Memory Stain

The girls at work laugh at me. They all have fancy cars with all the bells and whistles, and here's me with my old banger.

It's not, of course. It doesn't bang, and it doesn't rattle. Drives smooth enough for me. It doesn't have the bells and whistles, but that's the way I like it.

I still hear my own screaming sometimes. Sharp and high. Perfectly useless, and just this side of shameful. I was ten, which is how come it was just the right side of shameful. Old enough to know fear but hardly sensible enough to know what to do with it.

The Safari Park was meant to be a treat, and so it was. Monkeys pulling at the wipers and making Daddy swear. Giraffes poking their heads in the sunroof, and taking food from our hands. Mum took photos, our faces lit up with sheer delight. I can't bear to look at them now.

In that enclosure, the rules were strict. All windows and doors were to be closed, nobody getting out, no feeding. We were travelling so slowly, though, and hardly on a main road, that I had long since unclipped my seatbelt, and neither Mum or Dad had bothered about it. Milo had unclipped his straps as well, and was climbing about inside the car.

The animals were too far away at that moment, and not doing anything interesting. Just sleeping. An activity, so I learned later, that they do most of the time. Milo lost interest in peering out of the window at the distant, slumbering forms, and started looking for entertainment inside the vehicle. Climbing about, as I said, and pressing buttons, the way toddlers love to to, especially ones born and raised in a digital age.

The problem was, Dad’s fancy new SUV was very modern, and it made decisions for you. Like, if you are going at a slow enough speed, the doors needn't be locked. I don't know who dreamed up this feature, or who is planning to leap out of a moving vehicle as soon as it slows down enough, but there we are. The speedometer dipped lower; there was a faint whirring that we hardly noticed, and then, some minutes later, Milo's curious little fingers prodded at the wrong button.

There was a soft click and hiss, then another whir, louder this time. The boot yawned, like a lazy cat on the Savannah with a full belly.

Not all the beasts were sleeping. This one had stalked closer, as if we were prey. She had cannily found the blind spot behind the car, and padded along in it, as if she could see the future, and knew the opportunity that was about to present itself.

We were aware of her, because her weight rocked the car, and made us all glance back to see what was what. Her head and paws were visible, and that was quite enough. They are bigger than you think, lions. Either one of those huge, heavy paws could have knocked me out cold. Her eyes, huge and golden, looked round at us all. Sizing us up perhaps. Fear was a stranger to her, but she brought him with her just the same.

If asked, if I'd thought about it, I might have linked fear to cold. People freeze in fear, don't they? I know they do. I know I did. Fear was a wildfire that burned any scrap of sense to ashes and left us vulnerable as a shelled prawn.

I must have gaped in shock, hardly believing what I was seeing.

She hopped up into the car like she'd planned it, like she belonged there. She was unbearably, impossibly close. It felt like she filled the whole vehicle, which felt, at that moment, very small indeed. I felt her golden heat, like the hot plains had been baked into her bones and the roasting hot sun was stored in her tawny coat. Her smell hit me like a physical thing, earthy and musky. Raw.

That's when I screamed.

That huge paw raised, hooked slightly and reached out, quite as if she were playing cat and mouse, and Milo was the mouse. It was only then that I realised two things: first, that both my parents were screaming as well. And second, that Milo had been laughing. In his innocence, he thought this was all part of it. I only noticed it when he stopped, because that huge paw, with its wicked claws extended, was descending on him, on my little brother, right there in front of me... and all I could do was scream.

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Daddy sold the SUV. He couldn't get the blood out of the upholstery, but even if he'd replaced the whole interior, some things won't come out. Since then, he's always had older models, once that don't have automatic features. I do the same.

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Thank you for reading!