Oh my. There she is again. Every now and again Amanda visits the
primate center here at the city zoo. She's a district school bus
driver, and whenever she hauls some class or another all the way out
here for a field trip, she usually sticks around to see the animals.
Maybe it's just too far away from the downtown areas for her to go back
for another job while the kids are here; maybe she likes animals or kids
or animals and kids too much to stay in the bus and read or to do
something on her own; I don't know, and I don't care. I'm just glad she
wears a name badge so I can call her in my dreams. The tongue tapping
out a trip of three on the teeth, A Man Da. She wears a beige-khaki
uniform buttoned all the way up with sharp pleats down the front of her
pants. She wears her hair in a mannishly short cut, but for one sweet
swoosh of thick hair in the front that she lets fall across the side of
her face. How she can be such a vision in her simple uniform is beyond
me, but I allow my eyes to linger on her waist cinched so fetchingly by
the regulation belt and then to drop a little, and take in the sight of
the creases in her pants where her thighs pressed against her torso as
she drove, and I can barely keep my place in the guided tour. I watch as
she unfolds a moist paper towelette from the concessions stand and
tenderly wipes the face of one of the children, whose chin is spotted
with catsup from some corn-dog or fries consumed earlier. What a caring
woman she is.
I announce to the group "We have a new orangutan this year, and the zoo
and the community are just delighted. These beautiful, rare Apes so
seldom reproduce in captivity that this is nothing short of a minor
miracle. The little one's name is Vicki, and if you all promise to be
very quiet, I'll show her to you over in the nursery." The group is a
sea of eager smiles when they hear this offer, but hers alone sparkles
for me. I always try to include something special in the tour when
she's here, just to see her smile.
As the group leaves the primate center, I watch her walk out of my life
again. She's chatting to the teachers and holding one of the children's
hand. Again, I did not have the nerve to speak to her alone. I tell
my thumping heart to calm itself, that it just isn't to be. I'm sure
we'd never work out. What would I, a shy, primate, developmental
biologist and she, a busdriver even have to say to each other?
"Besides," I say aloud to Pibroch the chimp, "She's probably straight."
He lays a hairy hand on my shoulder in sympathy, and imitates my pout
with his huge lips.
