Mr. Lyon George Higgins (bio) was the name on the reminder slip I found on my desk.For those who do not remember, in the mid-twentieth centuryphone messages were communicated on printed slips of paper.On my pink slip, I read While You Were Out Mr. Lyon telephoned.Please call. Okay. You get it.I dialed the number on my brand new AT&T touch-tone with the little red light, the R button, and the toggle switch.New at this job, without enough to do,I wanted to make a good impression. Waited for the ring and since this was 1983 someone actually answered.I asked for Mr. Lyon, and the operator said who?and I said Mr. Lyon. Then she said I’m sorry, you’ve got the San Francisco Zoo. Badda boom. And harmless, right? And what made it slightly more preposterous was that I was wearing this [End Page 8] navy-blue double-breasted suit, gold braid around the sleeves,six large gold buttons emblazoned with eagles on my chest,and was literally left standing, holding the receiver. And was an officer in the United States Navy, a person worthyof respect, while I noticed for the first time that morningmy colleague, Jim, on the other side of the office, bent double, turning red,gasping for air, pointing, I think, in my direction.I immediately had that flight-fight thing going on and adopted the strategy of standing still as a means of self-preservation.Slowly the thought formed: there is no Mr. Lyon,there are, however, lions, L-I-O-N-Sat the zoo. I continued my calculations:The operator had been very polite and firm when she said she was sorrybut that this was the San Francisco Zoo of that much, I was confident as I had my Cortez momentgazing at the Pacific with a wild surmise.I made a mental note: next time I get a slip with Mr. Lyon’s name on it, do NOTHING. As Jim continued to convulse in spasms,I began to run through my mind a list of other animalsfor potential booby traps: giraffe, orangutan, python. [End Page 9] Call it my unwitting introduction to deeply hidden presuppositionsand prejudices in Western culture, the conceptthat language could be employed to disrupt the connection between signifier and signified and that text may hide multiple potential meanings.Derrida refers to this procedure for uncovering and unsettlingthese dichotomies as deconstruction. I stood there deconstructing how I had so wanted to believein Mr. Lyon. I can visualize him nowin his white short-sleeved shirt, breast pocket bristling with pens. His sturdy metal desk.The tawny mullet, bulbous nose, bewhiskered jaw implacableas he waves away a buzzing fly. Visualize him still, waiting for my call. [End Page 10] George Higgins George Higgins, born in Detroit, Michigan, is a public defender in Oakland, California. He received a jd from the University of Michigan Law School and an mfa from Warren Wilson College where he was a Holden Fellow. His first published poem, a villanelle, was selected for Best American Poetry by Yusef Komunyakaa. Other poems have appeared in Fugue, Lungfull, Nimrod, Pleiades, and Salamander. George is presently a Cave Canem Fellow. Copyright © 2019 University of Nebraska Press
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Mar 31, 2019
Ammar Iqbal Nuraji 
