The King of the Jungle
When my brother and I were kids living in Puerto Rico, we played outside all day long. Our neighborhood was small and tucked away from the rest of the world. It was easy to miss the small entrance off the main road. There was just one block of houses. Instead of another row of houses across the street, we had a “jungle.” At least, that’s what we called it. It was probably originally meant to be a dog park, just a big green field surrounded by various trees. There was a clearing right in the middle, in front of our house. It felt like we were hidden from everyone in there, and in some ways, our imaginations transported us to worlds no one else could see. I hung upside down on my bunk bed one afternoon, staring lazily at the fan that did little to combat the humid air. I had been lost in the world of Alice in Wonderland, but the heat kept distracting me until even the Mad Hatter was sweating. I ...