Folding Elephants in Boiling Springs, PA | Tara Stillions Whitehead

They don’t teach you this in college. Watch. This is how you do it. First, take the full-sized towel, keeping it folded in half. Be sure to check for stains, hairs. Pick off what you can. You can use your fingers, but I carry scissors just in case.

Now, fold the sides in a quarter of the way. Just like that. Yeah. Then roll it—top to bottom, until the sides come together tight, like a pair of lips. Exactly—just like that, but tighter—like they’re keeping a secret. 

Next, fold those over. See that? Now you’ve got four legs and can start on the head. For that, you use a hand towel—not a washcloth. The washcloth is too small. It’s best to get one of the older towels. The new ones are too soft and don’t keep shape as well. 

Okay. So keep this one folded in half, too. Put your finger in the middle at the top, and roll each side tight. Looks kinda like a fucked up paper airplane now, right? Okay, turn it over. Roll the flat end down and then bend back and tuck. Place it on top of the body you made. You can stretch the trunk out however you want. Toni always has the trunk down, but I think that looks sad. Looks like he’s lonely, like Dumbo after they put his mom in jail. 

With mine, I like to have the trunk up in the air like he’s reaching for a snack or saying hi. You know—I make them at home, too. Layla loves them. I make a whole parade for her. That’s what a group of them is called, did you know that? Sounds so happy, right? That means they should look happy, too. That’s why I put its trunk up in the air and not between the legs like Toni does. She makes better swans though. She’s got this way of making their necks look perfect. 

Here, you want some? That’s right—I forgot. You don’t drink. I tried that once. Life was boring. It sounds fucked up when I say that shit out loud. But it’s true. There’s nothing else to do around here. Winters are brutal. 

Okay, now you try. 

Pause.

Don’t tell Toni what I said about her making better swans. That shit will go straight to her head. Hey, that’s looking good. You’re doing real good. 

Pause.

I’ve never seen an elephant before. Have you? Is it weird to have a favorite animal you’ve never seen in real life? 

Don’t worry about that. The ears are the hardest part. Too much sticking out and the head falls off. Try again. Use your finger to get a tighter roll on the trunk.

I found this elephant sanctuary in Tennessee. All elephants, nothing else. Layla loves elephants. Could give a shit about tigers or rhinos, so it’s the perfect place for us to go. I’ve never told her I haven’t seen one, but how cool would that be? For us to see an elephant for the first time? Together? 

Pause.

Holy shit, that looks great. Must mean I’m a good teacher, right? God, it feels so good to sit. What else do we need to do? Did you check the drawers? Make sure they’re empty. People leave all kinds of weird shit in there—cock rings, needles, air pods—I forget to check all the time. No, no. The Bible stays. People need something to read when they’re bored. 

Pause.

You sure you don’t want some? It’ll make the day go faster. Alright, we should probably replace the toilet paper roll. You remember how to fold the ends? Yeah, triangles and a little accordion fan. You do it. I’ll watch.

Pause.

Perfect. You’re a pro. What do you think? Do we need to sweep the floors, or they look good to you? I don’t always sweep, but I disinfect the shit out of the bathroom. I’ve got this thing about showers. 

Pause.

Okay, you mop and I’ll sit a minute. I never sit, but it’s so fucking hot. You know we used to be able to swim in the pool. But then Chris brought his whole family up and they got cranked and drunk and freaked out some Jehovah’s witnesses who were on their way to a convention in Philly. 

Pause.

That looks great. Damn. You’re a pro now. Hey, turn on that AC and let’s sit a minute. I never sit, but we can’t start stayovers until ten, so we might as well take a break, and it’s hot as fuck.

Pause.

So I found a nice hotel pretty close to the elephant sanctuary. Like, me and Layla could walk there if we wanted to. Not too expensive and had pretty good reviews. I’m so picky now that I work here. I get anxious when I walk into a room for the first time. I always expect to see where someone didn’t do their job. I’m always looking for hairs and stains. I know you’re only here until you get your license back, but prepare for all future hotel stays to be ruined. 

Pause.

This place, though—the one next to the sanctuary—looks real nice. Way nicer than here. I bet they even have fitted sheets. None of this hospital-style fold bullshit. I keep telling Kelly that we’d be able to flip twice as many rooms if we had fitted sheets, but no one listens to me. 

When I get that vacation time—and some extra cash—Layla and me will sleep on beds someone else made. We’ll wake up and eat pancakes and sausage and waffles with ice cream on top, and then we’ll get dressed in a set of those dorky mother-daughter matching getups and we’ll go see the elephants having their parade.

Pause.

You sure you don’t want any? I won’t tell no one.

Pause.

Damn. That’s a good elephant. Even better than mine.

Tara Stillions Whitehead is a writer and filmmaker teaching creative writing and film in Central Pennsylvania. Her writing has received Best of the Net and Pushcart notations and has appeared or is forthcoming in a variety of journals, including Fairy Tale Review, cream city review, The Rupture, and PRISM international. Her hybrid chapbook, Blood Histories, will be published by Galileo Press in July 2021, and her full-length collection, The Year of the Monster, will be released by Unsolicited Press in 2022. You can find her on Twitter @MrsWhitehouse74.