Long Slow Death Monkey
"I have to get this for my friend. It's perfect!" she said.
"Here, let me get it for you. But I think you should have a monkey, too. And I want one. I must have it. I can't not have it."
...so began the ballad of the monkey.
It was our first date and the moment I met her, I knew Heidi was spectacular. Quirky, eclectic, sharp, and willing to go with the flow...she was the female version of who I hoped to be. We met on the street, greeting each other as if we had been friends for years and serendipitously crossed paths at that moment. Of course, the entire thing was loosely staged, but I threw in the curveball of familiarity to see if she could hit the ground running. She was already in full sprint. I remember smiling for a solid couple of hours, mainly because we laughed a lot, witty couple that we were. After lunch and coffee, we headed into tschotchke shop on Franklin St. and looked around, trying to extend our first meeting more than searching for anything in particular to buy.
And so we came across these stuffed animal monkeys that had magnetic hands. The mitts would attach to the eyes, ears or mouth, however one chose to position them, to illustrate the owner's particular attitude about evil for the day. Given the current administration, I found myself wishing for a monkey with three sets of hands. As a revolutionary in spirit, I chose the Che Guevara Monkey, as did she. We got the Brit Pop Monkey for her friend. From that day on, I was simply known as Monkey, perhaps for my mischievous and playful nature as much as for the purchase.
For a moment (it seems like a blink in time now), I...WAS..."MUNKEE"! She would text me and leave me phone messages, always referring to me as her sensitive simian or some such nickname. She sent me pictures of monkeys she found online. She whimsically bought me the flying howler monkey who bellowed when you pulled its arms and shot it across the room. Somehow, the scream reminded us that I was the Monkey and she was the Monkey Lover. She made me a mix tape called Munkee Mix of Love, a nod to her 80's teenage roots. She adored me and I finally had a theme. I gave her a nickname, too, but it didn't really stick, mainly because I didn't follow through with the same consistency that she did. She was solid.
The nickname as my touchstone, we embarked on a series of small adventures. We went to flea markets and shopped for cheese at Laurent Bonjour's cart in Larchmont. We danced in the living room and watched movies. We brunched and kissed. Our lives were spectacular because we shared them with each other. We didn't need plans. We were the plans. Heidi always had her Munkee and I always had her right back. This went on for several months.
Then, as if with the change of seasons, I just just shut down growing emotionally distant, not sharing my thoughts...not having many thoughts, honestly.
In my usual pattern, I let my A.D.D. kick in. As interest waned, I grew tired of the routine. I saw the consistency as mundane, rather than as spectacular. We stopped sharing experiences. It had been months since we'd danced, kissed or hunted cheese on Sundays. When it finally came to an abrupt halt, we hugged and said goodbye in the most unspectacular way. It was just as without tension as was our first meeting....this time there was no laughter, though.
When we parted, I sat in my car confronted by a stuffed howling monkey sitting on the dashboard. He stared blankly past me. What had I done? I pulled its arms and it made its jungle cry. Looking in the mirror, I did not recognize the person who looked back at me.
There sat a stupid ape, devolving before my eyes...
If you are ever lucky enough be become someone's someone, embrace your primal instincts for as long as you can.
"Here, let me get it for you. But I think you should have a monkey, too. And I want one. I must have it. I can't not have it."
...so began the ballad of the monkey.
It was our first date and the moment I met her, I knew Heidi was spectacular. Quirky, eclectic, sharp, and willing to go with the flow...she was the female version of who I hoped to be. We met on the street, greeting each other as if we had been friends for years and serendipitously crossed paths at that moment. Of course, the entire thing was loosely staged, but I threw in the curveball of familiarity to see if she could hit the ground running. She was already in full sprint. I remember smiling for a solid couple of hours, mainly because we laughed a lot, witty couple that we were. After lunch and coffee, we headed into tschotchke shop on Franklin St. and looked around, trying to extend our first meeting more than searching for anything in particular to buy.
And so we came across these stuffed animal monkeys that had magnetic hands. The mitts would attach to the eyes, ears or mouth, however one chose to position them, to illustrate the owner's particular attitude about evil for the day. Given the current administration, I found myself wishing for a monkey with three sets of hands. As a revolutionary in spirit, I chose the Che Guevara Monkey, as did she. We got the Brit Pop Monkey for her friend. From that day on, I was simply known as Monkey, perhaps for my mischievous and playful nature as much as for the purchase.
For a moment (it seems like a blink in time now), I...WAS..."MUNKEE"! She would text me and leave me phone messages, always referring to me as her sensitive simian or some such nickname. She sent me pictures of monkeys she found online. She whimsically bought me the flying howler monkey who bellowed when you pulled its arms and shot it across the room. Somehow, the scream reminded us that I was the Monkey and she was the Monkey Lover. She made me a mix tape called Munkee Mix of Love, a nod to her 80's teenage roots. She adored me and I finally had a theme. I gave her a nickname, too, but it didn't really stick, mainly because I didn't follow through with the same consistency that she did. She was solid.
The nickname as my touchstone, we embarked on a series of small adventures. We went to flea markets and shopped for cheese at Laurent Bonjour's cart in Larchmont. We danced in the living room and watched movies. We brunched and kissed. Our lives were spectacular because we shared them with each other. We didn't need plans. We were the plans. Heidi always had her Munkee and I always had her right back. This went on for several months.
Then, as if with the change of seasons, I just just shut down growing emotionally distant, not sharing my thoughts...not having many thoughts, honestly.
In my usual pattern, I let my A.D.D. kick in. As interest waned, I grew tired of the routine. I saw the consistency as mundane, rather than as spectacular. We stopped sharing experiences. It had been months since we'd danced, kissed or hunted cheese on Sundays. When it finally came to an abrupt halt, we hugged and said goodbye in the most unspectacular way. It was just as without tension as was our first meeting....this time there was no laughter, though.
When we parted, I sat in my car confronted by a stuffed howling monkey sitting on the dashboard. He stared blankly past me. What had I done? I pulled its arms and it made its jungle cry. Looking in the mirror, I did not recognize the person who looked back at me.
There sat a stupid ape, devolving before my eyes...
If you are ever lucky enough be become someone's someone, embrace your primal instincts for as long as you can.
posted by wally @ 2:08 PM
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