Jessica Dawn
The Mammoth
There was always going to be a tour, they want to be clear about that. It had been announced way back when the pregnancy was confirmed and they planned it even before that. They share all the documents to prove it, but still seems ghoulish. They could have just refunded all those tickets but no, they’re going through with it anyway. Instead of a little pen they’ll have a little glass coffin. Real tasteful, they promise. Everyone is still going to see the mammoth, not like they aren’t getting what they paid for.
~
The mammoth only lived for ninety minutes, all of them caught on camera. Its elephant mother was under the lights for days. She didn’t know she wasn’t carrying her own baby, that she was pregnant with one of her ancestors. Or maybe she had some idea. Hard to say what elephants do and don’t know.
When the sloppy birth finally happened everyone watched it live, with interruptions from the sponsors of course. It was like super bowl for advertisers, bet they spent a boatload on those commercials. Between the ads everyone watched the scientists in their white paper suits wash blood and slime from its hair, saw it rise on unsteady legs and take its first stumbling steps.
“There it goes,” one of the reporters said.
“It’ll get stronger, this is normal,” the other reporter said like he knew, like he saw this all the time.
But its steps got shakier and shakier until it fell and never stood back up. Its big eyes stared straight into the lens like it could see everyone watching from their living rooms and from bars and crouched around computers in cubicles and hunched over phones on the bus. It shut its eyes when it had seen enough and quietly left the world, de-extinct and re-extinct in an hour and a half.
~
Of course Janice missed the whole thing on account of being in court through those ninety minutes. The bailiff was sure serious about the no phones thing, couldn’t even sneak glances while the lawyers and judge were talking no matter how bad she wanted to. Just had to wait and wait and wait while they decided that her night in jail plus probation and AA meetings and a suspended license were what it would take to make up for going off the edge of the road and then blowing a point one one. Consider yourself lucky, the judge said. Do it again and it’s jail for sure.
That was it. No banging the gavel or anything. Guess that’s just in movies, Janice thought. She didn’t feel so lucky when she was out of the courtroom. Felt more like well I guess that’s what I get. Felt more like if she could figure out the first mistake she could undo all the rest, but hell if she knows how far back she’d have to go. Seems like there’s always another mistake that came before and who knows how many still ahead. Takes out her phone and figures she could at least see some cute mammoth pics and that’s when she finds out she missed its whole life, that it’s gone baby gone.
This day just keeps getting worse, she thought.
~
Its whole life is all over the internet. One of the videos has over five million views by the end of the day, fifty by the end of the week. It’s been watched for more collective minutes than the mammoth’s whole life, from embryo to the end.
I watched this with my kids they were traumatized!! the first comment says.
Pussy in bio the next comment says.
~
AA meetings are at the church that isn’t closest to her house but second closest. Still easy enough to walk, which is important given her driving status, namely that she’s not allowed. She gets there early but then she’s self-conscious about being early so she walks around the block a couple times and ends up late, slides into a chair in the back while an older man tells everyone that even though his daughter said no more chances he thinks they can still work it out. Janice wonders if she’s supposed to clap when he’s done. No one else seems to know either. Some do, some say thank you, some just nod.
Woman in a pink sweatsuit takes his place. One of those matchy deals that looks like it’s for exercise, but isn’t really made for moving. Hair all slicked back in a ponytail. Dainty little earrings that look like birds.
“Hi, Hannah, just here to work on myself,” she says with a wave of her hand like she’s telling herself yeah yeah, get on with it already. “I just want to talk about the mammoth for a quick second.”
The room groans so must be this isn’t the first time. “Maybe we can focus on ourselves today,” says a man in an old flannel. He’s got the kind of voice that says if he’s not the boss of AA, he’s at least been here the longest.
“It’s about me, I promise,” Hannah says. “I mean, for me it just seems shady as hell that they sold all those tickets before they even knew what would happen. For me that just doesn’t feel right, you know?”
“Let’s stick to your recovery journey today,” says the flannel man.
“But this is about my recovery journey,” she sighs. “Everything is about my recovery journey.”
She gets the message, though. The message is stop talking about the fucking mammoth.
~
“You know if it lived the mom wouldn’t be able to nurse it,” says Hannah. She swirls a fry in a little paper cup full of ketchup, keeps stirring and stirring and stirring. “Or, she could at first but she wouldn’t make enough milk because they think it would’ve gotten so big so fast. They had to get milk from like four other elephants ready.”
“Wow,” Janice says and chews.
Took all of a week for them to start going out to get food after meetings.
“Is that allowed?” Janice had asked and Hannah shrugged. They’re both only here because the court ordered, so they figured the rules must be different for them anyway.
“They had freezers full of elephant milk that they had to try and donate to zoos when it turned out they didn’t need it. But a lot of it went bad. Spoiled elephant milk.”
Janice has come to understand what all the groaning is about. She does talk about the fucking mammoth a lot.
“What do you think elephant milk tastes like?”
“Probably just like regular milk,” Hannah shrugs. “Hey, can I tell you a secret?”
Here we go, Janice thinks, we’re finally going to talk about something new, something real. They can trade stories of how they got here. They can talk about what they’re going to do when their time is up.
“I bought tickets to go see it,” Hannah says.
“Well yeah, I assumed you had tickets,” Janice says, sounds annoyed even though she’s trying not to.
“No, I mean I didn’t buy tickets until after it died.”
“Were they cheaper after?”
“Nope,” she says and finally takes a bite of the fry. All that ketchup is bright red in her mouth, on her teeth. “Way more expensive.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. People are sick.”
“No why did you wait until after it died?”
“It’s not like I waited to see if it would die.” Long pause while she tries to suck vanilla milkshake through a paper straw. “It just seemed more important to see it after it was dead. Is that weird?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a little.”
“You want to know something else weird?”
“I guess,” Janice sighs.
“I bought two tickets,” she says, that smirk on her face that Janice hasn’t quite figured out yet.
~
We think there’s still tremendous value and much to be learned from viewing such a rare specimen, the spokespeople had said after the mammoth died. Without the constraints and unpredictable nature of a living creature, it might actually be better. Easier for everyone to see it, you know? Dead things don’t need breaks for food and sleep. It’ll look so much better in pictures this way, they said.
~
“It feels like you bought tickets to a wake is all,” Janice says a few days later once they’ve made it out of the church, away from where all the alcoholics can hear them.
“What do you mean awake?”
“A wake, like when you go look at the body before a funeral.”
Hannah shrugs, palms up. Help me, her face says. I don’t understand, her face says.
“You’ve never been to a wake?”
“I’ve never been to a funeral,” Hannah says.
“Are you serious?”
There’s the shrug again, but this time it means something more like I’m sorry. I’m sorry with a question mark, like she’s not exactly sure what she’s apologizing for.
“So are you coming with me or not?”
~
Janice still has most of the year before she’s allowed to drive again and Hannah is only allowed to drive her car so they pile into her old Celica. She smashes cans and bottles underfoot on the passenger side while Hannah blows into the tube that keeps the car from starting if it smells any alcohol on her. On goes the engine, test passed.
“Here we go,” Hannah says and backs up without looking.
Closest stop on the tour is an hour and a half away but it takes them almost three to get there. Hard to believe all those people could be there for one little mammoth, but maybe. Who knows how many tickets they sold. Probably too many.
Of course the line is around the block by the time they park. Takes a while to find the place, too, Hannah squinting at her phone in one hand and missing their turn with the other. Janice asks if she needs help,
“Nah, I have a system,” Hannah says and swerves into the next lane.
They finally get into a garage, though, spiral up and up and up until there’s an empty spot and ride the rickety elevator back down. Easy enough to find the end of the line, they just have to walk the same direction as everyone else.
“This is going to take forever,” Hannah sighs.
Janice chews at her nails, does it without thinking. Pure habit by now. Doesn’t notice she’s at it until she tears one down too low, feels the pain as she takes some skin with the nail.
Dammit, she thinks, finger in her mouth to catch the blood. Now they all have to be this short.
By the time they can see the entrance she’s bitten down one hand and has moved on to the other. When they get to the security guards and it’s her turn to be patted down she’s only got two left. Drives her crazy, those two unchewed nails. She can feel them against her palm, can’t stop scratching and scratching.
Inside it’s all gates and ropes wrapped back and forth, as much line as they can squeeze into the building.
“At least it’s air conditioned,” Janice says between bites.
“Mmm,” Hannah says. Her face says that she is somewhere else, that she is far away from here.
~
Takes at least an hour of plodding through the maze, maybe more. Every time Janice looks at her phone it’s only been three minutes since the last time she checked.
“I bet it’s not the real thing,” says someone ahead of them in line.
“I hear they just glued a bunch of hair to an elephant,” someone says back.
Hannah’s never been this quiet, not when Janice has been around. Most of the time it’s like Hannah will die if she stops talking. Who knows what’s happening in her head, Janice thinks but doesn’t ask. She wishes she had more nails to chew on, ten extra fingers for this kind of occasion.
“We’ve been here for hours,” grumbles a kid behind them. There’s a whole group of them with a few tired adults, has the look of a field trip. They lean out over the barriers and try to guess how much longer.
“Like ten minutes,” says a little girl.
“It’s gonna be another hour,” says a little boy.
Turns out to be somewhere between the two. Janice feels like she’s going to crawl out of her skin by the time the couple in front of them gets called up to the little platform. They have sketchbooks with them, wishful thinking on their part. No time for that says the bored security guard. They can buy a photo, though.
They pose awkwardly on either side of the glass case. Smile the photographer says, but is that right for this kind of photo? One decides it isn’t, straight faced while the other gives an uneasy grin. Too much teeth, it’s more like a grimace. What will they do with a photo like that, Janice wonders. Hang it on a wall? Put it on a desk at work?
Then they’re ushered away and Hannah and Janice are up.
“You guys together?” the security guard asks. Hannah says nothing so Janice tells him yeah and in they go, up the carpet steps.
Even up close Janice can’t tell if it’s real or fake, not that she knows enough to be able to tell the difference anyway. Who can tell flesh and bone and hair from foam and steel and polyester if they’ve only seen fakes in the first place?
I bet I could tell if I could touch it, Janice thinks. If I could weave my fingers through that red-brown fur, really dig into it. Maybe rip out a chunk. Keep it. Put it in my pocket, she thinks, just walk away with a part of the thing.
“Picture?” the photographer asks. Janice jumps.
“Yes,” says Hannah.
Janice doesn’t know what to do with her hands so she lets them hang. She tries a smile but it feels all wrong, lets it drop.
“One, two,” the photographer says.
Instead of three there’s a thud, a smash. Hannah kicks the glass, leg high, heel first like she’s been practicing the right kind of kick. Nothing looks broken but that sound means something gave, maybe something came unglued. She’s ready to do it again but the security guard is faster, has her on the ground where she screams and flails but can’t get close. Takes two more security guards to drag her away. They don’t tell Janice where they’re going.
“Wow, your friend is nuts,” the photographer says.
“I don’t really know her that well,” Janice tells him.
“Huh,” he says in a way that means he doesn’t believe her.
“Oh. She is my ride, though.”
~
Only one more month of meetings left per her court order and she doesn’t really mind the longer walk to the Unitarian church. The group is smaller, they sit in a circle instead of everyone facing the front of the room like audience members. Janice likes that better. And the woman who leads it is warm and kind, always wears different bright colored cardigans over her shirt and slacks, especially now that it stays cold all day. Plus the coffee is better. Tastes like cinnamon. There’s always hugs and handshakes at the end for anyone who wants them, and today Janice does.
“You’ve come so far,” says Pastor Becky, and sure she probably says it to everyone but could be she means it every time.
Best part is that everyone goes their own ways after. No one has anything else to say once their time is up. Back to the rest of their lives.
The walk home is her favorite part some days. She skips the headphones and just listens. Were there always so many birds around, she wonders. Days like today she thinks maybe she’ll never drive again. She imagines herself as the kind of person who walks everywhere. Maybe gets a bike. I could live like that, she thinks. She stops at the mailbox in the lobby, daydreams about carrying groceries home in cute little bags. Baskets for the produce.
The return address says Hope Springs Treatment Center, out in Palm Desert. Probably an ad, she figures. In the first couple weeks after the arrest her mailbox was stuffed with flyers from lawyers, insurance companies, rehab centers. They’re probably just late.
Tear open the envelope and there’s her own face staring up at her, eyes wide, mouth open in a stupid surprised O. There’s Hannah, the back of her anyway, leg raised mid-kick. In between them is the little brown blur, all hair and trunk under glass. Around the picture is a border all green and red, candy canes and ornaments neatly spaced.
Merry Christmas from the mammoth, the card says.
Jessica Dawn lives on an island in the San Francisco Bay with a failed farm dog. Her work has appeared in HAD, Rejection Letters, Jake the Magazine, and more. She is currently finishing a novel and a short story collection. Find her on BlueSky if that’s your thing: @jessdawn.bsky.social
