My Little Friends
I have a monkey. Actually, it’s an orangutan. And it’s ceramic. And it’s old. Old in that it has sat in front of, or around, every apartment and house we’ve lived in since I can remember. I’m pretty sure my wife painted and fired the little mammal soon after we got married, which was 1970, but memory is a tricky thing these days, so I’m not making book on it.
Once upon a time, it was a bright shiny thing, but weren’t we all. Now days it’s weathered and worn and lost a lot of its color. Most recently, it was sitting on the porch in the dog run. A few weeks back during the cleaning of my wife’s closest, I realized it was a treasure I wanted to hold a bit closer. So, I cleaned it, painted it with a sealer and brought it inside. It sits beside the fireplace alongside Mary’s angel that once used to sit outside, broken, in the garden, until I repaired it and brought it inside.
Bringing the orangutan and angel inside probably has something to do with that clutching at smoke tendency peculiar to the loss of a loved one. It starts as a desperate desire to hold on to everything they ever owned in the hopes that maybe its just a bad dream. Having cleaned out my wife’s closest, however, this is most likely a stage where I’ve realized that quirky and beautiful things are probably the surest and easiest way to spark happy memories. I have no idea what’s next, but I have my monkey and my angel here with me and we’re going to hold tight and see what happens.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale