phil
He was four years old when Phil died. It was a long time ago.
The man looks in a mirror and spikes his hair in the front. Nowadays he only does it on special occasions, like today. Since he’s in a hurry, he uses tap water instead of hair gel.
They’re going to the city. To the zoo. So, he must look nicer than usual.
It takes a long time to get there. The drive is longer than he remembers.
“Are you ok?”
His wife sees fear and concern on her husband’s face.
He says “Yeah,” but doesn’t mean it.
Cars pass him aggressively on both sides. But he doesn’t or can’t pick up the pace. There’s nowhere for someone like him to hide.
A migraine fights like a tiger to fend off the healing effects of sumatriptan. The man is hopeful the latter wins. The rest of the day depends on it.
By the time they get to the city the headache’s in full retreat. Victory. He even manages to successfully navigate two roundabouts.
They park on the street and walk to the zoo’s entrance. It’s a beautiful fall day and both are geeked out in sunglasses and visors.
Life is good.
They see many people. Most are in a good mood.
School kids on field trips. Moms and grandparents with infants and toddlers. And lots of tourists speaking languages not native to their home in rural Missouri.
They also see many animals. Many of them are also in a good mood.
Puffins, pit vipers and even Somali asses.
But it’s sobering to see the monument to Phil the Gorilla. The death of the zoo’s most popular attraction on December 1, 1958 was a long time ago. The zoo has changed a lot and so has the man.
In that moment he mourns both.
He finds it odd how he can be both happy and melancholy at the same time.
After the zoo, they drive a short distance to the base of the Grand Basin in Forest Park to eat lunch on a park bench. They choose that location for a reason. It was the centerpiece of the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis and they’re in a reflective mood.
Instead of looking at their phones, the couple watch other people enjoying the day.
Two women are stretching on the steps. A man and a woman are fishing, probably more for relaxation than sport. Lots of people are walking.
The couple talk to one another. Not too much. Just the right amount.
About how they first met, her first pregnancy and other stuff.
As time passes, several water fountains dance for their entertainment.
The man points out how there are only three clouds in the sky. A few minutes later they notice there are now five.
“Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know.”
After lunch he suggests they drive over to Washington University. She agrees to the unplanned adventure. His wife is aware of how many memories are associated with the area.
She girds herself for what’s to come. Even more importantly, she hopes he’s girded as well.
As they weave their way through Forest Park, he points out where he and his dad played handball in the summer of 1968. He was 13. It was the first and only time the two did the whole father-son “play catch” thing.
They also pass the 1930s era mansion where he took piano lessons at the age of eight. From the divine Mrs. Godwin, no less.
Then comes the main course: The university’s main campus, his home away from home as a kid. His favorite place was, of course, Olin Library.
His mind drifts back in time and he’s young again. His heart is full.
In his mind’s eye, he walks up and down the aisles until every bookshelf is inspected. He smells the books, touches them and even worships them.
As always, he takes the stairs to the top and walks out onto the flat rooftop. What he sees below is heaven on earth. For him, anyway.
The quadrangle is a busy and fascinating place. Students walk tree-lined paths from class to class. Some are in a hurry, while some aren’t. Frisbees and footballs are tossed. Books are read by those lying on blankets in the grass.
Each of them is who he wants to be someday. A college student at the magnificent Washington University in St. Louis.
But the dream doesn’t come true.
His father’s denied tenure because he’s viewed as arrogant and condescending. No tenure means no free tuition for immediate family. And no free tuition means the boy can’t afford to go there.
He will have to find another college. An alternative. Someplace inferior by comparison.
The man sighs as they cruise slowly past the sprawling campus. The man is lost in the past. His wife suspects he will sigh again before the day is through.
He sees a street sign and knows he should chuckle: Skinker Boulevard.
What a stupid name for a street. It used to make him laugh, but not anymore. Not today.
His mood doesn’t improve when he spots his father’s old medical lab.
Once again, he’s transported back in time.
He’s 13 and forced by his father to volunteer at the university’s animal research facility. The boy’s job is to feed, water and clean up after the animals.
The agenda each Saturday that summer is the same:
· Father drops son off at medical center in the morning.
· Father goes to his lab on the main campus to work on dissertation.
· Father returns to pick up son at end of day.
The agenda works well until it doesn’t.
One afternoon dad doesn’t show up. That’s a problem because the medical center and main campus are on opposite ends of Forest Park. Two plus miles apart as the crow flies.
The boy tries to call his dad several times, but nobody answers. Two hours pass and still no dad.
He knows where his father is—on the other side of the massive public park. He can’t take a bus or taxi because he has no money. And nobody else is working at the animal facility because it’s Saturday.
The boy decides his only option is to walk across one of the nation’s largest city parks.
So, for the next few hours he wanders aimlessly through the 1,370-acre park. He decides early on not to ask for help or directions. No one can or will help him. He’s on his own.
His imagination runs wild. There are pedophiles, gangbangers and evildoers lurking behind every tree.
Hours later the son finally arrives at his father’s lab. It’s an incredible achievement, but the boy’s too exhausted and traumatized to celebrate. He only wants to find his dad and go home.
The father apologies and the son cries. Their relationship is never the same.
The boy’s hero and protector has fallen from his lofty perch.
Of all the memories associated with the university, this is easily the worst. It’s a wound that never heals. From the son’s perspective, this is the first of many unforgivable sins the father will eventually commit.
That boy is now a man sitting beside his wife on a trip to the city. The experience is like looking through a dusty photo album at home. It brings back memories, both good and bad.
They drive by the scene of the crime from so many years before. She reads his mood well and breaks the silence with a question.
“Is there anywhere else you want to go and see while we’re here?”
They don’t make the long drive into town much anymore. It seems best to check.
Plus, maybe this will get him to stop obsessing about his father. She knows he still harbors a lot of anger and regret.
Maybe she can distract him as one does a toddler.
It works. He wants to drive by the medical center to see where he worked for free at the age of 13.
As fate would have it, it is also the place where he eventually worked as an adult. For an actual salary.
For some reason, Washington University has had an inordinate impact on the man’s life. For both good and evil.
When they reach the medical center, his face lights up. He temporarily forgets about his now dead father.
He remembers another specific day from the past. This time it’s from the summer of 1993. He’s 38 years old.
The photo album in his mind is just like the real thing. He’s transported back in time.
The businessman’s employed by two hospitals that are interconnected with the university’s medical school. As media relations manager, he’s standing outside trying to flag down a journalist in a car. A news story is in the works.
As he will soon find out, another story will eventually command his immediate attention.
He remembers it like it was yesterday.
The man points to the grass median in the middle of the busy street called Kingshighway.
“That’s where I was standing! Right there!”
Indeed. That’s where he was standing 32 years ago when he got the 911 phone call. The call that changes the course of his day.
He tenses up just thinking about it. The memory churns up indigestion in his belly.
It’s a miracle he even heard the phone ringing that day. The roar of engines and honking horns during rush hour was intense.
He takes the call on his employer’s cell phone. Since he’s the boss, he has the honor of toting the department’s only mobile device around campus.
It’s a gray clunky thing that looks more like a walkie talkie than the smartphones of today.
He pulls out the antenna, flips it open and puts the thing next to his ear.
The caller is his wife. She and their three young children need help. The brakes on the family van failed and they’re sitting in somebody’s front yard.
In that moment, the journalist becomes an afterthought. Screw the job.
He drives as quickly as he can to the scene of the accident. Much to his relief, no one is hurt, just shaken. The van’s towed to a repair shop, and he drives his precious family home.
Unlike other university-related memories, this one is something both husband and wife experienced. Looking back, it makes for a good story. But in the moment, it’s gut wrenching for everyone involved.
Both are quiet as they reflect on that day so many years ago.
As they drive past the medical center, the man notices one of the buildings is gone. Not only that, but a new one is in its place. He also notices new signage.
The place is familiar, yet different. Time has passed. Things have changed.
The medical center is the same as it was 32 years ago…but it’s not.
Neither of them says, “Let’s go home” but it doesn’t need to be uttered. It’s been fun, but the city has taken its toll on them, especially the man.
On the drive back home, his mind replays the day.
Piano lessons, the smell of a good book and a long, fruitless search for his father.
Cars pass him aggressively on both sides. But he doesn’t or can’t pick up the pace. There’s nowhere for someone like him to hide.
He reaches up and adjusts the rearview mirror. As he does, he catches a glimpse of his face.
The man’s disappointed at what he sees but isn’t surprised.
The boy is long gone. So is the husband and father of three young children. Only a white-haired old man remains.
More cars pass on each side of them. He is the target of much impatience and rage. But it doesn’t bother him as much as it did this morning.
“I had a nice day today.”
She’s thinking the same thing as he is.
“I did too.”
The man says this even though the loss of Phil, his dad and the best years of his life hurts.
He finds it odd how he can be both happy and melancholy at the same time.
Somehow, someway this has been the best day ever.
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