Andy, You're A Star

Once, when I was really young, my mum and dad took me to the zoo in London. They said that every little girl in the world had to go to the zoo at least once in their lifetime. I told them that I didn't want to go to the zoo, because Kate had once been to a zoo, and the monkeys had scared her so bad that she wouldn't even look at coloring books if they had monkeys in them.

Kate was a girl in my class, of course. She wasn't a friend of mine, but I remember her coming into school and another girl named Marcy was carrying around a stuffed monkey, and Kate started screaming and crying and Marcy had to put the monkey away.

But they took me anyway. For the first hour of the visit, I was downright pissed that they were making me look at all these stupid animals, staring at me from their cages like I was something to eat. I jutted out my little bottom lip and my dad had to drag me along in my ugly blue dress that had little strawberries all over it.

At around noon, Mum decided that it was a good time to get something to eat. We went to the food court, and Mum went to get us some lunch while Dad sat us down at a table. Next to us, there was an old couple and a little Bichon Friese dog with curly black fur and a little pink tongue hanging out of it's mouth as it lied in the shade under the table.

You're probably wondering the relevance of this story, but just hold tight. I do have a point.

The minute I saw the puppy I was intrigued by it. As soon as my dad let go of my hand, my little white shoes were hitting the pavement and I was crawling under the table to pet the dog. And as soon as my fingers were buried in the thick, curly mass of fur, I fell in love with that dog. The whole way home, I begged and begged my parents for a dog just like that one.

The next Christmas, I woke up early and bounced down the grand staircase and ran across the den to the gigantic Christmas tree where there were tons of presents stacked. I marveled for a long moment, before putting my head close to each of the boxes, listening for a sign of breathing or panting or sniffing or barking; anything that would hint to me that I was finally getting my little puppy.

But there was no sign, and I started to cry. I had wanted that little dog more than anything in my whole short life, and my parents couldn't give it to me. I sobbed loudly and hoarsely, and eventually, after about five minutes, my mum came down the stairs rubbing her eyes and staring at me like I was crazy.

That day at the zoo, I had made such an intense emotional attachment to that puppy, that when I left for home, I felt hurt that I couldn't see that dog anymore. But then I thought of the possibility that my parents could get my my own puppy, and I was eager to see it again. When I found out that there was no puppy in any of those boxes, I was heartbroken. I thought that I was never going to see it again in my life.

But do you know what happened?

After twenty minutes of my mother trying to calm me down, my father came down the stairs. It took one look, one little glance at him, and the tears stopped. Because when he walked down those stairs, he was speaking quietly to a little black ball of curls in his arms, and I was in love again.

This is exactly how I felt about Oliver. Now, wait a minute before you look at me like I'm insane.

When I saw Oliver at first, I was intrigued. And then when I got close to him and touched him and found out how magnificent he really was, I fell fast and hard for him. Every day of those first months we spent together, I grew more and more attached to him. And then, just like my parents had to drag me away from that puppy at the zoo, I dragged myself across the ocean to America away from Oli. I had felt the same pain and sickness as when I was without a puppy of my own, only now I was older and I knew what it meant.

The long months of struggling to shove my way back into Oli's life was exactly like trying to convince my mum and dad to get me a puppy, and when Oli kissed me that night and accepted me back into his life, I fell in love with him all over again, just as I did with my puppy.

And do you know what my dog was named?

Oliver.

I never did see the monkey's, either.