Behind the Bush

Lauren shuffled to the densest part of the bush, heart hammering. The leaves barely screened her; through gaps she saw phones aimed her way. She crouched low, thighs trembling, and finally let go. The stream hissed against the dirt, shame flooding hotter than the sun. A child’s voice carried: “Mom, the monkey’s peeing!”

Laughter rippled. Lauren’s ears burned. She finished fast, wiped with a broad leaf, and scuttled deeper into shadow. The yak hair clung tighter now, matted with sweat and new dampness; it looked even more convincing. She pressed her forehead to her knees, willing the ground to swallow her.

Minutes later, a keeper’s shadow fell across the glass. “Coco’s shy today,” he said into his radio. “But she’s using the space; good sign.” Lauren stayed curled, counting heartbeats until footsteps faded.

The sun slid lower; closing announcements echoed. Alone in the enclosure, she was still Coco to everyone outside.