Wyld Times, Episode 55
"Madagascar is amazing!" says Kylie as she, Michelle and Bruce walk along a dense rainforest trail.
Bruce announces, "We're here at the Ranomafana National Park in Madagascar, off the African coast. This park covers a massive area – more than twice the size of Washington DC! It's packed with dense rainforest, waterfalls, rapids and-"
"Lemurs!" Kylie shrieks, running ahead of them on the track. "Bru! Shelly! Look!"
The rainforest canopy has opened up to a grassy field overlooking a rocky cliff. A dozen small creatures squat in the sunshine, their legs and arms splayed as they bask their bellies in the sun. A few heads turn curiously in the direction of the humans.
Michelle narrates. "Ranomafana is home to 12 species of lemur; we've found some ring-tailed lemurs. With their stripy tails, these tiny primates are the most recognisable of their kind."
Bruce starts to hum something that sounds suspiciously like 'Move it' while grinding against Michelle.
She slides away and says, "Lemurs are fascinating because they're one of the few mammal groups that's female-dominant. The female lemurs have feeding priority, at times even snatching food away from males. They'll also kick males out of sleeping spots and be first in line for grooming. And, if another troop of lemurs tries to take over, it's the females who lead the battles – sometimes with babies hanging on to their fur tightly."
"Who runs the world!" shouts Kylie proudly.
Bruce snorts. "Letting the women be in charge? Big mistake! They probably start arguments over who has the prettiest fur or makes the best fruit salad!"
Michelle sounds tired as she rebuts him. "Actually, the females do more peacekeeping in the troop than the males. They're in charge of the fights and disagreements."
"Probably because they're scared of the blokes."
"The females are better at one-on-one fighting than the males," says Michelle, staring at the small creatures with a measure of respect. "In this world, the female will usually win most arguments."
"Ha!" scoffs Bruce. "That's not the world the rest of us live in!"
"No, it's definitely not," says Michelle, sorrow and pain etched in her expression.
"So, as you can see," I say, panning the camera phone around our workshop, "the prototype of the sling is almost ready for testing. Simeon, can you tell us about the progress?"
My boyfriend (squee!) looks up from the bench where he's leaning over a piece of knotted netting. "Hello, everyone. As Kylie mentioned, we've settled on this design and sourced several types of fabric for the sling. We've settled on a super stretchy netting – similar to what you'd find on a trampoline or a trapeze safety net, but softer."
I follow him with the camera as he walks over to the open floor area where we have a large rectangle of the net laid out. Each corner of the net is tied into a solid knot connected to a chain. "The idea is that Doris will slide into the net, then we'll hit the button to trigger the chains to draw upward. Hey, Briggs? Can you be our test subject?"
The vet has just entered the shed where we're working. "Bugger off," he says gruffly. "I'm here for WD-40, not to play guineapig."
"Guinea seal, actually," says Simeon with an irresistible smile.
"Come on, Briggs," I say, zooming in on him. "We've got over a million subscribers and all of them want to see you trussed up like a rolled roast."
He grumbles, but caves – just like I knew he would. "Fine. I'll give you five minutes."
Simeon says, "Thank you, Briggs. If you can lay here in the centre of the net for me..."
Briggs plops himself heavily to the floor and lays on his belly.
"Now, just channel your inner-Doris while we trigger the pullies."
"Perpetually bad tempered and ready to bite your head off?" I say, giggling. "Not that big a stretch for Briggs."
"Oi!" he says, starting to rise, "I'll have you know-"
"Here we go!" says Simeon, pressing the button.
Inside the shed, we've got a hoist system set up. It rattles to life, drawing up the four chains. The corners begin to lift, and within moments, we've got Briggs trapped, dangling several feet off the ground.
"Okay, Briggs, if you can now attempt to escape, that would be wonderful."
He begins to thrash inside the netting, which gives just enough. "How does it feel?" I ask.
"It's good," he replied begrudgingly. "It's soft, but it's holding me snugly. It's like trying to get out of a hammock."
Simeon says to the camera, "The idea is that no matter how much Doris thrashes around, she won't be able to free herself – and most importantly, she can't hurt herself. There are no hard edges to the sling, like there are in a crate, so she'll be supported and safe the entire time she's in transport."
"Good work, kids," says Briggs. "Now, get me down from here."
"Sorry, Briggs," I say, barely containing my laughter, "but we really need to see how the sling holds up over a period of hours. We'll come back tonight and release you, okay?"
"What?" He turns his head and yells, "You better be kidding, Kylie, or I swear, I'll- I'll-"
He thrashes harder, and Simeon and I bust out laughing at the sight of a middle-aged man thoroughly trapped and trussed inside an elastic net on his belly, spouting language I'll have to bleep before I edit and post this clip to our channels.
Pop! A loud sound echoes around the shed as one of the knots snaps free from its chain. The corner of the netting falls to the floor and Briggs slants dangerously in the direction of the damaged corner. "Ha!" he crows, wriggling gleefully. He manages to get his arms loose from where they were trapped beside his belly and uses them to tug himself to freedom. As he awkwardly slides free from the sling, he turns to us and says, "If I was Doris, you'd both be seal food right now."
Briggs dusts himself off and huffs out of the shed, sending dark looks my way. Simeon turns to the camera to say, "Okay, this is good. We've identified a flaw in our design, and we'll work on it in the next iteration. If you've got ideas about how to better secure the netting to the chains, let us know in the comments or send us a DM. We'll be back in a few days, so make sure you like, subscribe, share, and stay wild."
I tap the camera off, and say, "You're such a natural. My brother would have been impressed."
"Thank you," he says, snaking his arms around me and kissing my cheek. "I thought you'd be upset about the test failure."
"Nope." Once, maybe, a setback like this would have irritated me on a personal level. Now, I'm starting to realise that failure is part of the innovation process – not something to avoid or be ashamed of. I interlace my fingers through his and kiss his knuckles, saying, "It's only been three weeks since we got the green light to give this a go, so we're actually doing amazingly well. Plus, our socials have never looked healthier – engagement is way up."
We wander outside, headed for the admin building. Without speaking, I know that we'll have lunch in my office, maybe make out for a while, then I'll edit the vid and Simeon will go back to work. Later, we'll meet up, order some dinner, maybe have a swim, fool around again, watch a movie, fool around some more. My life is so freaking perfect, I don't know how to process it.
As we climb the gentle slope of the park, I say, "Besides, it doesn't matter how long it takes us to get the sling right. We've got all the time in the world."
"Actually..."
Simeon draws to a halt. We're outside the otter pen, and several of the small creatures look over at us in interest. I laugh nervously. "I don't like the sound of that 'actually.' Are we on a schedule that I don't know about?"
"No, no, nothing like that." Simeon holds my hands in his, his face shining. "It's good news, I promise."
"Okay, good. What?"
"I received an email last week from the UN."
"Like, The United Nations UN?"
"Yes. They've seen me presenting on the Doris videos, and they have offered me the opportunity to speak at an upcoming conference on my water purification work. It's an international event – they'll be live streaming from Geneva."
"Switzerland?" I scrunch my nose. "I mean, we stopped through there one time after we filmed an episode on reindeer in Sweden - I mainly remember the chocolate and how blonde everyone was. But, yeah, whatever – go, have fun, bring me back a yodeller or something."
Simeon opens his mouth, then closes it again before saying, "Kylie, it's not just a speaking event. If it goes well, they're hoping to appoint me as a special youth ambassador. They like the parallels between clean water as a human right, and what we can provide for animals in captivity. They would fly me around the world to speak on water purification options for developing nations and low-income communities."
"Well, you just say no to that," I say, shrugging. "You already have a job here."
"Kylie, I don't think you understand... This is an incredible opportunity for someone like me."
"Uh, what do you mean, 'someone like you?'" I say, fear tinting my words with scorn. "You're the son of a Cambridge professor. Your family owns a hotel in Vanuatu. Like, you're not an African orphan or anything."
Simeon doesn't speak for a second, but as he slides his hands out of mine, the distance between us suddenly seems planetary. "I am a Black man, Kylie."
"Uh, yeah? I know?" I reach for his face. "But I don't see skin colour. I see the person." I see the man that I love.
"That is actually an unhelpful statement. You need to see my skin colour if you ever want to understand me." He shakes his head in sorrow. "You are a white woman. You can never fully comprehend what it is to live as a person of colour."
"Hey, I'm a woman," I say hotly. "I know what discrimination feels like!"
"You have a single intersectional factor in your life. You do not speak for every marginalised group."
"An internal-what now?"
"Intersectional factors – the elements of your life that combine to set you apart from the society that holds power and can cause you to be discriminated against. Tell me, in this country, in most Western countries – what do the politicians look like?"
"I don't know... Like, old, rich white dudes with young wives?"
"So, the group in power is overwhelmingly Caucasian, English-speaking, wealthy, male, able-bodied, and heterosexual. Each of the personal attributes you have that doesare not align with the power group is an intersectional factor. Yes, you are a woman, so you have experienced discrimination in your life. But what if you were a Black lesbian refugee with a disability? What would her experience be like compared to yours?"
I don't answer. This conversation is overwhelming. I just want to keep my boyfriend here. I'm not a bad person for wanting that. I shouldn't have to navigate the pitfalls of racism and classism and homophobia and ableism just to have my feelings.
Simeon sighs. "I don't mean to make you feel bad, Kylie, but you cannot understand what an opportunity like this would mean for my community. For Black children everywhere to see someone like me speaking from a place of authority, to show that someone doesn't have to look and sound like your brother to make a difference."
My vision clouds with scarlet. "Leave my brother out of this," I say, my teeth gritted. "Sure, he wasn't a person of colour, but he did so much for conservation – for me!"
He shakes his head sadly. "We seem to be missing each other's points. Kylie, I was going to ask you to come with me."
"You were going to?"
"I think we have some larger conversations ahead of us before we make any commitments."
"You're breaking up with me?" I whisper. The blood has drained from my upper body; my arms are shaking and my brain thrashes against my skull. Five minutes ago, everything was fine. Now, I'm in a crisis – and I have a feeling it's one I've created myself.
No. I refuse to be a victim. I interrupt Simeon before he can respond to my question, which is feeling pretty redundant right now. "You know what, dude – fine. I'm a big fat hairy racist. Whatever."
"Kylie..." He stares at me in disappointment. "We must be able to talk about these subjects."
"Nope, we really don't – if we're not together, it doesn't even matter." I smooth my hair behind my ears and put the biggest, fakest smile on my face; it feels like a clay mask, just as false and heavy. "Have fun in Sweden. Make sure you email Parker your official notice so you get your last pay check."
Simeon's face creases in irritation. His cultured accent has never sounded more scathing as he says, "Kylie, you are acting like a spoiled child."
I roll my eyes so hard, I see stars. "Name calling? So immature, Simeon. I'm just not engaging in a battle I can't win."
"The fact that you refuse to engage in any conflict is a clear sign that this relationship meant far less to you than it did to me."
His soft tone almost breaks my heart, but I'm not backing down, not when there are only two choices: hurt or be hurt. I check my phone nonchalantly. "Ugh, that's Michelle, she needs me up at reception. Best of luck to you, Simeon." With a toss of my hair, I'm gone.
I take my time walking up through the park, smiling at the staff, posing for selfies with guests. I even check in with the front gate staff to find out the daily attendance numbers and speak with our photography team about switching the time for a picture op later this afternoon. I'm sweetness and light, even as my insides froth with a rising darkness that threatens to consume me.
Finally, I reach the admin building and climb the stairs to Michelle's office. As I hold onto the slipping thread of my composure, I knock politely.
"Uh..." There's a long pause, then Michelle says, "Yeah, come in!"
When I push through the door, she and Parker are sitting on the couch in the corner, looking at paperwork. Michelle's hair is in a messy ponytail, Parker is rumpled in his usual boardies and tee combo, and they're both so familiar. These two people have been the only constant in my life for so long: my uncle and my sister, the only family I have left, who have loved me even when I've been a turd-burger of a human.
Michelle tilts her head to the side, her cheeks flushed. "Kyls? Are you okay?"
That one stupid question undoes me. Because how could I possibly be okay? I'm an orphan, my brother is gone, and I'll never have a family of my own because I'm obviously incapable of being loved.
"No," I say to Michelle and Parker. "I'm not okay. I haven't been okay for a long time and I don't think I ever will be."
I collapse into their arms, close my eyes, and try to pretend that this small, broken family is enough.
Okay - big topics in this chapter. I'm not going to pretend to be an authority on intersectional factors, but I hope that I can recognise my privilege more than Kylie does here. Just like Kylie, I'm a white woman, living a heterosexual, able-bodied life. I cannot speak for people living with more intersectional factors than me - but I also don't want to ignore their existence in my writing. I also acknowledge that writing about communities other than my own is risky, because they aren't my stories to tell.
So, my marvelous reader, if you identify with any of the intersectional factors mentioned in this chapter and you feel that I've addressed this topic poorly, I invite you to reach out and let me know, either through a DM or in the comments. My genuine intention is to respectfully acknowlege without appropriation, and I know this means I'm going to stuff up occasionally: please let me know when I do.
And if you have a fav author who is a person of colour, queer, a person with a disability, or who writes in a language other than English - pop their name in the comments with a link. It might be a Wattpad writer or someone off this platform - it might even be you! Please give them a shout out here so we can bump the profile of other writers.
As always, thank you for your support - I hope that the words we share here create a world with just a little more understanding off the page x