What I didn't know about the zoo

Toronto was having a heatwave the day we went to the zoo. There was nothing particularly unique about that day. It was a spontaneous family trip. I suggested it because I thought to myself that I haven't been to the zoo in a long time. After a week of long work days, I desired to be outside, thinking that nature could give me some inspiration.

"Let's go." my brother agreed.

When we arrived, the heat was almost unbearable. It was close to 40 degrees. Families who had planned their precious Sunday at the zoo were scrambling to find shelter in the air-conditioned cafeteria. I chugged lots of water, put on my hat, and applied five layers of sunscreen.

"What kind of animals do you want to see?" I looked down at the map. America, Australasia, Eurasia Wilds, Indo-Malaya...

"Canadian," my brother said. I looked up.

"Canadian?"

"Yeah."

"There is nothing there."

"Yeah, there is nothing there," he chuckled.

And so, that's where we went.

We walked from the tropical forest exhibits, down the wooden path, and eventually to the place where the zoomobile drops off curious passengers. Beyond that, we saw a deserted road leading to a half-open gate.

"Is this Canadian?" My eyes wandered to the vegetated, untouched land.

"This looks pretty Canadian," my brother replied.

No one was in front of us. A curious couple followed us, assuming we knew where we were going. I saw more people walking in our direction—out of the exhibit. A family with three kids and drooped faces walked by us.

As we moved forward, more and more people turned around. A very nice guy with a bucket hat came up to us. He didn't have to do this, but he did. He almost looked apologetic about what he had to say next. "There is nothing there," he firmly told us.

"Aw man, I don't want to walk 40 minutes and see nothing in this weather!" the lady behind us whimpered. Her boyfriend's face twisted behind his sunglasses.

I looked at my brother. I couldn't tell if he was smiling or just squinting his eyes.

We kept on walking. Seeing us walk, the couple behind us promptly followed. Maybe they thought we knew about a special exhibit that nobody else knew about. I looked beyond us—just a flat concrete path with a big downward slope straight ahead. No animals. No special exhibits.

"Cardio day," I heard my brother's voice coming from behind me.

There were even fewer people up the slope. Suddenly, two people emerged. A mom fiercely pushed a stroller up the hill, coming towards us, panting as she pointed to an empty cage on the side. "Look," she said to her daughter, "it's raccoon!" The daughter looked sad.

I kept on sweating, feeling my clothes sticking to my skin, my head steaming with hot air. I panted heavily. The trees covered some parts of the road, and that's where we would head towards. Every inch ahead, we stopped and scouted for the next shadow to rest under. In some way, the forest knew we were coming and extended her slender arms to protect us from the burning sun. My head felt dizzy. I thought about my childhood elementary school that had a similar slope.

"Why do you think the trash can is designed this way?" my brother started a conversation.

"Dunno. Maybe it's easier to throw things in?" I looked at the bins he pointed at and quickly adjusted my reply, "Actually, that's not true. It makes it harder."

"Like, why would I want to put my hands on a repeatedly touched, dirty handle just to throw garbage away?" he said. "It doesn't make sense."

A sign that said "Bald Eagle" passed us. Seeing that there were no other animals down the slope, we decided to pay it a visit. To our surprise, the eagle was visible, resting upon a branch. I looked up at its majestic figure. We stood in silence. I temporarily forgot about the heat.

What was this really about?

"Let's get some Coke when we go up there," I finally said.

And we went uphill again, back to where we started.