School had started six days ago but the lions had escaped so we were dismissed early. We all hid in the basement with plastic tubs of water, oreos and crustables. It was you, me, my mom, my sister, and your family. You didn’t have a basement so we shared. My dad was still at work, and yours was drinking. My sister cried while we ignorantly danced with your mom’s paintbrushes and pencils. That day we decorated the walls and sang next to the boiler. When the metal lid covering the basement was opened smoke was everywhere, and pieces of yesterdays newspaper settled in our backyard. Your mom began to cry, which reminded my sister that she had stopped. We continued to dance. The next time the lid was lifted my dad showed is face and extended his arm to us. My dad’s hair was white with familiar brown roots. When we re-emerged from the basement we found ourselves in the middle of a smoky snow storm. Clean air was limited and we had to run blindly into the house, making sure not to open our eyes. We were shuffled into the back of a big unfamiliar car and everyone followed. Cars were parked in the middle of the street and people were frantically running anywhere. Lions had escaped the zoo, which was why soldiers were patrolling the streets. No one wanted the lions to enter Brooklyn. Your dad was on the ground in his room, his bottle on the table and his incomplete canvas had a knife stuck in it. Your mom stroked his head and my dad helped him into the back of the car. Your mom fed him the last oreos. Helicopters swarmed the skies, and with the passing of each one all eyes turned up anticipating a disaster. The streets where covered in white soot to track the lions migration across the city. Cries were sporadically heard from within houses and cars. Empty strollers remained in the park, and a red shopping cart was abandoned outside Key Food. Lonely cars and open store doors with no customers inside occupied the busiest streets. The wheels on a red and orange bike were still spinning when you thought you saw the shadow of a lion. We were in the jungle, exploring and hunting the escaped lions. Coming towards us was a green box with wheels like conveyor belts. It was loud and conspicuous, and the lions were clearly smart enough to avoid it . Our car suddenly made a sharp turn onto astreet with a thick layer of snow. We wanted to play and have a snowball fight but your mom was scared of the lions so my dad locked our doors. On the highway the snow was falling faster and the smoke was heavier. Across the river was white, the tops of the skyscrapers were obscured by an unknown sheet, so we decided to look ahead. Outside of the city the snow had vanished and people were walking on the street oblivious to the potential lions lurking in their newly mowed front lawns. We had run out of both paint, and interest. Slowly my eyelids couldn’t hold themselves open and I fell asleep on your lap. When we drove up your drive way it was dark and wet out. Our mother’s eyes were swollen and sheets of black were running down their faces. My dad was tired and yours was asleep in your moms lap. That weekend your house was not fun. We were not allowed to bike to the stream, or to the ice cream parlor, we weren’t taken out to Taggerts for cheeseburgers; my dad wouldn’t even drive us to the ocean to see the boats. Inside the house the phone was constantly ringing and cries of shock and disbelief resonated throughout the house. The radio remained on all day and our fathers forgot about the baseball game. Jimmy was on the radio. He told us he was on the eighty sixth floor, his words became choppy and short; he struggled to breath and began to cry. Margaret was on the radio too, she was crying. Her interview was shorter and my dad left the room while yours kneeled by the toilet. My sister continued to cry while my dad tried not to and yours sipped from your little league water bottle. We wanted to dance but no one would play any music. Time didn’t disappear fast enough and we became bored. The paint was gone and we finished the crustables for dessert. Your dad couldn’t speak, but your mom no longer held his head. After a few days we were once again herded into the big black van and my dad drove back towards the lions. We were perched on our knees so we wouldn’t miss them a second time. Eagerly staring out of the dusty windows as familiar buildings began to reappear, it was as if the city had paused for us, to make sure we would get to see the lions. When we arrived on your street there flowers piled up the stoop next-door to yours. Your mother pushed herself out of the car and reluctantly placed a small bouquet of wild flowers on top of the pile. Instead of returning home we were driven to Dylan’s house. We waited in his family room with unfamiliar adults dressed in black. Your dirty red shirt made you conspicuous while my once white dress camouflaged me perfectly. Dylan’s table was layered with food, so we hid under a table with the plate of cookies. Dylan never joined us. When we left it was dark again, there now was less snow being blown into Brooklyn from across the river. And through the lesser fog the incomplete skyline was visible.