Screaming for Freedom
Photo-Illustration: The Cut; Photo: Getty
I’ve been to SeaWorld, though my memories are murky. Blue walls and hot metal benches and shrimp-smelling water evaporating on asphalt. I’m sure there’s a photo somewhere in which I’m leaning against the turquoise tank, my little-girl arm pointing to the smooth black-and-white mass in constant turn of the pool’s walls. I wonder if I flinched when I first saw the size of the Killer Whale in comparison to my own — over 200 times my weight. Did I wave and beckon her closer?
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