John Zeitler

This is from the longer-form writing thing I’m doing, a non-fiction… essay… thing. It’s hard for me to define exactly what it is beyond “it happened”. I’m also experimenting a little bit with a different writing style. When it’s finished, the full piece will be up, either here or at Linguankery. In the meantime…

I can’t find a parking space. It doesn’t surprise me that a Monday evening sees a crowd of people in the Toys R Us; the crowding irritates me, yes, but it certainly does not surprise me. Children run through the aisles, celebrating good report cards and “greatly improved” marks; the board game aisle, in particular, has a few families, parents hoping to find a pastime that will keep their offspring from becoming too bored on the inevitable rainy days of summer break. I wend my way through the aisles and obstacles until I reach Animal Alley.
The usual suspects greet me. Bears, dogs, cats, and rabbits of varying shapes, sizes, colors, and realism levels are stacked upon each other. It resembles nothing so much as what would happen if a particularly deranged little girl were to try to recreate a concentration camp photo. For some strange reason, I don’t think the boys would like any of these animals. I wonder why I would think that as I walk around to the next aisle, labeled “Safari Friends”. Here we find a more exotic menagerie; penguins, hippopotami, elephants…
The light goes off in my head. A raccoon. That’s what Dad brought home that one trip. I remember that one, and how it stayed by my side night after night for a good long while, until it was finally too frayed and bald to be recognizable, let alone self-contained. I would love to share that with the boys. My eyes scan the shelves one more time. Then again. Then I go back around to ‘Hello Auschwitz’, circling both aisles a total of six times.
There are no raccoons in the store. My alternate idea, a fox, was also completely extinct as far as Animal Alley was concerned.