Otis Gator

Because it was just too damn cold, the Pittsburgh Zoo was not full of beautiful slobbering children attached to harnesses today. I mean... it was painfully frigid, where the air burned then stung in pecks of bristling cold. The gift shops were not hot from the too-many-human-body, less a meat sauna, more an empty structure. Pittsburgh is getting over a "polar vortex." There are no parents rolling their eyes at their babies in strollers who cry about spilled Dip-N-Dots or truncated time with the strong, popular, elegant tiger.

"Do you need a map?"
"No thanks!"

There was one mapless man who passed up the big-headed tiger without a second thought. He was wearing an oversized black parka, his eyes just showing below a fur hood. He sweat in winter weather as he barreled up and around the hill, past where the flamingos were in the summer. That's me, barreling.

One goal: visit Otis the alligator.

I was making my way to this gator and it was taking longer than usual. Frost had taken all the plant life, crab grass mostly, along the edges of the pavement walkway. The little brown plant fingers spilled out to the path in patches of dead hay and dirt. Little shapes and pictures were patterned within this crime scene, that feeling of maybe hallucinating, maybe living. People no doubt stepped on those little bits of life, just as I do, not thinking twice about whether a plant carries life or not. A lot of people do, though. They're awake to the Lifestream.

I started to feel a little weird at my remorse for these dead weeds, then I shut that shit out of my brain.

I realize again and again how much I wish I hadn't ignored the Latin flower words I'd ignored for nearly forever: biennial, biannual, perennials, bicentennials. One I know: annual. That one's easy enough. But why am I satisfied otherwise? There is just so much I don't know. I barely know milkweeds from marigolds. Pine from Cyprus. I know to go "bird by bird" as Anne Lamott says, but it'd probably help if I could name a bird. I guess there's always a start somewhere, sometime after I get to this alligator, wherever that may be.

After I passed a vacated Pepsi stand to my left, and about fifty more feet, and some fresh poo smell later, I took a closer look at the map with worn curled edges posted on the large brown building, pictures of elephants posted all over. I smelled elephant shit. As I pinpointed the "YOU ARE HERE" sticker, I realized I'm on the other side of the zoo, pretty far from Otis. Disappointing, but funny all the same. A sticker told me where to go.

Honestly, I don't remember a single time any map has made me happy, really. And that's all the wielder's fault, of course. A little more walking.

No doubt I looked a little crazy trudging around the zoo by myself with this glossy patterned book in my hand, and who cares, I love weirdos and I am a weirdo. I'd gotten my book from my best lady friend from high school. While it was a gorgeous book, sure, it was a little too pretty. Shiny and shimmery. The pages were empty and clean, sewn into a leather binding. Smelled nice, too.

It just didn't fit me.

 If I could make a notebook that was more me, it'd have large grey scales. The pages would have to be super crusty, and it'd have a flaky ribbon which broke every time you most needed it. It would reek. However, there would be a charm to this notebook, a little curl around the lip. If you looked at it just so, it would smile just like an alligator, and somehow everything would be fine.

I'd finally reached the right area only to find the sidewalk barricaded for renovations. I thought that it seemed a little strange to leave the animals unattended and block off that section of the zoo for no reason.

I don't suppose I need to tell you how quickly I climbed over the barrier. And of course, obvious to any mildly to moderately intelligent person, what I found was frozen lake devoid of Otis. Alligators live in the Southern parts of the United States and rare parts of Southern China for a reason. It's warm there. An undersized plastic alligator in Otis's stead smiled at me blankly.

I spent twenty minutes sitting with the rocks and listening to water trickle, slipping down the sides of rocks into the frozen water. Some large plants poked up out of the rubble like the remaining hairs from a man's balding scalp. Crackling and rustling in the distance made me pop up like a prairie dog to watch for staff members, predators. I wondered if the zoo staff would find me and tell me to get lost. I almost hoped that the alligator had adapted to his surroundings, hiding in camouflage behind a mossy rock or in the darker leaves, ready at any moment for guerrilla warfare.

I have reaffirmed this is going to be my spot. I had a journey at this zoo filled with smells, sights, feelings, powerful images, whatever. I didn't really get to reflect on those yet. Here I am, sitting on the cold pavement with my shiny shimmery book, thinking about a half-natural half-man-made construct for an alligator. Very urbanatural, isn't it? Otis seems to have been relocated from the glitz and glamour of having human beings chatter about his existence, at least when it's cold. Good for him.

At the skin of the ice, leaves which used to swim around were encased at its surface.

I wondered where someone had encased Otis.