parking lot glimmers with dew, I see the billboard on the highway.

There I am: the One and Only Ivan, bathed in the pink light of dawn. I look so angry, with my furrowed brow and clenched fists.

I look the way my father did, the day the men came.

I am, I suppose, a peaceful sort. Mostly I watch the world go by and think about naps and bananas and yogurt raisins.

But inside me, hidden, is another Ivan.

He could tear a grown man’s limbs off his body.

In the flicker of time it takes a snake’s tongue to taste the air, he could taste revenge.

He is the Ivan on the billboard.

I stare at the One and Only Ivan, at the faded picture of Stella, and I remember George and Mack on their ladders, adding the picture of Ruby to bring new visitors to the Exit 8 Big Top Mall and Video Arcade.

I remember the story Ruby told, the one where the villagers came to her rescue.

I hear Stella’s kind, wise voice: Humans can surprise you sometimes.

I look at my fingers, coated in red paint the color of blood, and I know how to keep my promise.