A young man returned home. His parents had recently died and this was goodbye. He walked about his childhood home, one part disbelief, one part sadness. It was just as he’d left it, save the noise. The clink and swoosh and scuttle of life. It was dead now. The lives that had infested the place were elsewhere. Not a clock ticked. Not a chair scraped.
Eventually he made it to his old room. He found it just as he’d left it. There was the withered prom rose. There was the poster of Max Headroom. There was the journal into which his once disjointed youth had poured itself. These things had somehow absorbed the quiet and had become…untouchable. And, for whatever reason, there on the impeccably made bed was his giraffe.
Tears welled in his eyes as he slumped to his bed, grabbed his giraffe, and assumed the fetal position. It had been so long. So hard. Just a moment was all he wanted.
“What’s wrong?”, said the giraffe.
“They’re all gone”, he replied, unsuccessfully holding back a sniffle.
“Who?”
“Everyone. I’m all that’s left. I lived. They all died. All of them.”
“I’m still here”, the giraffe said with some of the old huffiness.
“No. No you aren’t.”
“Of course I am.” Weaker now. “What’s wrong? Really.”
“How could you possibly understand. You were never anything but happy”, the boy’s voice cracked with emotion. “You were never anything but safe and soft and…there. Worn, but permanent. We aren’t.”
“I didn’t know”, soothed the giraffe.
“Of course you didn’t. You don’t care about stopping or being alone.”
“You’re wrong. I do care. I’ve always wanted you to be happy. I’ve just never been able to tell you.”
“And you chose now? Now? I don’t suck my thumb any more! I don’t cry. I don’t write poetry or draw or…care. Not anymore.” Despite himself, he buried his face in the giraffe’s warm fur.
“I’m sorry.” The giraffe paused, “What’s really wrong?”
“I told you. I’m alone.”
“No! You are not!”, exclaimed the giraffe. “I’ve been here for the duration. The long haul. You can’t say that while I’m here.”
“That’s the problem”, sighed the boy.
“What! What’s the problem? What do you mean?”
“I don’t believe in you any more.”
“…!” choked the giraffe.
The boy went on, “I wish it were so simple…I wish I could…”
The giraffe sighed. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
“I wish I could”, croaked the boy.
The giraffe was silent.
“There isn’t anything left. They’re all gone!”, he screamed. “You’re gone. It feels like everything is gone. I want to see you run and look at me and believe what you say. Really, I do. But I can’t. It’s stripped away.”
The giraffe was silent.
“Just one more time”, wept the boy. “Just once more I want all that. Even for just a moment.”
“I know what you’ve lost”, stated the giraffe. “I know exactly what it is.”
“What?”
“Wonder. Your roots. Your energy. Your imagination. Your excitement. Your ability to create worlds. Your infinite desire to own and nurture and belong. Wonder. You had it once. Find that and your very soul will be set free.” The giraffe’s eyes glowed. “Your unwillingness to let go didn’t kill it…just lost it. Your willingness to live *despite* others only hid it. Find it and you will be you again…and I will be me.”
The boy stared at the giraffe for a long time.
“Goodbye”, said the boy.
“You should have said that a long time ago”, replied the giraffe.
“I know. I know that now. I wish I’d thought of it before….before it was too late.”
The giraffe exhaled a long, sad, breath. “It’s always too late. That is the story of life. Find your sense of wonder before it’s too late. Too late. Come back to me in your dreams. Goodbye. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” The words echoed in the man’s ears as he locked the door for the last time.
The sun was going down. He loved dusk on the farm. The most peaceful time on earth, he always thought.
He walked to the edge of the field, facing the receding sun…and wondered.
