August 13, 2012.
One time, when she was six, Maggie's mom and her new Cuban boyfriend left her at the Miami Zoo.
Told her they'd be back in a few hours, only they didn't come back.
So it got dark and her toes had blisters, and Maggie asked a zoo vendor selling cotton candy if she could call her gram.
It was really a big deal.
"Lost Kid", rent-a-cops, and golf cart rides, you know.
But her gram came, and Maggie was sitting on a bench, under a tall light with lots of bugs, pretending that she could read the zoo map pamphlet.
She crooked her head from side to side, raising her eyebrows, saying the words she definitely knew out loud.
The Lions. Lion. Lion. Lion.
Because the lions were Maggie's favorite.
Then, like a hiss, a baggie with exactly three Oreos in it was dangling in front of her face.
The free arm wrapped around her head, palm on her forehead.
The perfume, familiar.
"C'mon, Mouse. Sunburned, time for home". A smooch on top of a sweaty kid's bobbed haircut.
Nobody remembers the name of the Cuban boyfriend.
Only that he slept in his van and showered at the public beach.
"Hey, Mags. Remember that one time when we got drunk? Ate hot dogs on top of that cable box?"
"That wasn't me, Mom".
