Ecdysis

• Tiffany Shih, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2013

The small lizard on the wall waits, completely still for now, but I study it intently, taking in every detail. Although its gaze seems fixed ahead, I suspect that it is observing me discreetly, out of the corner of that marble-like eye.
“We’re the same, you and I,” I say out loud. It’s true. Like the lizard, I am plain, boring, timid. Not like her.
She wasn’t a lizard; she was more of a chameleon, blending in with her surroundings. Sometimes, she would camouflage herself so fully that she became one of them, and then I wouldn’t be able to find her.
“Come back to me, please!” I’d call, but she never would, not until they melted away and she decided to switch colours again. Always changing, always shifting. No matter how hard I tried, I could never keep up with her.

I reach up to pet the lizard. As soon as my finger touches it, it scrambles upwards and I shrink back in surprise. It climbs up a few inches before stopping. I stretch my hand out again, but this time it crawls even higher, out of my reach.
Once, she crept away too far. I wanted to follow her at first, but it was too dangerous. I couldn’t fit into the world of vacuous laughter and ditzy squeals, and everybody knows that it’s not safe to be different from everyone else, because if you stick out, the hawks and owls and eagles can spot you. The chameleon didn’t have to worry about that, but I was just a lizard, unable to transform. I didn’t belong anywhere outside of the world of faded greys and muted browns, and so I had to slink quietly away from their cherry-lip-glossed smiles, before they realised that an outsider was among them.
When she finally returned, I didn’t even recognise her. She had been gone for so long, I had forgotten to look for her. I think she forgot how to blend back into my dullness. We both forgot things from before.
The lizard is moving again. Now that it isn’t fleeing from danger, it crawls carefully, considering each delicate step over the tiny ruts in the wall. I look up, and I realise that it is climbing towards a narrow crack near the ceiling: its escape.
One short leg after another, slow and steady. It lifts one flat toe at a time and spreads them, like a fan, before placing the foot down again.
And then, at last, it’s gone. In my mind, I wish it good luck, and I let my gaze linger on the crack for a little while longer, before I stand up from the old stool. Numbness bruises my leg, but it is time for me to go, and so I place one foot in front of the other, not looking back. I won’t let memories chase me, not anymore.
Chameleons can change colour, but all lizards can shed their skin.