Exit from the Monkey House

I had my license all of two days, so I was stoked when Dad said I could drive. We were going to the next town over to pick up a new pet from this guy Dad knew, some war buddy probably, because Dad called him Sarge, even though his name was Billy Bender.

Mom figured we were just going out for a spin. She said, “Don’t be gone long. You’ve got homework. The lawn needs mowing. Did you clean out the dog bowls like I asked you? And be careful.”

Dad wasn’t saying much about the new pet. It was all on the down low. A man of few words, he operated in his own world according to his own rules. Still, despite his flaws, he was my Dad. But why the secret? What kind of pet could he be talking about? We already had two dogs, a hamster, a turtle, and a stray cat or three we called our own even though they didn’t really live with us but would always show up at the doorstep for milk and kibble. I imagined the new pet must be a snake or a rat. Maybe even a ferret or a hedgehog, since Dad had used the word exotic to stir my imagination.

I steered the Maverick into Billy Bender’s driveway and we exited the car. I was giddy with excitement. Billy suddenly appeared from behind some tall cornstalks in his garden plot, greeting us with a wily look like he and Dad were in cahoots or something.

“Hi there, boys,” Billy said, a smile lighting up his jowly face. “She’s inside. C’mon.”

We followed Billy into his house - well, his double-wide trailer. My nose immediately turned up. Something was stinking to high heaven like some kind of – not even farm smell, but more like a moist, ripe zoo odor. Then, scaring me out of my pants, a bird screeched loudly, saying, I swear, “C’mere, silly! C’mere, silly!” Dad shot me one of his sly winks, a sure indicator that this bird, some kind of parrot or something, was our new pet.

Billy said, “Oh, that’s Elmer, my silly cockatoo. Don’t pay him no mind. He’s all squawk and no talk. Follow me.”

Billy led us down a narrow hall congested with so much overflowing junk we had to be careful not to trip over who knows what. At the back of Billy’s house, I mean trailer, was a small room with the door shut. The smell was overpowering. Wild cries and frantic whistling sounds coming from inside alarmed me. What in the heck . . .

Billy cautioned us to stand back. He cracked the door open and peeked in. “Now, now, Marva, settle down. Let’s meet your new friends.”

Marva’s demented little eyes caught mine for a second before she began racing around the room emitting piercing excitable screams. She jumped on a ratty chair and then leaped onto a ladder against the wall. She scurried to the top then flung herself agilely down to the chair. Dad began cracking up at the sight of Marva taking a gigantic poop right there on the floor. Billy looked over with a shit-eating grin, is the only way I can describe it. Dad was shaking his head, like, ain’t she a pistol! I was awestruck.

Billy corralled Marva. “She’s young, so you have to take that into consideration. My pal who runs the rescue sanctuary said she’ll grow out of her cantankerous nature in a year. You just gotta keep her contained. And entertained. And feed her plenty of bananas. Oh, and you got to stay on top of cleaning up after her or things’ll get pretty rank if you get my drift.”

Dad said, “Sarge, no worries there. Marva’s gonna love her new home.”

Marva seemed to take an immediate liking to me. She jumped excitedly into my arms and flailed about with wild abandon I thought she might poke my eye out. We finally had to get going, so we thanked Billy Bender and said so long. More like good riddance.

Dad let me drive back home while he kept Marva entertained. Billy had thrown in a couple of bananas, so Marva made a mess of things in the car and all over Dad, too.

Driving back, I had a funny feeling watching Dad with Marva sitting contentedly on his lap now like a good little girl. I never imagined this is what Dad had in mind. What was he thinking, bringing a creature like Marva home as a pet? Mom was completely fed up with the animals we already had. She was the one who had to clean up their poop and wipe down the cages, bathe, groom and take them to the vet, and buy extra milk for the cats. No wonder she always seemed so mad. That, and probably the fact that Dad was still drinking.

Mom was at the door when I pulled into the driveway. Whoa, I could tell something was not right. Dad got out of the car with the monkey clinging to his back, squealing obscenely at Mom, half in shock and the other three-quarters madder than I’ve ever seen her. Dad reached up over his shoulders and swung our new pet down and held her high up, cheerfully announcing, “Surprise! This is cute little Marva! She’s a bit wild, but don’t worry, we’ll train her.”

“You’ll what!?!” Mom began cussing up a storm at Dad. I looked sheepishly down at my feet. Why did she always have to get so goldarned pissed off at things? Why couldn’t she see how neat it would be having Marva. All my friends would be, like, so – at that moment, I felt her anger like a branding iron. “Either that damn monkey goes, or I go!” she fumed at the top of her lungs.

The dust settled. A few days passed.

Honestly, I wasn’t all that sorry to see her go.