The Night I Escaped From The Zoo : 3 / 5

By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Looking back on that moment, I’ve never been able to understand why I didn’t consider walking back along the path that was plowed by the atomic bathtub. It would have been pretty easy to follow, even in the places where the trees were too thick to allow the moonlight to penetrate. The legs of the tub had dug two deep furrows in the earth that I could have followed all the way back to Lemon’s house.

The short answer is: it just didn’t occur to me, not even for a second.

Looking back, it might have made more sense: Lemon would have helped me; she would have at least helped me to get somewhere safe. Lemon could have lent me some clothes. Certainly having clothes to wear would simplify my journey home.

But… maybe it was the sum of many little things that unconsciously prevented me from considering that path: (1) I’d have to walk past and over the exploded canisters. They were blown into tatters and fragments, any one of which could cut my feet to pieces, and it was dark enough that I couldn’t be sure of seeing every bit of shrapnel before I put my foot down. (2) The woods were dark. I’m not a fearful person, but I had heard stories of bears, coyotes, and feral dogs on the local news. (3) I didn’t see any light in the direction of Lemon’s house. The burning of the meth lab was so intensely bright that if it was anywhere nearby, I should have been able to see it -- at least, as a glow in the sky. Instead, there was only blackness.

It’s possible that the trees were too much an obstacle for my line of sight. It’s possible that I’d gone downhill, and Lemon’s house was over a rise, from my point of view. It’s also possible that I’d traveled so far, that by the time I walked back, no one would be there except for police and firemen. Another encounter with the forces of order seemed dicey. They’d have to assume I was somehow associated with the meth lab. I’d have a lot of explaining to do, but no good explanations to give.

In any case, I didn’t go back to Lemon’s house. I saw the rowboat, and it looked like fate.

Of course, the rowboat was trapped on the opposite bank. I’d have to cross the stream to take possession of it. I don’t know who it belonged to, or what it was doing there. There were no trails or roads nearby that I could see. Nor were there houses, cabins, or even little shacks. Just a boat, all on its own. It wasn’t tied up; as far as I could see it had floated down of its own free will and decided to settle here, much as the bathtub had. At least until the bathtub had second thoughts and took off for the sky.

There was nothing for it, but to wade over and climb inside the boat. If I was lucky, this stream would carry me closer to town. I’m not an outdoorsy type, but my sense of direction told me that the stream was heading toward town. If I was right -- or if I was really lucky -- this creek would empty into Robbins River, which cuts across town. Just to add an injury-by-reference, Robbins River is where I intended to take that romantic walk with Mayda, earlier tonight.

The bushes were pretty tight along my side of the shore except for where my tub had landed. So I waded directly into the stream. The water was cold, yeah, so I tried not to think about it: I just kept stepping in, one foot after another. It didn’t look deep, but it was a full ten yards across: plenty of room for surprises. Also, the surface of the water was rippling and moving fast, so I took my time, fighting the cold, stepping as carefully and intentionally as possible..

It was frigid enough to make my teeth chatter, and when I stepped in deep enough for the cold water to hit my crotch, I winced and gasped. I felt the cold acutely on my derriere, and then on my lower stomach. With each step, the water was several inches deeper. The rocks were slippery, too, and I could see there was a high probability that I’d lose my footing and be carried downstream. If that happened, I’d have to swim like hell. At this distance, I could easily miss the boat entirely.

At last, I got to the point that water was up to my lower ribs. I held my arms high, out of the water, and I was trembling like a bad report card. I stood there like an idiot, wasting time for a few moments, and then decided to go for it. I threw myself forwards, diving headlong into the water and making a swim for it.

Instantly, I regretted it. The cold water sucked the energy right out of me. It was instantaneous: not only did the cold make weaker, the sensation of losing motive power was so startling that my fear only made things worse. As soon as I was immersed, my arms and legs seemed weak and powerless. It was so frightening and shocking that I had to fight against panic as well as the water. The current carried me like a tiny bit of flotsam. Still, knowing what was at stake, I struggled to keep my head up, and managed to kick and thrash in the right direction. As soon as I was near enough, I clutched the side of the boat, first with one hand, then the other.

If you’ve never been immersed in a cold stream, you’ll probably think that everything I said was imagination and exaggeration. It’s not. It’s fine if you don’t believe me. I’m just telling you what happened.

There wasn’t enough oomph in my arms and legs to haul myself out of the water, so I worked my way around the boat, hand over hand, toward the shore where it shallow enough to let me stand and fall into the boat.

A yellow waterproof jacket was lying on the bottom of the boat. At first I draped it over me like a blanket and lay there shivering, waiting for my energy to come back. Then I sat up and slipped the jacket on, and closed the clasps in front. Even though it was rough and basically a rubbery plastic, it was WAY better than being naked. I did feel a bit warmer, though I wish the coat were long enough to cover my butt, or that a pair of pants was part of the offering. Clearly, whoever lost the boat had zero consideration for the wardrobe needs of its next occupant. Oh, well.

There was nothing else in the boat but a single oar.

The boat was jammed up against a tree root and held in place by weeds and a clump of flotsam. I used the oar to poke at the floating trash and leaves. It didn’t want to give at first, but as soon as I opened a channel for the water to flow through the middle of the mess, the pieces began to break away and glide off. In a trice the blockage was washed out, the boat was freed, and we went gliding downstream at a fast clip.

Although I was able to keep the nose of the boat pointing downstream, my attempts to use the oar to actually steer were abject failures. The idea of a rudder was clear to me, but every time I’d stick the oar in the water, the boat would respond by promptly turning around and trying to run ass-first. The boat was also clearly designed to entangle itself at the bank, any bank, so I mainly employed the oar to push off any approaching mass of weeds and rocks or to back out of one that managed to catch me.

The moon set as we went along, the boat and I. In spite of my precarious situation, I fell asleep three times, and each time I woke the boat was stuck again on some plant or rock. I’d push off, and we’d resume our speedy flight downstream.

The channel grew wider and deeper. I saw the glow of city lights on the horizon, and felt assured that I was heading in the right direction.

I fell asleep a fourth time, but this time I woke to find myself well and truly stuck. The boat decided to ram into a huge rock, a boulder, that sat in the middle of the current. The jolt very nearly threw me from the boat. We’d gone aground in the middle of the river -- for by this time I found myself in a serious stretch of water. The speed of the current and the distance to the shore on either side was enough to make me doubt that I’d be able to swim to safety -- if indeed safety was to be found on either bank. There was nothing to see but trees, from the edge of the water on back.

The boat sat pretty high on the rock. We weren’t quite “high and dry” -- the tail of the boat was still hanging in the water. Apparently the boat had jammed itself in pretty tightly somewhere -- the rock was pinching the rowboat and wouldn’t let go. I tried, but couldn’t push off using the oar. In fact, I pressed so hard that the oar let out a loud crack! that frightened the hell out of me. I examined the oar carefully, feeling every inch of it, but couldn’t find a break or split. After laying the oar carefully under the seats, I tried putting one leg out and pushed with one foot. That did nothing. I tried lying on my back and putting two feet against the rock, but there wasn’t enough leverage, and I clearly wasn’t pushing in the right direction. The real problem was that I was afraid of getting too far out of the boat. However, after various fruitless attempts, it became clear that the only place where I’d have enough leverage to free the boat was standing on the rock. After what I’d been through, and what was to come, I think it’s saying a lot when I tell you that this was the most frightening part of my adventure. One highly likely outcome was more than obvious: I could get out, stand on the rock, lose the boat, and end up sitting alone in the middle of the river, wondering if or when someone might find me.

By now, the sun was up, so I was able to get an accurate picture of my predicament: I hadn’t hit *one* rock; I’d run into a group of rocks, and the remedy wasn’t a simple case of pushing off. I’d have to haul the boat up and onto the rock and then launch myself off the downstream side. The rock surface was fairly big, which was reassuring; there was enough space for two rowboats, or a rowboat and a bathtub, should one come sailing down from the sky.

I checked the clasps on my coat, took a big, deep breath, and -- clutching the boat the entire time -- stepped onto the rock. It was clean, not slippery. So far, so good. With a few frightening pushes and oaths, I managed to haul the boat out of its jam and onto the rock. Then, never letting go of my vessel, I studied the safest way to launch it. I saw that I could drop it on the downstream side, where it would be stuck on another part of the rock. Then, I’d climb in, and from inside the boat, push off with one leg and be on my way. After several fear-filled recalculations of my plan, I said to myself, Let’s do it! and soon I was on my way again.

That small episode did wonders for my mood. I felt powerful, clever, and resourceful. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day. My exertions had warmed me, and I was even beginning to perspire under that plastic jacket. So I undid the clasps and let the air play under my arms and over the front of me. My back was pretty hot, but I didn’t dare take the yellow jacket off. I’d had enough of public nudity and couldn’t chance being separated from my only piece of clothing. I leaned back and enjoyed the sun, the beautiful sky, and my interesting trip on the river. I was still convinced that I was heading back toward town. I congratulated myself on my prowess as a sailor, and even went so far as to wonder whether a word like sailoress or sailorette existed. Of course, my feeling that everything was going well was exactly the signal to whatever perverse deity was designing my journey that it was time to stir the pot.

While I was musing and praising myself, the water had grown rougher and faster. It didn’t alarm me -- at first. It wasn’t as though I was heading for a waterfall or anything like that. The boat collided many times against rocks -- not as large as the one I’d escaped, but still quite dangerous. These unexpected jolts arrived with such speed and without warning that I was afraid the rowboat would be wrecked. Once, the current threw the boat up so high against a rock that the boat tilted sideways, nearly spilling me out into the river. The boat kept moving, though, and quickly dropped back to level. Soon, though, the water was so rough that the boat was striking rocks and scraping against them almost constantly. The boat rocked and lurched so violently, that I found myself gripping the sides with the same intensity that I’d gripped the flying bathtub. Several times the boat was tipped sideways, but never went all the way over. It always righted itself and kept on its way.

After many shocks, drops, scrapes and bangs, we hit a patch of clear, fast water. I don’t know how fast we were going, but I was hanging on for dear life. Then, without any sound or warning, the boat flipped over. I have no idea how it happened. It felt like we slid up a ramp that got so suddenly steep, that finally the boat gave up. It threw in the towel and went over. It happened fast -- I didn’t see it coming at all. All I could do was hang on. One moment I was sitting on a quiet stretch of that rollercoaster, and the next moment I was in the water looking up at the upended boat, canopied above me. I reached up and grabbed the seat. I didn’t panic, but I didn’t know what to do. I had to hang on, and I needed to surface, so I tried to do both at once.

It all came apart when my back hit a rock and I lost my grip on the boat. The current twisted and turned me and threw me head over heels. It was like falling into a washing machine. At one point I couldn’t tell which way was up. I didn't know where to go for air. It was scary, but I didn’t give way to panic. Finally, my foot touched bottom and I pushed off hard.

At last my head broke the surface. I gasped and cried and struggled to keep my face above water. A lot of things went through my head at once. In one single moment, (1) I saw my boat far off, flying downstream. It was probably looking to hook up with that bathtub from hell and form a gang of cursed inanimates. (2) I wasn’t in the middle of the river, but neither was I near to shore. And (3) during my exertions under water I lost that supposedly waterproof plastic yellow jacket. It would have been handy to have, considering that once again I was naked without any prospect of finding clothes, but that damn thing was heavy. It weighed me down in the water and functioned like a sail, making it easier for the currents and flows to push me around and keep me under. It wasn’t as though I took it off, but as I felt it slipping down my arms I made no attempt to keep it. It was a question of survival.

Now that the waters had had their way with me, the flux calmed. As I floated on my back and tried to catch my breath, the current gently carried me to the shore on my right. If I was going to choose, it looked like the way to go: the left side had rougher water and visible rocks. The water near the right side was not exactly still, but it was quieter and less rippled.

As soon as I felt ready, I turned over and started kicking and swimming for the shore. I couldn’t take a direct line for it; the current was still pushing me downstream, though not as violently. As I came closer to the shore, I spotted a break in the trees up ahead. I kicked harder and headed for it. Three times I stopped to test the bottom. The fourth time, my feet touched, so I gratefully started walking. There were smooth rocks and pebbles under my feet, along with some mud. The weeds ended when I reached the break in the trees.

Judging by the height of the sun, it had to be at least ten o’clock.

When I made my way around the last tree and stepped out of the water, I was surprised to find myself in someone’s backyard. It was a fairly deep backyard, with two levels, each with a well-tended lawn and flowers. Down where I was, there were two lawn chairs and several children’s toys strewn about. On the higher level I saw a swing set. Okay: so this was the house of a family with at least one small child. Maybe they’d see it in their hearts to help a girl find some clothes and make her way home.

I can’t just click my heels like Dorothy, I told myself. Then, I couldn’t help it: I began picturing a version the story The Wizard of Oz in which Dorothy starts off by losing her clothes in the hurricane, and lands naked in Oz. From there, she -- like me -- would try over and over to find something to wear AND a way home.

I didn’t get very far in my musings, because I suddenly became aware of a little girl. She was probably about ten years old. I didn't notice when she appeared, or whether she’d been standing there all along.

“Hello, little girl,” I said. “My name is Mayda. What’s yours?”

“You’re NAKED!” she exclaimed, her eyes as big as saucers.

“Yes, I am,” I admitted. “Are your mother and father at home?”

“You’re NAKED!” she repeated.

“Yes, I know,” I replied. “Do you have a big brother or sister, maybe?”

“You’re not supposed to be naked,” she informed me. I could see she had a future in law enforcement.

“I don’t want to be,” I told her. “But I was shipwrecked.”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew even wider. Then she turned and ran toward the house. She climbed a set of stairs off to the left edge of the property. Before following her, I looked around me for a towel or any kind of cloth or clothes to cover myself with, but there was nothing.

At the top of the stairs I found the little girl standing near a teenage boy. He was sitting on a lawn chair. The little girl continued to eye me with profound suspicion, as if I were a fugitive from justice. “See? I told you!” she said to the boy.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, gaping at me. “Are you real?”

“No,” I replied. “I’m an angel. Are your parents at home?”

“They’re at CHURCH!” the little girl replied, putting heavy stress on the last word, as if it should have been obvious. Then she added, “Don’t you know ANYTHING?” to underline it.

“They’ll be back soon,” the boy told me.

“I’d like to wait for them,” I said. “And in the meantime, do you have a towel or a blanket I could cover myself with? I fell into the river and lost everything.”

“Yeah, for sure,” the boy said. “Follow me.” He turned and walked into the house.

“We’re not supposed to let strangers in the house!” the little girl cautioned.

“It’s okay,” he said. “She needs our help.”

“Do you have a sister who might be my size?” I asked. “I need to borrow some clothes.”

He stopped and looked me up and down. Then he gestured toward the little girl with his chin. “Rebecca’s my only sister. My mother is about your size, uh, especially up here.” With an embarrassed grin, he cupped his hands at his chest to illustrate how large her breasts are. “Oh, there--” He pointed at a drying rack where some clothes, mostly lingerie, were hanging. “There’s one of her dresses. You can hold it up and get an idea.”

”SHE CAN’T HAVE THAT,” the little girl declared. Her jaw was set. She clearly felt that her home was being invaded and she alone was defending the castle.

“She’s not taking it,” he told her. “She’s just getting an idea.” To me he said, “I’ll get you a blanket. I’ll be right back.” When he turned away from me, I saw him look off to the right at a large mirror. He was trying to sneak a long look at my naked body. I pretended not to notice. After all, he was only the second helpful person I’d met since the aliens left.

While he fumbled and searched in the other room, I picked up the dress off the drying rack. It was a shirtdress with thick horizontal white and black stripes.

“You can’t have that!” the little girl shouted.

“I’m not taking it,” I told her. “I’m just looking.” She was beginning to get a little tiresome. She actually balled her fists and stamped her foot. I held the dress up in front of me, and looked in the mirror. Mayda gazed back at me. Of course she looked wonderful. Of course the dress would look lovely on her. It was weird as hell to know that the girl in the mirror was me.

I don’t know what material the dress was made of, but it felt incredible. It was knit, but unbelievably soft. It hung down to my mid-thigh. Thankfully, their mother was pretty much exactly my size. Hopefully she’d be as kind and helpful as her son, and not as suspicious and antagonistic like her daughter.

I was soon to find out.

The front door wasn’t visible from where I was standing, but I heard it open. A female voice called out, “Sean! Rebecca! We’re home!” A male voice called out, “We’ve got bagels!”

The little girl took off like a shot, talking a mile a minute. “Mom! MOM! There’s a NAKED GIRL here and she’s stealing your clothes! She came out of the river and told Sean that she’s an angel. And he BELIEVED HER. She’s not an angel -- she’s a THIEF!”

“Oh God,” I sighed to myself. In a louder voice I called out to them, “I’m not a thief. I fell into the river and lost my clothes. I just happened to come ashore in your backyard.”

The father drifted in first, blinking in surprise. He gaped at me and repeated, “Lost your clothes?” His wife came in, glowered at me, then turned her baleful, offended glare on her husband. “Bill! Bill! Close your mouth! What’s wrong with you?”

He stammered and gestured toward me. “She -- eh -- she’s lost her clothes. You can see.”

“Yes, I can see,” his wife repeated. “I can see far too much!” To me she said, “What are you doing with my dress? Put that down!”

“I was just--”

“PUT IT DOWN!” she commanded. Clearly (and unfortunately) she was more like her daughter than her son.

I sighed. “I’m just trying to see if you’re my size! If you could let me borr--”

With a fury that shocked me, the woman grabbed her dress and tossed it behind her, onto a chair. Damn it, I was naked again. By now I was getting pretty tired of it, so I didn’t bother to cover myself. The father’s eyes went everywhere. He wanted to look at me, but absurdly he didn’t want his wife to catch him looking. I couldn’t help but notice that he was sporting a long, hard, impossible-to-hide boner. His wife followed my gaze, then her eyes flashed fire. She started punching him in his arm.

“Hey! Hey!” he protested. “What did I do?”

“You know what you’re doing!” she exclaimed. “I want you to stop!”

He gestured mutely in my direction.

“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry to disturb you all, but the only thing I want to do is get home. And it would be a great help if I could borrow some clothes. Once I’m home, I can pay you for them, or wash them and give them back to you.”

In a soft voice, Bill asked, “Where do you live?” His wife socked him in the arm again.

“Damn it, Joan, that hurts!”

“Ooooh, you said a bad word!” the little girl cautioned.

“Look,” I said. “If you’re not going to help me, I’m just going to leave. Again, I’m sorry.”

“You’re leaving… dressed like that?” Bill gestured at me, clearly indicating my nakedness. He turned to his wife.

“No, she’s not leaving,” Joan replied in a brisk tone. “I’m going to call the police. Breaking and entering, theft, robbery, whatever it is… and INDECENT EXPOSURE!”

“Oh come on!” I protested. Sean was quietly watching from the next room, holding a blanket in his hands. I was about to gesture to him, to toss me the blanket. With that, I could at least cover myself. But he looked away and tossed the blanket out of sight.

What the hell? I asked myself, but then I saw him sneak behind his parents and grab the black and white dress. His mother was busy punching 9-1-1 into her phone. The little girl was glaring at me. The father was gawping at me. No one was looking at Sean except me. He signaled for me to go out the door behind me and go around the house to the right, where he’d give me the dress.

The mother was speaking into the phone. “Yes. My emergency? Well, I had just come home from church, and when I walked in the door, my little girl-- what? Aren’t you listening? I’m trying to tell you my emergency! I came in the door. I'd just come home from church--”

I turned and ran.

There was some fumbling and banging and shouting back in the house, but I didn’t stay to listen or look. I just ran. When I turned the corner at the back of the house, Sean was waiting at the front corner, holding the black-and-white dress in one hand and his little sister’s bicycle in the other.

He shoved the dress into my hands and said, “Take this bike and ride down the hill. That’ll get you far away fast. At the bottom of the hill is a bike rack in front of an apartment building. Leave the bike there, and I’ll tell my dad to pick it up.”

“Thanks, Sean,” I said. He blushed. I laid a big kiss on his left cheek and smiled.

Then I jumped on that little girl’s bike and started pedaling like mad.