There was an elephant in the hills of Northern California. It lived on an old man’s property outside a small mining town. Bailey’s parents told Fitz and Bailey that the old man had bought the elephant from a circus passing through town. They said the elephant had been sick, or maybe it had just stopped performing, and the old man had offered to take it off the circus’ hands. Bailey’s parents told the kids to keep an eye out the window and they might catch a glimpse of the elephant behind the trees.

In the backseat Bailey and Fitz were talking about dragons. Bailey was eight and Fitz was nine, and the difference between them made all the difference. Bailey said he didn’t believe in dragons but he believed in Santa Claus. He said his mother told him not to believe in anything bad. Fitz thought this was stupid logic, but then he believed in dragons for just the opposite reason.

Bailey’s parents had invited Fitz on their annual camping trip because of his situation back home. Bailey didn’t know about this but Fitz did, and while he appreciated the respite, he’d begun to resent the pitying looks they’d fix on him whenever he mentioned home. He wanted to tell them he pitied Bailey probably just as much as they pitied him. He wanted to tell them how the kids at school teased their little boy Bailey, how if it weren’t for him Bailey wouldn’t have any friends at all, but of course he didn’t tell them anything. Theirs was a friendship whose inequalities balanced each other out. There was an extra fishing rod for Fitz in the trunk with his duffel bag and a bedroll.

“If dragons exist,” said Bailey, “how come no one’s ever seen them?”

“No one’s ever seen your Santa Claus either,” said Fitz. “But you still think he exists, don’t you? Besides, dragons are much smarter than we are. If they don’t want to be seen, they won’t be.”

Bailey’s mother asked, “Do you know ‘Puff, the Magic Dragon,’ Fitz? How about if we all sing it together?”

“You know Fitz,” said Bailey’s father, “I used to be fascinated in dragons and knights too when I was your age. I think it’s natural for a boy your age to take an interest in things like that. They teach you all kinds of important things, like courage and honor and—”

“And how to treat a lady like a princess!” laughed Bailey’s mother.

Fitz stopped believing in Santa Claus when he was six, the year Robert, his stepfather, gave him an air rifle for Christmas. “That one’s from me,” Robert had said as Fitz opened up the package on Christmas morning. “Set me back almost forty bucks,” he’d said. It was wrapped in old newspaper. Robert had taken the holiday as an excuse to get his drinking started early, and had already set back his first eggnog and was working on his second.

“But I’m a vegetarian,” Fitz had said, his lower lip starting to tremble, his voice beginning to break. He had wanted a sled.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t learn how to shoot!” cried Robert. “Jesus!” He stood up in a guff and went off into the kitchen where the liquor cabinet was, muttering as he went, “Fucking kid doesn’t appreciate a goddamned thing I do.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” assured his mom. “You don’t have to shoot anything if you don’t want to.” Later that night after they thought he had gone to sleep, Fitz could hear Robert and his mom fighting. Things were thrown. Things were broken. Now that it was Christmas they had a whole new set of things to break.

Fitz was short for Fitzroy, which meant son of the king, though his mom was always quick to point out the only king Robert had any acquaintance with was Crown Royal.

The car had just passed over the summit where the air was clear and cold, and now they were heading back down into the valley. The road was narrow and windy and Fitz forgot about dragons for a minute and tried to concentrate all his attention on not throwing up. They passed an old barn on the right with a splintery gash in the roof, and then a grove of tall, leafy trees, and then Fitz saw it. The elephant was standing by the edge of the field, pulling leaves off the trees with its trunk, and although it was smaller than Fitz had imagined, it was as if everything else slowed down to a crawl and faded away. It was the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen.

“Pull over,” whispered Bailey’s mother.

Bailey’s father pulled the car over to the side of the road and they all got out. They crossed the highway to the old chicken wire fence and stood there gaping at the thing.

“Isn’t that something,” said Bailey’s father. “Out in the middle of all this.”

“I wonder if he misses his home,” said Bailey’s mother. “Do you think?”

Fitz would have liked his mom to have seen the elephant. He would have liked to have seen it with her. He’d tell his mom about it when he got home, the glorious elephant in the middle of nowhere, but of course it wouldn’t be the same. He wondered if he’d outlive the elephant or if the elephant would outlive him, and whether one would remember the other some day.

When they finally got back in the car, Fitz said to Bailey, “It seems to me if something like that can exist, then so can a dragon.”

Bailey shrugged and said he didn’t see why that should necessarily be, but Fitz thought about firewater and he thought about bad curses and he knew that dragons fucking exist.