Slumped on the porch with Henry Jack, I feel drained, as if the funeral sucked all the life out of me. My eyes hurt from crying, I’m tired, and my heart pings lonely with the missing of my grandpa.
We slurp red Popsicles, and Henry Jack’s lips are stained. Luckily, the sky is cloudy and we don’t have to worry as much about sunburn for Henry Jack. Queenie Grace huddles in the yard, back on the chain because she already tried to run back to the grave. Queenie Grace bawls and bellows. The sound booms like thunder.
“I never heard such a terrible noise,” comments Henry Jack.
I nod. “It’s horrible,” I say. “Goes right through me.”
Queenie Grace eyes us and stops making the sounds. She just stares, her eyes meeting mine, and something about those eyes makes me care a lot about this elephant. It’s like there’s an invisible thread between us, pulling, connecting, joining.
“I can’t believe my grandma chained her again,” I comment.
“I know,” Henry Jack agrees. “But she really did have to do something to keep her here. I think she’d just keep running back to Bill. To the cemetery.”
“She’s so sad,” I say.
“I know. It’s like you can feel her soul, right? Nothing like the soul of an elephant: it’s big and fluffy and floaty, kind of like those clouds.”
I look up at the sky. Gray storm clouds have gathered, and they’re shifting and changing shapes before our eyes.
Trullia appears at the screen door, a bag of chips in her hand.
“You two need a snack?” she asks.
“No, thanks,” I say.
“Not hungry,” Henry Jack says.
“I know, me neither,” Trullia says. “Who feels like eating on a day like this, right?”
She goes back inside.
“I feel bad for her,” Henry Jack says. “She lost her dad. I know how that feels.”
“Yeah. I know how it feels, too. The losing feeling.”
“By the way,” says Henry Jack, “you did a good job at the funeral.”
“A ‘good job’? How can you do a good job at a funeral?”
“Well, like, you were so polite to everybody and you held it together and stayed strong for your grandma.”
“My dad taught me to be polite,” I reply. “And I taught myself how to hold it together. As far as being strong, not so much. I could bawl from now till my flight home, if I let myself.”
I stare at Queenie Grace, then close my eyes for a few seconds. The shape of the elephant remains on the back of my eyelids.
“Did you ever notice how you can stare at something,” I say to Henry Jack, “then close your eyes and have it stay there, on your eyelids?”
“Of course,” Henry Jack says. “Hasn’t everybody?”
“I don’t know. But now I have an elephant in my eyes.”
“Well, that’s better than an elephant in the room. You know, like how they say, ‘There’s an elephant in the room’ when nobody talks about the obvious bad thing?”
I nod.
Trullia and Grandma have moved into the kitchen, and their voices strain out through the screen window.
“I’m afraid that we might have to . . . send her away,” says my grandmother. “It kills me to say that, because Bill would never have stood for it. But I don’t know how we’re going to feed an elephant, now that we don’t have the act anymore. The account’s very low, and the electric bill is due. Plus the lot rent.”
“But where would she go?” asks Trullia.
Henry Jack looks at me.
“They’re thinking of putting Queenie Grace in an old folks’ home,” he says, low. “An old folks’ home for elephants.”
“Well, there’s that nice new elephant sanctuary up near Tampa,” Grandma says. “I’ve heard they take great care of them there. And they’re free to roam, make friends, and enjoy their later years.”
“See?” Henry Jack mutters. “Told you. That’s what happened to this other elephant I remember from when I was little, named Thunder.”
“But why not make some money?” asks Trullia. “Sell her to another circus or something?”
“No,” Grandma says. “She had her career, and it was with Bill. And anyway, didn’t you know that even Ringling Brothers stopped their elephant acts? They realized that not all elephants enjoy the work of being in a circus. Queenie Grace loved her job, but she loved it because it was with Bill. It wouldn’t be fair to team her up with somebody new at this age. Plus, I couldn’t trust just anybody. I want to be sure that she’s loved and that somebody takes good care of her.”
“Well, how do we know the elephant sanctuary will take her?” Trullia asks.
“I called them yesterday,” says Grandma. “That was one call I didn’t want to make, but sometimes a person just has no choice.”
There’s the sound of the chip bag being ripped open, crunching.
“We just can’t afford Queenie Grace anymore,” Grandma says.
“Well, yeah, you’re right, I guess. Plus, she has been acting out a bit, we have to admit,” Trullia adds.
“I know that Queenie Grace is grieving,” says Grandma, her voice breaking like dropped china. “So am I. I understand that. And now I’m not only grieving for Bill, but for her, too. She’s been with us for a long time. I love that elephant like I love a child.”
“I think that maybe you love her more than you love me,” Trullia says.
Nobody speaks. Silence falls heavy as storm clouds gather in a threatening gang over Gibtown, over Grandma’s trailer, over me and Henry Jack and Queenie Grace.
Nighttime again, and Henry Jack and I are lying flat on our backs, staring at the quiet sky in our usual spot. Queenie Grace is sprawled nearby, an aura of sadness hanging over her large body.
“I think she knows,” Henry Jack says. “She knows what’s going on.”
A screen door squeaks, and Mike steps out of Charlie’s place. He doesn’t know we’re here. He joins Charlie in the yard, and they both light cigars.
“So,” Mike says, “here’s the plan. The old lady says she’s sending the elephant to a sanctuary, over in Tampa, on account of how she can’t afford it anymore.”
“How do you know?” Charlie asks.
“Trullia told me.”
“When’s it happening?” Charlie asks.
“Probably by Saturday,” says Mike. “But I have a plan.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“We load up the elephant while the old lady and Trullia are sleeping,” says Mike, “and then we split the money three ways. You, me, our buddy Gus. Takes three to swipe an elephant.”
Henry Jack looks at me and I look at him, as we absorb the words leaking through the night.
“They’re . . . going to steal Queenie Grace,” I whisper.
“Not if I can help it,” Henry Jack mutters.
He and I lock eyes, and I know we’re thinking the same thing.
“We’ve got to get her out of here,” I state. “We’ve got to save Queenie Grace.”
We’re quiet until Mike and Charlie go back inside.
“We need to tell my grandma,” I whisper.
“No,” Henry Jack whispers back. “Then she’ll just send Queenie Grace away even quicker, to keep her away from those two.”
“So,” I whisper, “what are we going to do?”
“Run away,” he whispers. “We’ll take Queenie Grace.”
“But how can you run away with an elephant?”
“Beats me,” says Henry Jack. “But we’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
“Sometimes it’s best not to plan,” responds Henry Jack. “Plus, we don’t have much time. Queenie Grace’s life is at stake.”
“I know. But jeez. I don’t know about running away. My dad would freak out. Plus my grandma. And Trullia . . . she’ll be so mad.”
“I just can’t get used to you calling her Trullia,” says Henry Jack.
“That’s her name.”
“But . . . she’s your mom. You need to call her Mom.”
“If she ever earns it,” I say, “I’ll do that.”
“Huh,” says Henry Jack. “Never heard of that.”
I shrug.
“So what does she have to do? To earn it?”
I take a deep breath. Queenie Grace watches us, eavesdropping.
“Well,” I say, “to begin with, maybe she can explain why she went and left us.”
Henry Jack snorts.
“Some things in life,” he says, flipping back his hair, “just can’t be explained.”
The next morning, Friday, we’re making a list, or at least, Henry Jack is. How to Save an Elephant. Things to Take is the title.
1. water bottles
2. food (stuff for us and Queenie Grace, too)
3. sunburn stuff
4. soap/washcloths
5. Manual for Mahouts
6. blankets
7. change of clothes
8. cell phones
9. chargers
10. toothbrushes/toothpaste
We’re at Henry Jack’s house, and he’s filling four backpacks with things from the list.
“I think we need more than backpacks,” I say. “We need like rolling suitcases or something.”
“Oh, like that won’t be obvious,” says Henry Jack. “One elephant and two kids with rolling luggage.”
“Well, how are we going to carry all this stuff?”
“Queenie Grace will help,” Henry Jack says. “We’ll use this howdah thing that I know is stored in your grandma’s pink shed.”
“What’s a howdah?”
“It’s one of those saddle-like thingies that people use to ride an elephant,” Henry Jack explains. “But we can use it to carry some stuff.”
“And how will we get it on Queenie Grace’s back?”
“Duh,” says Henry Jack. “We’ll use a ladder.”
“This all sounds like a stupid plan to me.”
“No,” Henry Jack said. “It’s the opposite of stupid. It’s smart. We’ll save Queenie Grace.”
“Henry Jack,” I say, “I agree we have to save her. But this running-away thing might not be a good idea. It might be impossible.”
“Nothing,” says Henry Jack, cramming a rolled-up blanket into a third backpack, “is impossible.”